Chapter Twenty-Four
Zane
Sweat clings to every inch of me as the heat pours through the corrugated roof, turning the whole place into a goddamn furnace.
My shirt’s somewhere behind me, tossed the second it started sticking. Grease stains my jeans. I don’t stop. Not when the noise in my head only quiets when my hands are busy.
The compressor kicks in. The radio crackles, cuts out, comes back in with some shitty rock song from decades ago. I let it play. Anything’s better than silence.
I wipe my hands on a rag and crouch by the engine bay, bolts half-loose. My knuckles ache. But it’s honest work. The kind that gives you something back when everything else in your life doesn’t.
Then I hear her.
That voice.
“Brought you lunch.”
I lift my head and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist.
Skylar is standing close now, too close, holding a plate with both hands. Her hair’s twisted up, strands stuck to the side of her neck. That neck. Soft skin, flushed from the heat. She looks at me with those wide beautiful fucking eyes.
Behind me, Mason lets out a low whistle.
“Didn’t know you brought food,” he says, mouth curled into that smug grin he wears when he thinks he’s got a shot. His gaze drops, lingering where it shouldn’t. On her chest. Down her legs.
My fists tighten. It’d be too fucking easy to bury my knuckles in his face and call it a day.
I don’t look at him. Don’t give him that satisfaction.
“Ignore him,” I tell her.
She shrugs like she doesn’t care, but I see it. The way her fingers twitch at the edge of the plate. The tiny shift in her stance. The way her eyes don’t meet mine.
“It’s a cheese melt,” she mutters.
She hands it over. I take it. Our fingers brush.
I lean against the car.
She follows, settling beside me without a word.
We both stare ahead, not talking, not touching, but every part of me is tuned to her.
I take a bite. The cheese burns my tongue, but I swallow anyway.
“You made this?”
She nods, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not hard.”
“No, but it’s good.”
That almost-smile flickers. Just a twitch of her mouth, as if she doesn’t want me to see she’s proud of it. But it’s there.
Mason’s still watching her. Arms crossed, leaning against the tool rack like he owns the place. His gaze drags over Skylar’s body again, slow and obvious.
Every part of me screams to walk over and make him turn the fuck away. But I stay where I am, even though it fucking kills me.
I take another bite, eyes still on her.
She’s not looking at him now, but I see the way her shoulders stiffen, the way she steps a little closer to me without even thinking.
“You wanna see what I’ve been working on?” I ask. My voice comes out low. Less of an offer, more of a distraction.
She hesitates. Her eyes flick to the car, then back to me. Curiosity wins.
“Yeah.”
I set the plate on the workbench and nod toward the open hood. She steps closer. I reach out before she can move past the jack.
“Watch your step,” I murmur, fingers grazing her waist, steadying her without thinking.
She nods.
There’s oil on my hand. It smudges her shirt, but she doesn’t say anything.
I lead her over to the car Rainer gave me, keeping close. Not touching, but still there. Every movement she makes pulls at something in me. Every breath she takes, I want to bottle it.
“This here,” I point, forcing myself to focus, “is a piece of shit that hasn’t run right in five years. But I’m getting there.”
Her eyes skim over the wires, the grime, the tools.
She leans in, close enough for her shoulder to brush mine. Her voice is soft.
“How do you know what’s wrong with it?”
I glance at her.
“I just do,” I say. “You learn to listen.”
I pick up the wrench and point to the joint near the coolant line, the one that’s always been a bitch to thread clean.
“That bolt’s loose,” I say, moving under the hood.
She steps in close. Her arm brushes mine. Bare skin against sweat and grit.
I’ve had girls touch me before. I’ve had them press up close, flirt, ask for favors I never gave. But this is different.
The contact burns slow. Crawls under my ribs. Settles in places that have never been touched.
I pass her the wrench without looking at her, because if I do, I’ll stare.
She takes it, her fingers brushing mine.
The fucking smallest touch and my pulse is hammering. I hate how easy it is for her to pull that out of me.
“You tighten it slow. Steady pressure,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You rush it, it strips. Then the seal is fucked and coolant bleeds through the whole system.”
She leans further in.
“Here?” she asks.
I nod, reach out, cover her hand with mine. I guide her hand to the bolt.
She watches, eyes narrowed with focus.
I could kiss her right now. Push her back against the hood and taste that smart mouth. Instead, I hold her hand steady, show her how to move, how to feel the bolt catch and settle.
“You don’t force it,” I murmur. “You listen for the catch.”
She turns it, carefully. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
The sound of the wrench turning is soft, almost drowned out by the crackle of the radio and the thrum of the heat brimming between us.
“Is this right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Just like that.”
She turns her head to look at me, sunlight catching in her eyes. She’s proud, even though it’s something small. That tiny spark in her face makes the whole world slow down.
I’ve spent my whole life staying out of reach, keeping it easy, keeping it physical. But this isn’t that.
I’m totally fucked and I know it. Because I don’t feel shit like this. Not for anyone. Never have.
I can feel something breaking loose inside me. The kind of thing you can’t shake once it starts. The kind of thing that makes you want more.
Then Mason ruins it.
“Didn’t know we were giving private lessons today.”
I don’t move. My hand stills on hers, fingers wrapped tight around the wrench. I stay there longer than I should, staring at where our skin touches, trying to pull back the part of me that just got exposed.
I let go. Straighten. Spine stiff. My neck cracks when I tilt my head and lock eyes with him.
“You got a problem, Mason?”
He grins. That slow, lazy one that makes you want to hit something. His gaze drops to her ass, drags up her legs, all casual like he doesn’t give a shit that I’m right here. As if he thinks I won’t do something about it.
“No problem at all,” he says, voice thick with the kind of smug that’s gotten his nose broken more than once.
I watch him eyeing her and everything in me goes still.
Every instinct I’ve spent years sharpening tells me to walk over there and knock the look off his face with a fist he won’t forget.
“Get back to work,” I say, voice flat and cold.
But he doesn’t move.
He leans against the tool rack. Each second heavier than the last.
My pulse thumps in my ears. I’m two seconds from closing the gap, no words, just blood.
Then I feel her hand. Light on my arm. Grounding me in a way nothing else ever has.
“Don’t waste your breath on him,” she mutters.
And for the first time I let someone pull me back from the edge.
Footsteps echo from the far side of the bay. Rainer steps into the light, squinting towards me.
“Zane.”
“Yeah?”
He jerks his chin toward the lot. “Got a job outside. Old Mustang just pulled in. You wanna take the lead on this one?”
I stare at him, not sure I heard him right.
“Are you serious?”
He nods once. No hesitation. “You’ve earned it. Time you handle something from start to finish.”
The words hit harder than they should. Rainer doesn’t hand out trust like candy on Halloween.
I wipe the grease off my palms. “Yeah. I’ll take it.”
“Good,” he says, stepping in close, clapping a hand on my shoulder. It’s firm. Measured. The kind of gesture that means something. “You’ve come a long way, kid. Don’t fuck it up.”
I know exactly what he’s referring to. My fists. My fuse. My history.
The way I was two seconds ago ready to drag Mason across the floor and remind him what real pain feels like.
I nod.
Behind us, Mason’s still hovering, pretending to scrub down tools with the grace of a guy who’s never worked a real day in his life.
His eyes keep finding Skylar.
Every time she shifts her weight, or crosses her arms, his gaze drags over her like he’s entitled to it.
I see the tension in her jaw. She’s trying not to let it get to her, but it is.
And I catch it. So does Rainer.
“Hey, Mason,” Rainer calls out, sharp in that way that means don’t fuck around.
Mason looks up. “Yeah?”
“Go strip down that old engine out the back. The one stacked near the scrap.”
Mason frowns, pausing long enough to make a point without saying a word. Then he tosses the tool onto the workbench and mutters something under his breath about being a dick before walking across the workshop.
Rainer lets it slide. He has more fucking patience than I ever will.
I move toward the front open roller door where the Mustang waits. She’s a beauty. Low, black, and mean. All engine and attitude. Exactly the kind of job I’d kill to take the lead on.
But then I hear it.
Rainer’s voice.
“You’re good for him, Skylar.”
I freeze mid-step, everything grinds to a halt.
“You think so?” Skylar asks.
Rainer clears his throat. “I’ve seen him try to outrun himself for months. It doesn’t work. But with you… He slows down.”