Cover Up: Irons and Works: Key Largo, page 1
COVER-UP
IRONS AND WORKS: KEY LARGO
E.M. LINDSEY
Cover-Up
E.M. Lindsey
Copyright © 2023
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to persons, places, jobs, or events is purely coincidental.
Editing: Sandra with One Love Editing
Cover: Ozark Witch Cover Design
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Content warnings: past attempted medical abuse, forced conservatorship threats, past narcissistic parental abuse, parent with dementia, parent in hospice care, grandparent loss, past major injuries from military service, past traumatic brain injury, on-page epileptic seizure, on-page mild violence (not between main characters), graphic descriptions of relationship abuse (not between main characters), and sibling with substance addiction.
COVER-UP
Felix has a major problem.
He’s pining.
Well, pining might not be the right word for how he feels about the absurdly hot, one-armed chef who works next door, but it’s close enough.
Felix doesn’t have high hopes for romance, though. Not with the fact that his face blindness means every time he looks at Deimos, it’s like he’s seeing him for the first time. After all, who would want a relationship with a man who couldn’t pick him out of a crowd?
But that’s not his actual problem. Felix learns he needs to see his terrible family for his grammy’s funeral, and Dei has offered to go along to act like his boyfriend.
And God help him, but Felix can’t bring himself to say no.
But hey, what’s a little emotional torture when he gets to pretend Dei is his for a little while?
It seems that Dei has softer, kinder plans for Felix’s heart than to torture it, however—and Felix quickly learns there’s no way to cover up being in love. Dei’s words of affection are powerful, and Felix realizes the only thing in the world he wants is to let Dei in.
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CONTENTS
EM Lindsey Links
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Also by E.M. Lindsey
About the Author
1
“I think I’m old. This qualifies me for being old, right?”
Felix offered Jamie a crooked smile. “Aren’t you barely twenty?”
Jamie huffed. “Twenty-four, thank you. And feeling old as hell. One beer and I can’t drive.”
The guys laughed, and Harley leaned over, clapping his massive hand over Jamie’s shoulder, giving him a tender shake. “You’re alright, bud. Even fetuses have low tolerance sometimes.”
Jamie flushed a deeper red than the beer had already caused and flipped him off before curling his hand around his pint glass. With a massive grin, he tipped it back and finished off what was left. “Who’s driving me?”
In spite of the fact that he wasn’t drinking, it was a no from Felix. He hadn’t had the luxury of owning a driver’s license in years. Hell, he could barely remember what it was like getting behind the wheel of a car.
Then again, he could hardly remember most things from his past anymore.
That was life before the Incident, as he called it in his head. Back in LA, the man he was before the seizure took him out at the knees felt like a fever dream. Like an old movie he’d watched while stoned out of his mind instead of a life he’d once lived.
His brain was still healing—at least, that’s what his neurologist insisted—and he was making occasional progress whenever he went in for his checkups. His medication was helping with his seizures, and he hadn’t had another one like the seizure that had sent him hurtling into another universe.
But he’d never be the same again. He’d never be able to walk into a room and immediately recognize the people in it without help. He’d always have to leave himself little notes around his house so he remembered to take his meds, and do his laundry, and eat, and shower.
And he would always live with the fear that the next grand mal would leave him nothing more than an empty shell.
He never said that aloud, of course. Not to himself, and especially not to his tattoo family, though he knew damn well they wouldn’t be cruel about it. No, they’d sit and listen to him vent. Someone would offer to give him pain therapy in the form of new ink, and Linc would probably try to pierce something. They’d get food from Jeremiah’s restaurant next door. Zeke would force him to eat too much cake, and they’d all start telling him embarrassing stories so he wouldn’t feel like such a freak.
The thought was nice, but the kindness felt strangely unrealistic. And in all honesty, he wasn’t sure he was ready to let his guard down, no matter how much they insisted they cared about him.
Felix sipped on his tonic again, grimacing at the bitter taste of underripe lime, which was a real goddamn shame, considering they lived in the Keys. But it was Jeremiah’s bar, so it felt wrong to complain, considering how well he’d managed to fit in with them.
And how happy he made Felix’s best friend, especially now that the two were shacking up together and Felix was finally starting to trust himself to live alone. Mostly.
There was a knock on the counter, and Felix looked over at Theo, the Deaf pilot who had also integrated himself into their group in ways Felix hadn’t been expecting. He waved his hand, trying to get everyone’s attention. ‘I can give rides. I’m not drinking.’
Felix followed the signs slowly, his brain processing them at a speed that he knew probably pissed the guy off, but Theo never judged him for his shitty progress. He insisted that he didn’t give care so long as everyone was trying, and Felix was. But his brain struggled with the most simple things, and learning a new language was starting to feel beyond him.
It took him a second to realize that most of the guys were getting up, and he stared at his drink again, unsure if he was ready to go. He loved hanging out with his friends, but he was just starting to enjoy a real and honest sense of independence, and he wanted to prove to himself he didn’t need to rely on the guys for everything.
A hand fell on his arm, and Felix jumped, turning his gaze up to see Max smiling down at him.
“Come on. There’s room in Theo’s car.”
Felix shook his head. “I’m gonna hang.”
Max’s brow furrowed the way it did when he was worried about him—which was still too often for Felix’s liking. “Want me to stay? I don’t mind if you want company.”
“No,” Felix said in a rush, then tried to soften his tone. “Seriously, I’m good. I’ll call a Lyft or something when I’m done.”
Max nodded, then wrapped fingers around the back of Felix’s neck, squeezing in a quick goodbye. The guys filtered out slowly after that, and Felix was eventually on his own with Jeremiah at the very end of the bar, doing some work on his laptop. Felix had no idea if Jeremiah even knew he was there, but if he did, he said nothing and continued on with his work.
Felix appreciated the space and the silence. It was a rarity in the shop since everyone was in each other’s business all the damn time. Felix knew he wasn’t being singled out, which did help, but he still felt a little…lost and uncertain about where he belonged.
Everything in his life was good, but it was so damn different since moving to Key Largo. Working in LA had been hectic and loud—everything was all go all the time. Bonsai was one of those old neighborhood shops with constant music blasting and locals filtering in and out all day long.
They had a pool table and darts, and friends of friends would just hang around for hours, their voices filling up all the empty corners.
Felix didn’t hate it, but he never quite felt like he fit in. He’d apprenticed under Paris for a bit and then under Max, and those two made him feel more at home than anyone else. And when Felix had been taken down by the seizure, they were the two people who showed up for him and got him back on his feet. When he was so damn sure he was going to lose everything, they made sure he never gave up.
But it was still a lot. He was still the shy kid from a busted-ass home with no real concept of how to care about other people. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wasn’t going to last in a place like that. It was too much, and he wasn’t strong enough to keep going for much longer. He hadn’t told anyone at the shop what was going on with his mom—that she was constantly threatening to have him locked up for the rest of his life—but he was starting to believe her.
When Zeke appeared like some sort of biblical angel with a message from God, Felix knew it was a sign. This was his chance, and even if Max and Paris had declined, he wasn’t going to turn it down. He knew jack shit about the South except that it was thousands and thousands of miles away. And nothing was going to stop him from putting that distance between him and his family.
He left like a thief in the night. He rode beside Paris in his truck, and it wasn’t until they’d crossed into Texas that he sent a message to his mom and sisters, letting them know what he’d done.
He was definitely expecting the call that came through seconds after he hit Send, and a small part of him had whispered not to answer it, but the deeply ingrained guilt he’d been trained to feel after disobeying her forced his hand.
“Felix. Where are you?” He could barely process his mom’s shrill demand, and it sent shivers down his spine. She’d been like that since he was a kid, and it had taken years of prying her claws out of him, one by one, to realize just how much control she tried to have over his life.
“It doesn’t matter,” he’d told her. Paris reached out to hold him by the shoulder, and he almost burst into tears. His voice trembled. “I just wanted to let you know that I left.”
“You can’t just leave. You’re sick, Felix. You’ve got problems. You can’t take care of yourself on your own.”
His eyes went hot. “I’m fine.”
“I’m going to court over this, do you hear me? You need a conservatorship. You cannot be trusted. There’s no way you can…”
He never did get to hear the rest of her rant. Paris plucked the phone out of his hands and held it to his own ear. She went on for ten minutes before she realized Felix wasn’t there anymore, and he could hear her screech after Paris said, “Don’t worry, lady. He’s not on his own. Catch you later.”
Paris made him block her number, which left him feeling nauseous, and it took weeks of Max checking in with him and reminding him it was for the best before he ultimately deleted her contact so he couldn’t unblock her even if he wanted to.
And then…life moved on.
He settled. He made more friends with the new artists that were trickling in. He met the guys from the sister shop in Denver, who treated him like they’d known him his entire life. He found people he could relate to.
And no one at all, not once, gave a single fuck that he could rarely remember them at first sight.
He started to feel like a person again.
He started to…
“I need’a gimlet.” The sharp, slurring voice drilled past the wall of fog created by Felix’s rusted old memories, and he snapped back to reality. Turning his head, he saw a woman dressed in tight jeans and a crop top leaning over the counter, trying to grab one of the bottles from the well.
“Whoa,” Felix said, hopping up. He grabbed her by the elbow and eased her back. “That’s a bad idea.”
She turned and gave him a shove so hard he toppled into the stool. “Fuck you, man. Fuck your fuckin’ face.” She was still slurring, but he could hear one of those Deep South, Appalachian accents under it—just like Jeremiah’s head chef, Deimos. “I need a drink a’fore that son of a bitch comes in here. If he’s gonna beat the fuck out of me, I don’t wanna feel it.”
Felix was halfway to his feet when Jeremiah slid over toward her, and Felix glanced out of the corner of his eye to see the fury on his friend’s face.
“Who’s coming in here to beat the fuck out of you?”
“Some asshole,” the woman said, waving her hand. “Don’t worry about it.” Her hair was thick and curly and very black, tied at the nape of her neck in a messy bun. She had lipstick on, but it was smeared, and in the dim bar light, Felix could make out a bruise forming on her jaw.
It definitely looked fresh.
“Someone definitely hit her,” Felix murmured, leaning toward Jeremiah. “Recently.”
“Fucking hell,” he groaned. “Do me a favor and get her out of here. Take her out the back and call a car. Just have them put it on the restaurant tab.”
Felix nodded and took a step closer to the woman. “Hey. You okay?”
She froze halfway to reaching for the liquor again and gave him an up-and-down stare. “Yeah, I’m fine, baby. We can fuck if you want, but not up the ass.”
Felix almost choked on his own tongue. “Oh, honey. You’re not my type.”
She hummed in thought. “Okay, fiiiine. You can put it in my ass. But you gotta buy me a gin first because I don’t wanna feel that neither.”
Felix wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh in her face or wrap her in a blanket and feed her soup until she sobered up. Instead, he offered his hand. “Wanna go for a walk?”
She scoffed, but she linked their fingers together anyway. “I ain’t a hooker.”
“Okay,” Felix said, glancing back at Jeremiah who, rolled his eyes behind his thick lenses. “That’s fine.”
Jeremiah reached into a small cabinet at the end of the bar and came up with a water bottle. “Try to get her name and where she lives,” he said. “If I have to call the cops, I want to be able to tell them where to go.”
Felix really didn’t want to get that involved, but Jeremiah was protective over the peace of their community. The least Felix could do was lend him a hand.
He tugged on the woman’s arm, and she followed him down the dark hall and outside. The lights in the back parking lot were a weird, hazy sort of yellow, and along with the weird feeling he got from looking at anyone’s face, it made her seem gaunt and skeletal. But maybe she was just that thin. She looked strung out, and she had an acrid scent clinging to her underneath heavy cigarette smoke that told him she wasn’t deep into just booze that night.
“I’m Felix,” he said, pulling out his phone.
She wolf whistled quietly as she balanced on the backs of her heels. “Hot. You’re really hot.”
“Thanks,” he said with a laugh. “You gonna tell me your name?”
“Soph.”
“Nice to meet you, Soph.”
“Naw,” she said, snapping her fingers in his face. “Never mind. I hate that. It’s Sofia. He calls me Soph.”
“The guy who put that bruise on you?” Felix asked as he ordered the Lyft.
Her face fell, and she wrapped her arms around her middle. “He doesn’t mean to. I mean, he does. He’s a dick. But I just get him so riled up sometimes.”
Felix’s gut clenched and twisted. “Fuck that guy, Sofia.”
She laughed so hard she almost toppled over, and Felix only just managed to catch her. “I did. Thaaa’sss the problem, Fido.”
“Felix.”
She cocked her head. “Felix is a way better name. But it’s for a cat.”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes as he steadied her up near the curb. “Do you know your address?”
Sofia threw her head back, laughing again, though this time, she stayed on her feet. “Yeah. M’staying with my brother. He’s gonna be so mad. He’s a dick too, but he don’t hit me.”
“Thank god for small favors,” Felix muttered. He glanced around, feeling a little surge of anxiety that she might have been followed, but so far, there was no drama.
And a moment later, his phone pinged at the same time as a car pulled up. “Here,” he told her, opening the car door. “Get in, and we can get the address thing figured out.”
“Uhg. I don’t want to go to your house,” Sofia said, leaning on the window of the car.
“Hey, man,” the driver called. “I’m not interested in having some drunk chick puke all over my car.”
