Chapter 20 The Seam That Burns
THE SEAM THAT BURNS
GIDEON
Aweek had passed since Ronan's return, and Hollow Pines had settled into the tense quiet of a town holding a loaded weapon with both hands.
I opened the shop early, moving through the ritual of morning preparation with the practiced calm I'd been wearing like armor for decades.
Coffee first. Dark enough to taste like charcoal, strong enough to cut through the exhaustion that had been accumulating in my bones.
Tools laid out in their proper order on the workbench.
Inventory checked with the automatic focus of a man pretending that normal still existed, that routine mattered, that the world hadn't fundamentally shifted beneath our feet.
Underneath that routine, the curse was getting worse.
The ache had become constant now. A dull pressure behind my sternum that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.
My hands had developed a fine tremor I could only hide by keeping them busy, by gripping tools hard enough to make my knuckles white, by never letting them rest long enough for the shake to become obvious.
I'd stitched my soul three times in the last week.
Twice in the privacy of my apartment where Ronan couldn't see the cost, once in the bathroom of the pack house when the seam had torn open so suddenly that waiting would have meant collapse.
Each repair took longer than the last, required more power I didn't have to spare, left me more depleted than the time before.
I could feel the strain starting to affect Ronan too. The way he'd wince sometimes when I pulled too hard on the bond, the way his wolf would surface with protective aggression when the curse flared.
I was killing him slowly by keeping myself alive.
The thought sat in my chest like lead, but I pushed it aside and focused on inventory. Brake pads. Oil filters. Spark plugs arranged in neat rows that gave the illusion of control.
The bell above the door chimed.
Luke entered first, moving with the careful neutrality of a wolf who was still deciding whether I deserved trust or suspicion. When he saw me he held for a beat longer than comfortable before he nodded once and moved toward the coffee I kept for customers.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” I replied, matching his tone. Giving him space to maintain whatever distance he needed.
Jonah followed minutes later. He grabbed a wrench from the tool wall and headed for the bay without conversation, and I let him go without pushing for more.
This was progress, in its way. They were showing up. Working in the same space. Accepting my presence even if they weren't ready to accept me. A month ago they'd avoided the shop entirely, had made it clear through absence that my father's sins were mine to carry.
Now they were here. Wary. Guarded. But here.
I could work with that.
Ronan walked in carrying two cups of coffee. He looked better than he had a week ago. Weight starting to return, the fever-brightness gone from his eyes, moving through space like he belonged in it instead of occupying it on borrowed time.
“Brought you better coffee than whatever tar you're drinking,” he said, setting one cup on the workbench beside me.
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it for more than the coffee.
Ronan's mouth pulled into the small smile he was starting to use more often, the one that said he understood exactly what I was thanking him for and accepted it without needing elaboration.
For a moment I felt almost normal. Then the curse snagged.
The sensation made my breath catch, made the coffee cup tremble slightly in my hand before I set it down with deliberate care.
I pushed back.
I breathed through the pressure while I reinforced the stitches holding me together, refusing to give Silas the satisfaction of a visible reaction. The magic required for resistance pulled from reserves I'd been trying to conserve, but letting him probe unopposed would be worse.
The curse settled back to its usual dull ache.
Ronan was watching me with the focused attention that meant he'd noticed the shift.
I changed the subject before he could push. “Daniel's truck needs fixing. Transmission's making a noise it shouldn't. Want to help?”
“Yeah. Let's take a look.”
Daniel's truck sat in the lot looking about as optimistic as we all felt. Held together by hope, duct tape, and a maintenance schedule that assumed we'd live long enough to need oil changes.
Ronan and I worked side by side under the hood, and I was trying very hard not to notice how often we ended up in each other's space.
His shoulder would bump mine when he leaned in to check the transmission fluid.
Our hands would brush when I passed him the socket wrench.
Every point of contact made the tether hum like a plucked string.
“Torque converter's shot,” Ronan said, pulling back from the engine bay with grease on his forearms.
“Yeah.” I grabbed the jack. “Gonna have to drop the whole pan.”
“I've got it.” He was already reaching for the drain bucket.
The bell chimed and Cal walked in carrying a tray of coffee cups like he was delivering contraband, Mason trailing behind looking like he'd lost a bet.
“Heard you were working on Daniel's truck,” Cal announced, setting the tray down. “Mason, get the filter wrench. We're helping.”
“We are?” Mason didn't sound surprised, just resigned.
“Yeah. This'll go faster with four hands. Plus I wanna see if Gideon can actually accept help without looking like it's killing him.”
I opened my mouth to argue and Cal pointed the wrench at me. “See? There it is. That face.”
“I don't have a face.”
“You absolutely have a face.” Mason had grabbed the filter wrench and was working his way under the driver's side. “Same face you make when someone offers to carry something. Like accepting basic human kindness might actually kill you.”
Ronan made a sound that might've been agreement.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
“Just calling it.” He grinned at me, quick and easy.
We fell into the work as a group, four sets of hands making quick work of the pan bolts. Cal kept up a running commentary about the coffee situation, Mason kept threatening to sabotage my coffee maker, and Ronan stayed mostly quiet but his mouth kept twitching like he was trying not to laugh.
“So,” Cal said, his voice going casual in a way that meant he was about to say the least casual thing possible. “Ronan. You been spending a lot of time in the shop lately.”
Mason snorted. “Subtle, Cal. Real subtle.”
“What? I'm just making an observation.”
“You're being nosy,” Mason corrected, but he was grinning. “Mind your business.”
“My business is engines. Also gossip. I contain multitudes.” Cal loosened another bolt, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I'm just saying, man shows up every morning with good coffee, hangs around all day, knows where everything is after a week? That's dedication.”
“Or he's got nothing better to do,” Mason offered.
“Hey,” Ronan protested mildly.
“No offense. Just saying you could be literally anywhere else and you keep showing up here.” Mason rolled out from under the truck. “Which is either very sad or very telling.”
“Could be both,” Cal added helpfully.
I felt heat creep up my neck. “He's helping with the truck.”
“Uh-huh. He's also reorganized your entire tool wall, brought you coffee every day this week, and I'm pretty sure I saw him sweep the bay yesterday.” Cal's grin was infectious rather than mean. “Very helpful. Very attentive. Very—”
“Very gonna hit you with this wrench if you don't shut up,” I said.
“See, Mason? Defensive. That's a tell.”
Mason was trying not to laugh. “You're terrible.”
“I'm observant. There's a difference.”
“You're a gossip.”
“I prefer 'socially engaged.'” Cal pointed at Ronan with the wrench. “Anyway, my point is, you're here every day doing free labor. Gideon should just put you on the payroll at this point.”
I paused mid-bolt. “Actually, that's not a terrible idea.”
Ronan blinked. “What?”
“You want a job? I could use the help. Cal and Mason are part-time, but I've got more work than I can handle alone.” I set down my wrench. “Pay's decent. Hours are flexible. Coffee's terrible but apparently you've got that covered.”
Cal made a noise of vindication. “See? I'm a genius. Problem solver. Matchmaker extraordinaire.”
“You're not a matchmaker, you're a pain in the ass,” Mason said, but he was grinning.
“I can be both.” Cal looked entirely too smug. “So what do you say, Ronan? Gonna make it official?”
“You serious?” Ronan asked me.
“Yeah. You know your way around engines, you show up on time, you don't complain about the work.” I shrugged. “Better than half the people I've hired before.”
“Most of the people you hired before quit because of the coffee,” Cal interjected.
“One person quit because of the coffee.”
“Two,” Mason corrected. “Remember Jeff?”
“Jeff quit because he moved to Portland.”
“He moved to Portland to escape the coffee. It's documented.”
“It's not documented.”
“It's implied documentation.” Mason grabbed another tool. “Point is, Ronan's got job security just by having functional taste buds.”
Cal nodded sagely. “Plus he's already nesting. Might as well commit.”
“We're not nesting,” I said.
“You're standing three inches apart right now,” Cal pointed out.
I looked down. He was right. When had that happened?
“Efficient use of space,” I said.
“Right. Efficiency.” Cal's grin could've lit the whole shop. “That's definitely what's happening here.”
“I'm definitely gonna hit you with this wrench,” I said.
“You're definitely too busy pretending you don't notice when Ronan's in the room to catch me.”
Mason was laughing outright now. “Okay, that's enough. Let them have their crisis in peace.”
“What crisis?” Cal asked innocently.
“The crisis where they figure out what everyone already knows.” Mason paused. “Actually, you know what? I'm not touching that. You two can figure it out yourselves.”
“Coward,” Cal said.