Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
REV
The grinder screams in my hands as I lean into the weld harder than I need to, sparks scattering across the concrete while the frame clamps rattle under the pressure. My forearms burn and sweat runs down my back under the lights, and I welcome the bite of it because I’d rather feel that than think.
The bay stays loud and busy around me, engines half torn apart, tools scattered where someone dropped them, and a busted rock playlist rattling through the speakers in the corner.
Blade works in the next bay, torque wrench clicking steady and controlled like everything he does, while Switch argues with one of the prospects about carb settings.
The whole shop moves and hums the way it always does, men keeping their hands busy so their heads don’t get too loud.
I should fit right into that. Except she keeps sliding in. Brooke. Princess. MY PRINCESS. Fuck. I can’t think of her like that. But all I see are those baby blue eyes and calm little smile like she’s always got her footing even when the ground’s shifting beneath her.
I haven’t heard from her since I left her house over a week ago, and that’s fine. That’s exactly how it should be. We’re friends, adjacent, tied together by family and convenience and nothing that needs pushing or poking at, and I’m not touching whatever sits under the surface of that.
I drag the grinder back across the seam with my jaw tight, pretending the vibration in my hands is doing anything to drown her out, but all I see is the way she looked when I walked out her door and all I hear is the way she said my name like it meant something instead of just being a sound. I shouldn’t want that.
I lift the grinder to reset my angle and it skips just enough for the edge to bite into the side of my knuckle. I feel it before I see it. Heat, sting, and then blood rolling fast down my hand. “Fuck,” I bark, jerking back as the grinder clatters onto the bench.
My heart slams into my ribs and adrenaline hits hard and fast while I squeeze my hand, cursing under my breath as red drips onto the concrete. That was Stupid. Sloppy. Not me.
“Jesus, Rev,” Switch says, already closing the distance. “You good?”
Lucky’s right behind him, eyes narrowing. “Man, you’re bleeding.”
“I fucking know,” I snap as blood slides between my fingers.
Switch grabs a rag off the bench and reaches for my hand. “Let me see it.”
I pull back from him and glare. “I’m fine.”
Lucky tilts his head, studying me. “You don’t usually bite people’s heads off, brother. What’s going on with you?”
I slam the rag down harder than necessary. “Just drop it, Luck. I’m not in the mood for your psychobabble bullshit.”
Switch exhales slowly and lifts his hands. “Alright. Easy man, we’re just trying to help.”
But the pressure’s already built now, in my shoulders, in my jaw, and in the back of my skull where everything I’ve been shoving down all week keeps stacking up.
I rip my gloves off and toss them onto the bench.
“I need some air.” Before either of them can answer, I turn and head for the back door, boots heavy on concrete, irritation buzzing under my skin as the door bangs shut behind me.
Outside, I dig a smoke out of my pocket with my good hand, jam it between my lips, and flick the lighter before taking a long pull and letting it settle.
My knuckle throbs under the rag. God fucking damnit, my head feels like a mess.
This isn’t me. I’m usually the easy one, the guy cracking jokes, the one keeping things light when everyone else gets serious and shrugging things off when they get heavy.
Right now I feel like snapping at anyone who gets too close, and that alone pisses me off.
I lean back against the wall and stare out at the lot, taking another drag that does nothing to bleed off the edge sitting in my chest. I shouldn’t be this twisted up over a woman I’m not even supposed to want, and yet my brain keeps circling the same damn name whether I like it or not.
Brooke. Princess. The way she looked at me when I left.
The quiet in her voice like she didn’t quite want me to go.
Then there’s the fact that she hasn’t called or texted me once since then.
It’s what I wanted, so why does it feel like something’s crawling under my skin?
The back door creaks open behind me, and I don’t turn because Switch and Lucky know better than to push me right now and Blade wouldn’t even bother. The footsteps crossing the concrete are slower, lighter. “Sit,” Bri says.
I glance over my shoulder and see the first aid kit tucked under her arm and that look on her face that means this isn’t a request.
Yeah. They absolutely sent her for me. I grind the cigarette out under my boot and drop into one of the beat-up metal chairs we keep out back while Bri drags another chair over and parks herself in front of me like she owns the space.
“Hand,” she says, snapping the kit open.
I give it to her without argument.
She wipes away the blood with a baby wipe and checks the cut, head tilted. “You’re gonna live,” she announces. “Tragic, I know.”
“Damn,” I mutter. “I had other plans.”
She snorts and starts cleaning it. “Switch said you almost took your finger off.”
“Switch exaggerates.”
“He once told me a paper cut was a near-death experience.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
She tapes the gauze down carefully and then glances up. “Blade’s in a mood too. Something about a stripped bolt. It’s like a soap opera around here.”
“Sounds about right.”
She smooths the tape and sits back. “There. Try not to bleed on anything else today.”
“No promises.”
She stretches her shoulders. “If this kid gets any heavier I’m gonna need a crane.”
I glance at her stomach. “You’re doing great.”
She smiles. “I know. I’m still going to complain.”
A comfortable quiet settles between us before she adds casually, “Brooke went to her first therapy appointment last week.”
My fingers tighten on my knee before I can stop them. “Yeah?” I keep my voice even.
“Yeah. She was nervous, but she went, and she said it helped. She’s back at work too, trying to get back into her routine.”
I nod once. “That’s good.”
“It is,” Bri agrees, then adds, “She’s coming over tonight for dinner. Family night. Bella’s already planning way too much food.”
The words hit heavier than they should, and I shift in the chair. “I don’t know if I should come…”
Bri slowly turns her head and levels me with a look that could stop traffic.
I exhale. “Alright. I’ll be there.”
Her mouth curves into a satisfied smirk as she starts packing the kit away. “Good. She’s doing better, Rev. Still shaken, but better.”
“That matters.”
She pauses and looks back at me. “It does. And so do the people who show up for her.”
Point taken.
She stands. “Try not to maim yourself for the rest of the day.”
“No promises.”
She heads toward the door, then glances back. “Six.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
The door closes behind her, leaving the noise of the shop humming through the wall as I stare down at the fresh wrap on my hand. Showing up tonight suddenly feels like the hardest thing to do.
By the time I get home, the cut on my hand is tight under the wrap and my nerves feel stretched too damn thin.
I toss my keys onto the counter harder than necessary and head straight for the shower, letting the water beat down over my shoulders while I scrub my hands twice, then a third time, like I can rinse the day off if I work hard enough.
It doesn’t work. My jaw stays tight and my thoughts keep circling.
Brooke’s coming over. She’s already back at work.
She went to therapy. She’s doing better.
Bri said all that like it should settle something in me, but it doesn’t.
I dress without thinking too hard about it, grab my wallet and keys, and head out before I can second-guess myself, telling myself it’s just dinner, just family night, nothing heavy and nothing loaded, even though my chest doesn’t buy that lie for a second.
When I pull up, her car is already in the driveway.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel before I force myself to unclench my fingers because Brooke’s never late to anything, and I sit there for half a beat longer than I should before shutting the engine off and getting off of my bike.
Voices drift out when I knock then open the door, laughter bouncing through the house. Bri’s laugh rings out, cutting over Blade saying something dry that gets everyone wound up again. Normal. Loud. Warm.
Brooke’s voice slides into the mix a second later, and I step inside to find her standing near the counter, leaning her hip against it while she balances Jax in one arm.
Her hair is hanging loose and falling in soft curls down her back and around her shoulders instead of pinned and polished the way she usually wears it.
No blazer and no heels, just jeans and a long-sleeve tee with the sleeves pushed up like she forgot to care how she looks.
It hits me sideways. My first thought is that something’s wrong and she’s stopped trying or that the attack took more out of her than anyone’s admitting, and my stomach knots up.
Then she laughs, not the controlled one she keeps tucked behind her professionalism, but easy and loose, her head tipping back a little as her hand brushes Bella’s arm when she finishes whatever story she’s telling.
She looks lighter and more comfortable in her own skin than I’ve seen her in a long damn time, and it throws me off even worse.
“Look who decided to join us,” Switch calls when he spots me hovering near the doorway. “You gonna stand there brooding or grab a beer like a normal person?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, heading for the fridge.
Blade glances up from where he’s leaning against the counter. “Are you always this pleasant, or did we miss something?”
I crack a beer and take a long pull before answering. “Long day.”
Switch snorts. “That explains the sunshine.”