Eliah’s eyes were a little sad, but Jude didn’t let that diminish what he knew he and Emilio had. It wasn’t perfect—hell, it would never be perfect. But it was good, and that was all he needed.
22
Kicks sat back, swiping his arm over his forehead. The shop was busier than he expected it to be, but with the influx of summer travelers, they always saw an uptick in business. Smokey was dealing with the bar opening, which meant that Kicks, Gunner, and Forge were taking care of all their appointments. What he wanted more than anything in the world was to shut the garage doors, throw up the closed sign, and disappear for the weekend.
But he knew it was better this way. Jude confessed he was feeling a little antsy having not been to services since his surgery, and Eliah volunteered to do the sabbath thing with him. Kicks knew he should do better in an attempt to learn all those things that were important to his lover, but he was still reeling from the fact that the man was in love with him.
And he was consumed with guilt for not saying it back, because he knew. He goddamn well knew he was madly in love with that man, but his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth in the moment, and it lodged itself there every time Kicks told himself to just get it over with.
And maybe that was the problem.
Saying I love you wasn’t something he should just get over with. Jude deserved better than that.
He looked up when something hit him in the side, and he glanced down at a water bottle rolling a couple inches away. Forge grinned down at him, leaning on his arm crutches which he used in the shop since his leg was too cumbersome to maneuver around engines. He moved like flowing water with the arm cuffs, and he swung his leg in front of him before falling to a seat on the ground next to Kicks.
“Talk to me.”
Kicks rolled his eyes. “I’m not playing this fuckin’ feelings game with you, man.”
Forge huffed and knocked his shoe into Kicks’ ankle. “And if you don’t talk to someone, you’re gonna get like, a brain tumor or something. From repression.”
“The fuck?” Kicks demanded.
“I read some article about it,” Forge said with a sniff. “Some sciency shit.”
“Jesus Christ. I was studying computers while you were still a little sperm in your daddy’s ballsac, and even I know how to fucking fact-check.”
Forge grinned at him. “You know I’m right though. What the fuck is going on? Did Jude go into uptight prick religi-mode?”
Kicks bristled in defense, then sagged back against the wall and dragged a hand down his face. “No. Fuck. He’s…he’s fucking perfect, you know? And he’s in love with me.”
Forge choked on his swallow of water, swiping his wrist over his mouth. “Did he say that?”
“Yeah.”
“And?” He pressed.
Kicks groaned and rolled his eye up toward the ceiling. “And I fucking was like, oh. Cool. Thanks.”
Forge sat up farther. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“Okay, I didn’t say that exactly, but like…shit man, I don’t know. There’s no fuckin’ way he’s gonna want to hang around after shit goes down with Hydra. Why the hell he’s still here after he blew out his knee and almost died is beyond me.”
Forge’s mouth settled into a small frown. “I want to say it’s because he loves you, but maybe it’s because he’s just a dumbass. I mean, considering he’s in love with you.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Kicks said, but there was no venom in his words.
“Is that because he stopped fucking you after you failed to tell him that you’re shit-crazy in love with him?” Forge asked with wide, innocent eyes.
Kicks felt it was in his best interest not to pick up the wrench that sat two inches from his left hand. “I love him, and I’m waiting for him to bail, okay? So what kind of person does that make me?”
At that, Forge sobered. “It makes you someone who’s seen some shit. Like most of us.” Forge grabbed his crutches and pushed to stand, balancing himself on one as he held one of his hands out for Kicks. “I also think he knows that you’re nuts about him, and he’s probably more than willing to be patient.”
“Yeah. Jesus.” Kicks rubbed both hands over his face, then stared down at the grease in his nails and the dirt on his forearm and the fact that he smelled like sweat and smoke and oil. How the fuck could a man as put together as Jude was want all of him?
And yet, he’d be waiting for Kicks at the end of the day.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the rows of cars waiting to be done and the clock that told him there was hours to go. But maybe the waiting would make it all worth it. They had stolen peace, after all, and he had time to make up for the fact that he had been a goddamn coward up till now.
The sun was setting as Kicks rolled into his driveway. He stopped by the club to check on the progress, stealing into the guest rooms’ shower that he’d only just finished sealing. Smokey gave him a filthy look when he saw all the black on Kicks’ arms, but he only offered a resigned sigh and told him where to find the towels.
He also found a change of clothes—drawers of them, and he wondered if Smokey and Eliah were staying there during late nights when work went just a little too long. He supposed that’s what the place was for, after all. For others—sure. For people rolling in as guests of the Chains. But also, for the people in their club who might need a night away from whatever hell they were going through in their life.
And maybe for moments like this—when Kicks wanted to surprise Jude by coming home washed and ready for him with take-out strapped to his bike and a promise to be less of an absolute dumb fuck in the future.
It took him ten full minutes to scrub away the grease, but he shrugged into a clean shirt and pair of jeans, then made his way out to the back where Henri was chatting with what looked to be new kitchen staff. Kicks felt bad that he wasn’t as involved with the rest of the process the way he’d promised, but Smokey seemed in his element, and he was waiting for Kicks with two large boxes that would feed them for tonight and probably leave leftovers for breakfast.
“Take tomorrow off,” Smokey said, shoving the food at him.
Kicks blinked at him. “We still got like six cars, Prez.”
Rolling his eyes, Smokey gave him a shove hard enough that he stumbled back two steps. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll have Eliah manage shit down here so I can pick up the slack. You need this.”
Kicks wanted to argue, because he hated being told what to do by his brothers. And more than that, he hated that he was so obvious and how it was getting worse the longer he was with Jude. And maybe, one day, he’d see it as a blessing, but he wasn’t ready for that yet.
“Has there ever been a moment when you thought being with him wasn’t worth it?” he asked in a low voice.
Smokey stared at him, then let out a sigh. “There have been moments where I been shit scared I’m gonna lose him—or I’m gonna fuckin’ die and leave him with a mess to clean up. I don’t wanna break his heart, you know?”
“Yeah,” Kicks breathed out.
“But I wouldn’t change it. And he don’t seem like the kind of guy who would stick around if he was having second thoughts.”