Keir & Myah (BWWM Interracial Christian Romance)

OH, C’MON, c’mon, c’mon.

There were only so many prayers she could offer. Silent. Audible. Wishy-washy brainwaves. But nothing worked. Myah Blake vowed not to cry, because whatever it may look like, this was not happening to her tonight.

Tears pricked her eyes in rebuttal. They were determinedly blinked away. No time for that. The situation warranted some form of woeful admittance, sure. Laugh or cry, something. But she sure enough forgot how to laugh when she first turned the key.

"Work now." The command sparked an unexpected light in her willpower. Fifth-hundredth try. It had to work if this was the last... Well, no not the last.

Closing her eyes against the darkness surrounding her, Myah tossed the stick into neutral, sank the clutch, pumped the gas pedal twice for good measure, and…

Click.

Willpower schmillpower.

Her eyes sprang hot with moisture. "You have got to be kidding me!"

That click had been softer than the last one. Forget crying, she’d dive right into an ugly-bawl. In slow measure she lifted her eyelids to bore her defeated gaze through the windshield. On the edge of a meltdown, she gritted her teeth and teetered two seconds away from a panic attack—or a prime example for an anger management video. She had to pick up to her baby. Her sister waited on her. She couldn’t be stuck in a dead car.

Wrenching out the key, her option of bawling had to wait. She’d bought the car six months ago, only driving it for two. It hurt to know she’d blown her meager savings and excitement on a lemon. Slowly, she laid her head on the steering wheel, praying that a lemon wasn’t the case. After the purchase there hadn’t been enough for proper maintenance.

Hindsight couldn’t help her now. She had her boy to get to. Already she could smell his soft skin and hear his giggles. Gathering her large purse, shoe bag, long-lost sweater, and lunch pouch, she clamored out to the cold and slammed the door to give her upset mind some form of retribution.

Okay, now what?

Eight other vehicles sprinkled the rear parking lot. Myah turned to the four-story building. Most lights were out on the upper floors, but the lobby always had them running. They showed the way, to no one in particular, who wanted to visit the building in the middle of the night.

Stomping toward DRU-Med, she tugged on the short, wine-red leather jacket she loved so much. Cute, but it did squat warding off the late-March wind whipping around her. Today of all days she’d gone more fashion than practical, expecting to be sitting in a warm, functioning vehicle by now.

Though the days had been uncharacteristically mild this winter, the overcast Chicago evening and wind chill factor proved too damp, too dim, and way too cool for her attire.

What was it, six o’clock? She grated her teeth and suppressed a deep whimper in her throat as it dawned on her that it must be well after six by now. Half an hour had been wasted trying to start the car. Should’ve come sooner, she nagged herself.

Casting her gaze around, she paused at the glass doors. They locked automatically at six, which left her security card to the health and medical equipment facility nothing more than a clip on her hip.

Myah shuffled the load in her arms, let out a desperate breath, and rapped her knuckles hard on the thick glass. The dull ping sound brought a favored sight to her tired eyes. The older gentleman in a dark security uniform rounded the corner from the front, a smile ready for her. She grimaced back as he gave her a mock exasperated look.

"Back already? You start at eight a.m. not p.m." He held open the door to let her squeeze inside.

Bill, my car’s dead.

The grey-haired, balding man frowned and looked out toward her Mazda. Thought it was new.

Old, but new to me. Think you can give me a boost?

Is it the battery?

What, me know? She pointed at her chest. It just clicks. Mocking me.

Hmh. Pressing his lips together, Bill headed through the long, wide two-car elevator bay towards the front of the building. That may be out of my area of ex-sper-tease.

Upon reaching his desk, he picked up the phone. Myah edged behind the semicircle to watch him leaf through a vertical cascade of yellow post-notes hidden from spectator view on the short divider wall. After punching numbers, he flipped it on speaker mid-ring. A click—oh, so much louder than her car—ended the ring.

H-e-y-y, Billy.

The smooth tone, with a touch of an edgy rasp, held warmth behind it. The drawn-out words had her thinking the owner wouldn’t mind inviting Bill along to a party, or anyone else for that matter. Myah watched the black phone in anticipation to hear the intriguing voice again.

Bill leaned in over the phone. Hi. How’s it going?

How does it go every night? her new voice-crush asked. The loud closure of a vehicle door and the sound of keys came through from the background. One of these days I’ll close my eyes and do this blindfolded.

Myah smiled. Who is this guy? And what did he do that he thought he could master it sight unseen? She had an image of a young Idris with a blindfold around his eyes. Voice-crush didn’t have a British accent. Aside from one vowel she thought might be European, he was all meltdown American.

Her friend chuckled as Myah leaned against the wall behind him. Look. Here, Bill went on with a strange hitch in his speech. I have a young lady here. Her car’s out back and won’t start. Says it makes a clicking sound.

They hit a patch of dead air, then the voice came over with an inch more authority. Clicking like it’s trying to cough and turn over? Or…dead click.

She laughed, part of it relief that Bill had called his mechanic. That describes it. She moved to lean a hip against the desk. Glad I don’t have to go through the ABCs of car noises to describe what’s going on.

Tick-tick-tick-cshrrr! ignited Bill anyway, complete with hand and facial spasms.

Eek-eek-eek-ergh! she shrieked, actually shocking herself at the silly noise. She broke out in a barely-controlled laugh. "All right, all right! Sorry. Enough of that. Okay, each time I turn the key, it makes the click and nothing else. I think the power is draining. The noise is getting softer. Softer, softer," she echoed in a tiny voice and keeled over Bill’s desk.

More silence.

Oh, this is Myah. Bill propped his hand under his chin and gave her a wink as she sat up from her limp, dying swan.

Oh, right. Sorry again. It’s rude of me to enlist someone’s help and not introduce myself. Yes. I’m Myah. Hi.

Hi.

Pause. That’s it? Huh. Perhaps he was preoccupied with something else. Forgiving his conversation skills, she let her mind envision the strong, moody, silent type. A tall, svelte embodiment of rich hot chocolate. His voice was smooth enough. It made her want to keep talking so he’d respond, the guy had to come up with a full sentence sometime. Bill sat back in his chair as he waved a hand his mechanic couldn’t see.

Myah, this is Keir.

Keir. Okay. So Bill hadn’t choked earlier, he’d said, Look, Keir. The picture in her head scrambled. She had no image to give the odd name. Nice to sort of meet you, Keir.

Yeah.

Yeah?

Keir, since you at least know brake oil from wiper fluid, do you mind coming out to take a look? She only bought the thing yesterday.

Stop it. She swatted Bill’s arm. It’s twelve years old, but I bought it six months ago.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh?

See you in a bit, Bill said.

See you in a bit, the voice confirmed.

After hearing the line disconnect, Bill smiled while Myah met him with a frown. Is he always so... She hoisted her eyebrows. Chatty?

Bill snickered as he rose. He knows what he’s doing, I wouldn’t point you wrong. Come on. Let’s get all your stuff back in your car and pop the hood until he gets here. I can do that at least.

Myah checked her watch. Six-twenty. He’ll get here soon?

Shouldn’t take too long.

You sound positive he can get this thing started.

I am.

I hope so. Dylan is at my sister’s today, and I need to pick him up before she goes to bed. One of the twelve-hour, seven-to-seven nurses got sick. They called her in to work the rest of the night shift from eleven o’clock.

We’ll get you moving. Say, Dylan must be a big guy now.

She smiled at the thought of him. Although his absent father was a tall, hulky, medium skinned brother, Dylan took on her own father’s height and light brown sugar. The little guy may sprout later on, but her sister and step-brother weren’t too much taller than her five-four frame.

Those Blake genes, they sure pulled their weight in the looks and size departments. She swiped a hand over her tired face. Usually, she garnered comments on how fresh and young she looked; a Blake trait she’d appreciate when middle aged, no doubt. But right now she may actually show her age; twenty-eight going on eighty-two.

The moment they swiped open the lock on the glass door, the phone on Bill’s security desk blared. Stay here, I’ll walk you out, he told her, turning back inside.

You’re still working, she called after his jogging frame.

Inspiration hit, and she knew his reaction before she even started.

Your friend’ll be here soon and it’s not that dark out so no need to worry about me ’cause I’ll be fine and that’s all that matters so I’ll see you tomorrow evening and you have a great night Bill okay thanks, she sang in a single breath.

Sure enough, before he turned the bend, his famous exasperated look asked why she hadn’t shut up already.

Snickering, she let herself out to the brisk night. Bill started his shift at three, and she normally finished at four and ran out of there before the second-hand hit the half-minute mark. She liked that since his first day five years ago, they always had fun when their paths crossed.

She smiled at the thought, not feeling the wind as much, warmed by hope. If Bill said this Keir guy could figure something out, she trusted his opinion.

Coming to her car, she sighed at the half open driver’s door. Not for the first time it must have gotten caught on the seatbelt and bounced back. She didn’t panic. She loved having a car, but no thief in his right mind would steal her relic.

The shorter commutes by car these past two months had been heaven. She’d become accustomed to waking up a full hour later than usual. Good thing she’d had this job for over seven years. Coming off maternity leave, dropping Dylan at her neighbor’s, and managing the finicky bus routes had made her late more times than she cared to count.

Having a car had cured that. She hoped she wouldn’t have to start the bus routine all over again.

Frustrated at the possibility, she flung her wares into the passenger side, trudged to the driver’s, and released the hood. Time check: six-twenty-two. She should have asked how far Bill’s friend had to drive to come all the way out to an industrial district.

If her car wasn’t repaired in eighteen minutes she’d have no choice but to call Ingrid and let her know she’d been delayed, maybe even beg for a ride home. That’s if Ingrid wasn’t opposed to missing some sleep before going in.

Her early-teens niece and nephew looked after themselves and knew how to keep the noise down when their mother needed sleep. But neither one were home tonight to care for Dylan.

Myah hated putting her family out after all they’d done for her. But would Ingrid really let her and Dylan take the bus all the way from West Town to Rogers Park?

Her mood hit lower than low. Her sister hadn’t expected to work. Nurses were catching colds like flies, and Myah didn’t want to put any more stress on the free-babysitter privilege.

She eyed the vehicle. God. You fix a lot of things. Please fix this. What did that make now? Prayer one-eighty-two for this car? She’d start a checklist.

A clunk rang out from the glass entrance, taking her gaze in that direction. Standing in her open door, she peered over the back roof of the car. In deep dusk, the bright lights from the rear lobby set the man in silhouette. Something in his unhurried gait seemed odd, but street, and though outlined in overalls, the cut of his body looked perfectly proportioned and lean.

He was making his way straight to her. It became clear his intent wasn’t to ask her a question. This was Bill’s friend. Not a mechanic. He works here. Hallelujah. Considering she may need to take off as soon as he fixed the car, she took comfort knowing she could give him a little something for his trouble in the morning.

While the shape of a backwards baseball cap revealed he’d scoped out the otherwise empty lot, shadows failed to fill in where they should. Frayed edges of hair strayed from beneath the baseball—white? He’s white? Definitely not Idris. But him? SweetTunes? Him?

The guy’s raspy but silky voice had stretched its fingers down her spine. And it belonged to lanky lactose. Can’t be him. She tried to match the fantasy with the sight before her. Not a chance.

Myah?

Yep. Him.

CHAPTER TWO

MYAH RECOVERED by the time the man reached a few strides from the bumper. She strained to see his face, he looked no older than she. Hi. Surely they’d moved past the awkward introductory phase. Keir, is it? Thanks for coming.

He flipped a slim flashlight in his left hand as he approached and ticked one shoulder to display no hassle. Let’s see what we’re working with.

He offered a small smile, something which tugged one from her. She’d love to see more of it, but light posts in the rear lot were few and far between. And she hadn’t parked near one.

As he moved up her side of her car, she couldn’t help but check out the height of him. Not six feet, though close. When he came within a few steps she noticed a possible scar on the right side of his chin; this, and deep set eyes, gave interesting character and depth to the dusk-shadowed face. He rested a hand on the car top, ran curious eyes over her, and after a while, tentative eyebrows rose into the dark fringes of hair and cap.

He tapped the flashlight against his thigh and looked around. Uh. Can I...can I get to the hood release, please?

What? Oh! Right! No, I did it already.

He nodded. Drummed his fingers on the rooftop. One side of his lips tugged into a part smile like he thought ‘good girl’, and Myah’s ego did a stupid, good-girly thing. He rounded both her and the car door to the front where he unhooked the hood and disappeared behind it.

Let me hear how it sounds, he called from around the barrier.

She tucked herself inside and turned the key to hear the familiar click. And again. Click. Then she came out to see if this guy really knew what he was doing.

Keir had the slim flashlight in his teeth, one hand skimming over the engine, the other buried deep within. She didn’t know when her eyes turned to him in the glow of the flashlight, but he looked calm, concentrating.

His gaze flicked to her. Inside she jumped at being caught staring at him and not the machine.

Six months, huh? he lisped around the protrusion. His features remained unchanged.

She nodded. One of those auto auctions. I guess I got my money’s worth.

He chuckled. A warm sound, bringing her to the receptive tone she’d heard on the phone. Too bad he didn’t come in a taller package, one thicker, ten shades darker, and shaped in the protective brick wall of a baseball or football player she admired. Still, something endeared her to a man who could work with his hands.

Hands that must be freezing. She didn’t understand how people worked without gloves when dealing with frigid metal objects. And not with tonight’s wind chill.

Keir spit out the flashlight to train it around. Who’s the mechanic who took you?

A friend of my brother.

Should have fixed it up before he handed it over.

That was up to my checkbook. I just needed it on the road. Bare essentials.

He pulled his left hand out and wiped it on his thigh. I hear you. It happens. Without looking, he removed the rubber tops from the battery. I’ll give you a boost, see if that helps. But take it back in, get it checked out properly before driving anymore. Six months shouldn’t do this to an engine.

Dare she say it had been on the road for only two after she got the insurance? How do you know needing a boost isn’t the problem?

He looked down, flashing the light over the box. It’s clean. Nothing’s preventing it from getting juice, and the connections are secure. Of course other things factor in, but it doesn’t matter. Take it to your mechanic. He needs to do his job.

She couldn’t explain to a stranger that the friend lived out of state and had done a favor for her persistent half-brother. She’d just needed someone to go with her and he’d been visiting friends. Her vacation last week drained the rest of her savings. This week’s paycheck needed to go to the mortgage.

Myah let out a light growl. When Keir’s gaze danced over her before returning to the engine, she hoped it sounded more on the playful side than crazy-woman. She ground her jaw and tried to work miracles with her bills. The extra hour and half of work for the next little while did more than allow her to catch up on missed labor. Despite her vacation pay, she needed the money this inconvenience promised to produce. She couldn’t turn around and spend it all on her vehicle.

Keir thumbed over something else in the cold rubber and metal, then mumbled about getting cable, and came back driving a dark, double-cab pickup. It looked no younger than her vehicle. But then again, if he knew cars, it drove ten times better. He nudged the truck perpendicular to hers, giving them enough illumination through the running-lights.

He came out, nearly colliding into her side when she absently stepped into his path to check out the inner workings under the brighter light. He eased his way around, looking down at her steadily as he passed. Myah got the feeling he thought she did it on purpose.

Pl-ease. She didn’t play vulgar games like doing a cheap body-brush. She nevertheless stayed dutifully at the side to let him work, and to get a better look at him in the truck’s lights in the process.

The sure and unhurried movements surprised her, perhaps because he’d been called away from his schedule and most people would want to get the sidetrack over and done with. Why hadn’t she seen him before? Anyone would remember his face and becoming attitude.

What do you do here? she asked as he connected grips.

He looked at her, then down at his gray overalls before returning to the engine. Electromechanics. Servicing.

Embarrassed at the obvious clue, she nodded like she’d received important information. I’m not keeping you from anything vital am I?

That simple smile could have pierced the dark if it hadn’t already been illuminated in the truck’s lights. It’s fine.

I don’t want a supervisor getting you in trouble.

Don’t worry about it. He’d be fine.

She did worry over it. He wore the DRU-Med overalls, but delivery service techs usually wore the khaki shirt and pants. Grey meant a different level for whomever worked on the assisted-living, mobile, and medical apparatus.

Even so, the company contracted electricians or vehicle mechanics during the busy season. They were headed there now.

I want to thank you for coming out here anyway, and taking the time.

No problem.

I’ve never seen you here before. Are you on call, or did you just start?

The side of his lips quirked, his head tilted as if in thought as he led the other end of the cable to his truck. Just over a year.

She assessed him from the side. A year? You work the night shift? She shrugged. I suppose I’ve never seen you because I’m usually out the door lickety-split. You start at six o’clock or something?

He peered over his shoulder.

I know, I know. Twenty questions. She raised her eyebrows then clicked her gums before turning to hide—as if she could—from his blank gaze.

Four, he answered.

Four. That’s when I normally finish.

She turned to smile at the far-fetched something they had in common, only to realize he hadn’t stopped staring, probably expecting the drill to continue. After long seconds he turned to the task at hand.

All hooked up, he leaned opposite her against his grill. This isn’t lickety-split time, what are you doing here? Banking overtime?

More like catching up from being away all last week.

Vacation? At her nod, his arms folded across his chest and he ran his tongue over his teeth like he had to assess the circumstance.

North Michigan. As if a far distance validated her absence. "I haven’t had one in a few years. Not that this one was a real vacation. We had to go this time, I suppose. There are so many other things I would rather have done, like watch paint dry, than return to…" She heard her mouth about to volunteer personal information to a stranger, and censored that she’d gone to see family. He didn’t need to know all but one of them lived out of state.

One arm unfolded from his chest to jab a finger in skepticism at her car. You didn’t drive this thing, did you?

Hey. She laughed at his fretful expression. It’s not my first car, I know enough not to trust this to make that kind of trip. She ran her fingers over the fender. Perhaps she could have faith it would take her to the end of the year. Truth is, I’ve only been driving it for two months.

His eyebrows crunch and he sucked in a hiss of disbelief. Then his face relaxed and brightened as he chuckled with her. He moved around his bumper shaking his head. After climbing into his cab, he brought the engine to life, a minute later, sank into her car’s seat to turn the key waiting inside. The sweet sputter put a broader smile on her face. Yes.

Thank you, you’re a lifesaver! She bounced on her toes then watched him pack up the electrical umbilical cord.

He stowed it under the bed’s fiberglass cover, closed their hoods, and switched off his engine. The last to go were the lights, setting them in near darkness except for the dome light of her car.

Moving to the rear fender, he flipped/twirled the flashlight. All right, TwoMonths. Drive easy out there. You may want to take it to a garage tonight to see what they can do.

She glanced up at the heavy dark clouds ready to leak any second. No time. I have to pick up my son. I’m running late as it is.

Keir swung a key ring around a finger and dropped it into a