Chapter Eight
Echo
The motel mirror is brutally honest this morning.
And not even in a poetic, life-affirming, or some girl, get yourself together montage kind of way. More like a cheap rectangle bolted crooked to a wall that’s seen too many bad choices and at this point, refuses to lie for anybody.
Which, in my opinion, is really fucking rude.
I stand in front of it in black denim shorts and a fitted dark tank, mascara wand in one hand, and stare at the evidence of my life choices like they’ve personally offended me.
My hair is half-dried and currently doing whatever the hell it wants. My lips are still a little swollen and there’s a faint bite mark near my collarbone that I absolutely do not need to think about right now and yet, my mouth curves anyway.
Because yeah. Last night was intense.
It was definitely the most reckless thing I’ve done since getting to Tampa, which is truly saying something considering I rode to a stranger’s beach house and informed two men they had a secret sister.
I set the mascara down and lean closer to the mirror.
“Well,” I tell my reflection, “you’ve officially outdone yourself.”
My reflection looks smug, as she should.
Because in less just a few weeks, I have somehow managed to, meet my brothers I didn’t know existed, blow up their lives, make out with one Speed Demon in a bar bathroom, fool around with two others in a motel room, and agree to show up at the team garage today like I’m applying for a normal fucking job and not stepping into the most awkward group dynamic on planet Earth.
Honestly?
Pretty fucking iconic, but also deeply inconvenient.
Because now that the sun’s up and I’m standing here in a motel bathroom with last night still written all over my body, I can’t even pretend it was just some reckless blur I’ll laugh off later.
I remember all of it too clearly.
The heat in the room. Echoing breaths in the motel lamp light and the way the three of us kept looking at each other like none of us could quite believe we’d ended up there.
The way Wolfe watched everything—steady, open, like he was letting me and Thorne set the pace even when I could feel how badly he wanted more.
The way Thorne cracked open by inches, then all at once.
God. That part’s lodged under my skin now.
The way he finally stopped fighting himself and the way he kissed like he was completely starved and also really fucking mad about it.
Then, when it was all over, everything kind of slammed into him.
That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.
The look on Thorne’s face when he pulled away from us. From Wolfe. All panic and oh fuck, I actually did that. Like the reality of it hit him too hard and fast.
He left with all that panic written all over him, and I could tell it got to Wolfe too. I could see how badly he wanted to chase after him.
I know after one night, it’s pretty obvious Wolfe cares about Thorne a lot.
Like, a lot a lot.
The guy is easygoing, flirty and fun, sure, but underneath that he’s got a stupidly big heart, and it’s not subtle once you’re looking for it.
Watching Wolfe get hurt by it sucked too.
And yet, despite how hurt he was, he still texted me after he got home, just like I asked, and somehow that turned into us staying up talking way longer than either of us probably meant to.
Nothing huge or deep. Just easy. We talked about random shit—music, my dump of a motel, and the fact that pineapple absolutely belongs on pizza no matter what he says.
He also spent a solid few hours pretending he wasn’t worried about me staying here, while being painfully obvious about the fact that he was.
Which is where the problem starts.
They’re all great in their own way, which would be cute if I weren’t currently lying to every single one of them.
So maybe the thing I should really be worried about this morning isn’t the garage.
Maybe it’s my morals
My phone buzzes on the edge of the sink.
Draygon:
Dinner tonight? Starting to get the feeling ur dodging me.
I close my eyes and let my forehead bump lightly against the mirror.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Because this is the problem, isn’t it?
Not just that they’re hot. That would be manageable. Annoying, but manageable.
It’s that they’re all different, and somehow every single one of them has something that gets under my skin.
Draygon is intense in that quiet way. Not loud and flashy.
Just focused enough to make you feel pinned by his attention.
The kind of guy who asks if you ate like it’s casual, when really it’s not.
The kind who’d remember your coffee order after hearing it once and then act like that’s completely normal.
Wolfe is warm. Easygoing, funny, and so goddamn steady. The kind of man who makes everything feel lighter right up until he does something so genuinely sweet it catches you off guard and sticks.
And Thorne…
Thorne is pure fucking static. In another life, he had to have been a fucking comedian. He’s sharp, cocky, gorgeous, but also fucking impossible. The kind of person who acts like nothing gets to him until suddenly it really, really does.
The craziest part is, I’m not ashamed of it.
Because they’re not interchangeable. This isn’t me collecting hot men like some emotionally unstable Pokémon trainer. Even from the short time I’ve spent with them, I can tell they all carry different damage.
Different edges. Different things they pretend don’t matter.
I type back to Draygon.
Me:
i’m busy this morning
He replies immediately.
Draygon:
Didn’t ask about this morning.
I snort.
Me:
Pushy much
Draygon:
Only when its something i want
I stare at that for a second, thumb hovering. Then I put the phone down without answering. Because honestly, I cannot deal with him right now. Shit, I can barely deal with my own reflection.
I finish my makeup, drag my hair up into a high ponytail, then redo it because I hate it, then leave it down because I hate the second ponytail more.
I pull on my boots and strap them up tight before pulling my hoodie followed by my chest protector and secure it firmly.
Bag strapped on, and helmet in hand, I pause at the door, and take one last look around the motel room.
Wolfe was right, it is a dump, but honestly, it’s been my only form of safety for weeks, and for that, I’m willing to overlook its flaws. One last deep breath, and I head out into the Tampa heat, letting the door lock behind me.
Sayshen is waiting outside when I come down, coffee in one hand, helmet hanging from the other handlebar of his bike.
He’s leaned against it like he’s been there a while, all black tee, dark ink crawling up his neck and over his hands, messy dark hair falling over his forehead in that effortless way that probably takes effort even if he’d never admit it.
There’s something sharp about him this morning, half awake but still watchful, like he notices everything before he decides what to do with it.
He looks up when he sees me and does one quick, big-brother scan that somehow manages to be assessing, protective, and mildly judgmental all at once.
I stop in front of him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
He holds out the coffee. “You just look a little less ‘yes, I am obviously the perfect candidate for this job’ and a little more ‘one wrong word and I’ll kill you.’”
I take it. “How sweet of you to point out I look like shit. Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe I had a rough night?”
His mouth twitches. “Rough night? Doing what? Binging reality tv and clearing out the Motel vending machine?”
“Depends. Are you asking as my newly discovered older brother or as a narc?”
He winces. “Christ. That answer alone is concerning.”
I smile and take a sip, happily indulging in the caffeine my body so desperately craves.
“So what’s the overall vibe for this little garage debut?” I ask, trying for casual and not quite sticking the landing. “And before you lie to me, yes, I’m specifically asking about Talon.”
Sayshen snorts. “Yeah, he knows I’m bringing you in.”
I look at him over the lid. “And?”
“And he was absolutely not happy about it.”
I let out a slow breath. “Cool. Great. Love that for me.”
His mouth twitches. “Echo.”
“So like, give it to me straight, am I walking into a garage or an execution?”
“You’re walking into a garage,” he says. Then, because he catches the concern anyway, his tone shifts a little. Softer. More grounded. “He’s pissed, yeah. He’ll probably be cold. Maybe testy. Definitely fucking dramatic.”
“Comforting.”
“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be there,” he says. “And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m not bringing you.”
I stare down into my coffee for a second. “I just don’t want to make this worse.”
He goes quiet for half a beat.
Then, “You showing up didn’t make it worse, Echo. It just made it real.”
That lands harder than I want it to.
I glance away. “That’s a very poetic way to say my existence is inconvenient.”
He laughs under his breath. “Only to Talon because he’s emotionally constipated.”
That gets a snort out of me.
Sayshen nudges my shoulder lightly. “Look, I’m serious, family drama aside, you’re perfect for the job. Andre will see that. The team will see that. Talon too, eventually, even if he acts like a dick first.”
“Honestly, I figured he wouldn’t be happy about it. I kinda expected him to test me.”
“He tests everybody.”
“Yeah, but I get the feeling he’s gonna put a little extra seasoning on mine.”
Sayshen grins. “Probably.”
“Awesome.”
“But you can handle it.”
The way he says it makes me look at him.
There's no teasing in his tone. No pity. Just certainty, and annoyingly, it actually helps.
I lift a brow. “Well look at you, Sayshen Shaw, mastering the big brother role,”
“Well no shit,” he says, rolling his eyes playfully. “I master everything.”
I groan. “Oh my God, why did I even say anything? That went straight to your giant ego.”
He grins. “As it should.”
I laugh and take another sip of coffee, letting the joke settle between us.
Then his expression shifts, just a little. Less smug. More serious.
“Echo.”
“Yeah?”