Hard to Fight (Alpha's Heart, #1)(74)

I walk towards the large, two-bay garage with Pixie Wheels written in bright blue across the top of the old, steel colored walls. My mom used to call me Pixie when I was little so Dad made sure to include it into the name when they started this business. I’ve never had the heart to change it. My parents had so many happy years in this place, and I think it’s part of the reason I hang onto it so tightly. It’s the only happy memories I have left.

I open the door that leads into the office from the workshop, and step inside. There are two offices in the front left-hand corner of the garage, one that has a reception desk and files, and another that has a computer and phone, as well as a crap load of tools and boxes stacked against the wall. The second is where I lock myself away to do most of my work. Matty rotates his time between the garage and reception, because we can’t afford a receptionist right now. I had to install a phone in the workshop so we could take calls out there.

I drop my phone down onto the reception desk and flick on the lights. I open the door leading out to the garage and see we have four cars still needing to be pushed through before we can take on any more today. The locals around here know the business, know me and know my story, so they are loyal and always bring their cars in to us, even still, when you’re so far behind, business has to be better than that to stay afloat.

I sit at the desk booting up the computer and hoping to get through some invoicing before the guys start in two hours. I have a lot to do and it’s the only time we’re quiet enough for me to be able to do anything without interruption. I manage to pore through fifty invoices before Lenny sticks his head in the door, his deep brown eyes softening when he sees me.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Lenny.” I smile, standing.

He studies me and his expression becomes grim. I know he can see that I’m exhausted, hell, I can see that I’m exhausted. I avoided looking in the mirror this morning because I knew that I’d see what resembled a run-over, beaten-up clown looking back at me. I don’t have time for a reminder of what I already know.

Lenny steps through the door, his tall frame taking up most of it. Even in his fifties, Lenny is strong and fit. His hair is more pepper than salt still, giving him that rugged, older hot guy look. I bet the old ducks go nuts over him. That thought makes me scrunch my nose up. Nobody wants to think about old people going at it. Great way to start the morning.

“Rob give you trouble again last night?” he asks as I try to step around him.

I wave a hand. “Nope, I look like a clown because I was out raging all night.”

He gives me a bitter expression. He doesn’t like my humor. He’s too caring. He doesn’t understand that my humor is all I have left.

He reaches out and takes my shoulders in his big hands, looking down at me, his expression dark. “Quinnie, you’re exhausted. You’ve got huge circles under your eyes. You look like shit. Don’t lie to me, honey.”

I frown, he can see right through me. “He got drunk, made a mess, it was fine.”

Lenny shakes his head and his jaw goes tight. “Goin’ to have a word with him again this afternoon.”

“What’s the point, Len?” I throw my hands up. “We’ve all tried and let’s face it, he doesn’t listen. He’ll never listen.”

“You’re running yourself into the ground.”

He’s telling me nothing I don’t already know.

“Don’t worry, I’m made of steel.”

“Quinn…”

“Lenny, I’ll be fine,” I say in a firm tone, stepping past him.

I enter the garage just as Jace, Oscar and Matty come in. They’re always on time, each and every one of them. I’m grateful for that. Jace strides over, wearing his favorite pair of coveralls, which believe me, do not take away from his masculinity one tiny bit. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and plants a loud, smacking kiss to my forehead. “Mornin’, sunshine, you look like crap.”

I smile. “Thanks, and you look like farmer Joe.”

He steps back, hooking his thumbs through his coveralls and grins. “You like?”

“Not even a little bit. Better not let your ladies see you in those, you’ll go from hot to … well … not.”

This is a lie. Women would probably throw themselves at his feet if they got a look at him in those coveralls with his long dark hair curling at his neckline and those bright blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Farmer Joe, eat your heart out.

“I always knew you thought I was hot.”

His grin gets bigger. I roll my eyes.

“How you got that out of what I said is far, far beyond me.”

“Morning, Quinnie,” Oscar says, winking at me. With his salt-and-pepper hair, he’s far more worn-out looking than Lenny, but he’s got the sweetest green eyes. “You do look like shit.”

“Come on, guys,” I protest. “You’re killing me here. Can one of you tell me my hair looks totally rad? Please? Hell, just lie to me and we’ll be cool.”

“You look like a sweet sugar pie,” Matty says in his Texan drawl, which I absolutely adore.

“Now you nearly made that believable.” I grin.

He chuckles. Matty has only been in Florida for the last four years, before that he was a Texan boy through and through. He’s going to be handsome as all hell when he fills out from that young man to an older, more mature man. He’s got sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. His face is handsome, yet sweet and there are a good lot of girls who want to get their hands on him.