Chapter 15 Definitely Not Giving In #2
“It’s fine.” I force my shoulders to loosen, like my body didn’t just lock up on instinct. “Business is good. I like business.”
Theo nods as he lifts his helmet, eyes flicking around the shop with that careful, polite awareness he gets when he’s trying not to step on toes. “Didn’t want to be rude. You looked busy.”
“I was just leaving.” Bash’s voice slides in, smooth as oil, like he’s doing me a favor by existing.
My heart kicks against my ribs.
He turns his body slightly toward the door, but his eyes linger on me. “Think about what I said, Raine. Time isn’t slowing down for you.”
“Yeah.” The word tastes bitter, but I keep my face neutral. “I know.”
He taps his knuckles on the counter twice, a little mock-affectionate pat, then steps past Theo, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets like this was a casual neighborly visit.
The bell jingles again as the door shuts behind him.
I stand there, listening for the sound of his car. The low purr, the fade of it down the street.
Theo doesn’t move. He stays near the door, posture easy, eyes on the window like he’s just admiring the scenery.
“Hold on,” I murmur under my breath.
He nods once.
Five… ten… fifteen seconds tick by. My lungs feel stalled. Finally, Bash’s car turns the corner and disappears.
I exhale for the first time in what feels like an hour.
Theo waits another second just to be sure. Then he steps fully forward and lets his shoulders drop, the tension I know he’s been hiding rolling off him in one long, invisible ripple.
“You okay?” Theo’s voice stays quiet, careful, testing the air between us.
The question hits harder than it should.
“Depends on your definition.”
He actually looks at me then, not just at my face. His eyes track my hands, my stance, the way I’m still too rigid, my fingers twisted in the rag like I’m trying to choke it into behaving.
His brows draw together. “He’s been here a lot?”
“Enough.” The answer comes out in a mutter.
“That was Bash, right?” Theo’s gaze doesn’t leave mine when he asks it.
I hesitate, then give him a small nod. “Yeah.”
“Come here.” It’s gentle when he says it, more invitation than order.
I scoff anyway, because that’s what I do when I’m scared. “Bossy.”
“Raine.”
The way he says my name… soft, but there’s steel there too. Concern. Something that sounds a lot like 'let me do something.'
I toss the rag onto the counter and step closer, because apparently I’m weak when he uses that tone.
From this close, the bruise is more obvious. The faint shadow along his jaw, the slightly puffy spot near his cheekbone. I hate it. I hate that it’s there because of me. Because some asshole decided he could lay hands on me and Theo stepped in.
I lift my hand before I can stop myself, fingers hovering just shy of touching the bruised skin. He goes still as a statue.
“Let me see.” My voice drops, steady, leaving him no room to dodge.
His throat works as he swallows. “You’re seeing it.”
“Let me see,” I repeat, closer this time.
He drops his chin a bit to give me better access. So I take it, brushing my fingers lightly along the discolored skin, careful not to press. My stomach twists with an odd sense of guilt.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“You shouldn’t have stepped in.” The mutter slips out before I can stop it. “That punch wasn’t meant for you, Theo.”
“I know.” His eyes don’t move off mine, steady in an almost infuriating way. “I also know I’d rather it be me than you.”
I glower at him as my chest does that stupid thing again. “You could’ve gotten hurt worse.”
“I didn’t.”
“You could have.” I push the words out anyway, stubborn as hell.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, soft and sure. “Worth it.”
My chest tightens. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” His voice stays gentle. “It’s true.”
I drop my hand and step back, pretending distance helps. It doesn’t.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Probably.” He agrees like it’s nothing, like my heart isn’t trying to fistfight my ribs.
He shifts and rubs the back of his neck, that nervous habit I’ve watched a few too many times now, then clears his throat as if he’s choosing safer ground. “Jax told us what he did.”
The static turns into something hot and tangled, and my gaze slips away before he can catch whatever crosses my face.
“Oh, did he now?” The words come out tight, controlled.
“Yeah.” Theo winces, the bruise pulling. “He, uh, mentioned you were mad.” A pause, then the smallest hint of satisfaction. “Elias chewed the ever-loving shit out of him.”
Good.
He deserved it.
“Probably not enough.”
Theo’s lips twitch like he agrees but can’t quite say it. “I just… I wanted to check on you. After that. After the bar. Now, after…” His gaze flicks toward the door, the ghost of Bash still hanging in the air. “All of it.”
I swallow down the feelings he’s building inside me. Because yes, Jax is dangerous in the sense that he makes me forget everything, makes me feel alive again. But Theo? He makes me hope again, and that? That feels deadly. “You’re here. You've checked. Now you can go.”
“Just let me say what I need to, and then I'll leave,” he promises, taking a steady step forward, dropping his hands to his sides. “I’m not here to nag you. Or push you. Or tell you what to do. I just…”
He takes a breath, eyes dropping briefly to the stained concrete floor before lifting back to mine, stronger.
“I know you don’t want to admit that you care about us.” His voice is soft, but every word lands like a stone. “Because if you admit that—if you finally give in—you won’t be able to go back. You won’t be able to pretend that you’re okay being alone anymore.”
The air leaves my lungs.
“I’m not—” I start, but it sounds weak even to me.
“I see it,” he cuts through my protest gently but firmly. “I see it in your eyes, Raine. You’re tired. You’re exhausted. You’re sick of doing everything by yourself and pretending that’s what you want.”
I hate how accurate he is.
“You’re tired of being alone,” he continues. “Tired of carrying all this weight on your shoulders like if you let go for even a second, everything will fall apart.”
I stare at him, fingers curled into my palms so hard my nails bite my skin.
Across the shop, the old radio crackles.
I haven’t replaced it. Can’t bring myself to. Dad installed it. Dad tuned it. Dad left it behind like some small bit of himself embedded in the walls.
The opening notes of a familiar guitar riff drift through the space.
I freeze.
No. Not now.
“Simple Man” fills the shop, soft and worn through the shitty speakers. My father’s favorite song. The one he used to hum under his breath while we worked side by side. The one he’d turn up and sing off-key, pointing the wrench at me like a microphone, all earnest and proud.
My throat closes.
Theo glances at the radio, then back at me. His expression shifts when he sees my face.
“Raine?” he asks quietly, eyes soft and on me.
I look away, blinking hard. It doesn’t help. The memory crashes over me anyway—the smell of oil and smoke, my dad’s rough hands guiding mine, his voice saying, “You got this, kiddo. One day this place is gonna be yours.”
One day.
Not this way.
Theo steps closer, careful, like I’m a skittish animal that might bolt.
“You okay?” Theo asks again, softer this time, like he already knows the answer and he’s asking anyway.
The words crack something open.
“No.” My voice comes out raw, ugly in a way I can’t fix. “I’m not.”
The admission lands between us, and suddenly, there’s nowhere to hide. I press my palm to my eye, trying to stop it, trying to hold myself together, and the tears slide out anyway, hot and humiliating.
“I’m tired.” The word catches as my throat tightens. “I am so fucking tired, Theo.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He closes the gap and pulls me into his chest. His arms come around my shoulders, firm but gentle, like he’s trying to hold me together without crushing me. I stiffen on instinct, every muscle ready to fight, ready to pull back. Then the first sob punches out of me, and I fold.
My forehead presses into his shoulder. His shirt smells like cologne and something warm underneath that’s just… him.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I whisper into the fabric. “I can’t keep pretending I’m fine. I’m not fine. I’m barely keeping my head above water, and he just keeps—” My voice breaks. “He just keeps taking. And if I let anyone in, if I let you in, and something happens to you because of me, I don’t—”
My breath hitches. I have to stop, swallow, force the words out. “I don’t ever want to feel that kind of pain again. Not after my dad. Not after watching them zip him up in a bag and drive him away. I can’t do that twice. I can’t lose someone else and still function.”
Theo’s arms tighten, but not in a possessive way. It's protective, grounding as fuck.
“I get it.” Theo’s voice drops into a murmur, close and careful. “I do.”
“You don’t.” I rush the words out, wet and rough. “You can’t.”
“I know I can’t know exactly what that felt like.
” He keeps it quiet, no argument in it, just honesty.
“But I do know what it’s like to lose a father.
I know what it’s like to be scared that loving someone will hurt.
” His gaze holds mine, steady. “To think that if you just… don’t reach out, don’t grab on, you won’t have anything to lose. ”
More tears.
Great.
“If I never let anyone in,” I manage, voice breaking around the edges, “I never have to feel that again. I never have to feel like the world ripped my insides out and left me in the dark.”
“But you never feel anything good, either.” Theo’s words come out soft, not preaching, just stating what he sees. “Not really. Not fully.”
His hand moves up and down my back in slow, steady passes, grounding me without asking permission, the sort of touch meant to keep someone from splintering.