2. Ethan
CHAPTER TWO
Ethan
Someone could have died today.
The thought pounded through my skull as I yanked off my work gloves and slammed them onto the counter. The force rattled the row of tools in front of me, but I didn’t care.
“Owen, you torqued the wheels on the F-150 yesterday, right?”
Across the garage, Owen looked up from where he was wiping grease off his hands. His brow furrowed. “Yeah. Why?”
I threw the lug nuts onto the metal tray beside me. They rattled ominously. “Because they were loose.”
Silence.
Mason, sitting on the workbench with his arms crossed, whistled low. “Shit.”
“Shit,” I repeated, my voice hard. “These almost came off while the guy was driving. If he hadn't noticed the shake in time…”
I cut myself off, my jaw tightening. No need to finish that sentence.
We all knew how bad it could have been.
Owen pushed off the wall, his usual easygoing demeanor gone. “I torqued them. I know I did.”
“Then explain why they were loose.”
His eyes flashed. “You think I didn’t do my job?”
I held his gaze.
I wanted to be mad at him. I should have been.
This wasn’t some minor screw-up. This was life and death.
But I knew my brother. I knew how careful he was, how methodical. He wouldn’t have missed something like this. Not unless…
“You were distracted.”
Mason snorted. “No shit.”
Owen glared at both of us. “I wasn’t distracted.”
I crossed my arms. “Then what were you?”
Grady’s Auto Repairs wasn’t just some backroad repair joint. It was one of the best damn auto shops in Southern Oregon—the place people brought their trucks, their classics, their workhorses. Farmers, loggers, commuters, even the town mayor. We kept Medford moving. And we did it right.
Things like this couldn’t happen.
I grabbed a wrench and tightened a bolt with more force than necessary, my frustration bleeding into every movement.
It wasn’t just about the mistake. It was about what it meant.
We had spent years building this business, earning the town’s trust. One screw-up like this—one loose set of lug nuts—and people would start to doubt.
They’d start to wonder if we’d lost our edge. And I’d be damned if I let that happen.
Owen knew it, too.
He was pacing now, rubbing the back of his neck, his jaw tight. He was as pissed as I was, just quieter about it.
Mason, on the other hand, just stretched and hopped off the workbench like we hadn't just had a near disaster.
“We’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
I rounded on him. “A man almost lost a wheel going sixty on the highway.”
“ Almost .” He shrugged. “No harm, no foul.”
I resisted the urge to throw my wrench at him. “That's not the damn point, Mason.”
He held up his hands. “Relax, big brother. I’m not saying we shouldn’t take it seriously, but maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way.”
Owen stopped pacing. “What are you getting at?”
Mason leaned against the tool chest, looking completely unbothered. “You think one of us made a mistake. But what if we didn’t?”
I exchanged a look with Owen, who frowned.
“What are you saying?” he pressed.
Mason tilted his head toward the tray of lug nuts I had tossed down. “I’m saying, what if someone else loosened them?”
Silence.
I stared at him, waiting for him to crack a grin, to throw out some half-assed joke about saboteurs in Medford. But he didn’t.
And that was when my stomach turned to stone.
Owen shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Who the hell would?—”
“I don’t know.” Mason shrugged. “But I know you, and I know Ethan, and I know me. And none of us are careless enough to screw up something this major.”
I dragged a hand down my face, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
It was ridiculous. It had to be.
But was it?
The sabotage at the shop hadn't been constant, hadn't been obvious. A part here, a misplaced tool there, a delay in a shipment that should’ve been routine.
Minor things. Annoying, but nothing outright dangerous.
Until now.
I glanced at Owen. He was staring down at the tray of lug nuts like they held the answer to a question none of us wanted to ask.
Then his jaw tightened. “We need to check every car we worked on this week.”
I nodded, already moving toward the logbook. “Agreed. If someone’s messing with us, we need to catch it before someone actually gets hurt.”
Mason exhaled, pushing off the tool chest. “Guess I'll put on my detective hat.”
I glared at him. “This isn’t funny.”
His easy grin faded. “I know. But you're pissed, Owen’s brooding, and someone has to keep this from turning into a full-blown crisis.”
I didn’t argue, mostly because he wasn’t wrong.
Owen rubbed the back of his neck again. “So what now?”
I tightened my grip on the logbook. “Now? We check every damn car. And we keep our eyes open.”
Because if someone was screwing with Grady’s Auto, they had made a big mistake.
And I was going to find out who the hell it was.
Mason let out a low whistle and flopped back onto the workbench. “Damn, Ethan. Your blood pressure must be through the roof.”
I shot him a glare. “You think this is funny?”
“Nope,” Mason said easily. “But I do think you're about to give yourself a stroke.” He gestured toward my hands. “Pretty sure you bent that wrench.”
I looked down. Sure enough, my grip was tight enough to leave my knuckles white, and the wrench’s handle was slightly warped from the pressure.
Great.
I exhaled sharply, forcing my fingers to unclench.
Owen, ever the quiet one, leaned against the tool chest with his arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression of his. Not judgmental, not even concerned.
Just patient. Which was worse, honestly.
“I get why you're pissed,” Owen said, his voice steady. “Hell, I am pissed. But losing it isn’t going to fix anything.”
I clenched my jaw. He wasn’t wrong.
Didn’t mean I wanted to hear it.
Mason smirked. “Yeah, Ethan. Let’s be real, if someone is messing with us, you storming around looking like you're about to punch a hole through the wall isn’t gonna help.”
I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension. “And what do you suggest, oh wise one?”
Mason tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. Step one: don’t have an aneurysm. Step two: accept that we’re gonna figure this out. Step three: eat something, ‘cause I know for a fact you haven’t had shit since breakfast, and you're even more of an asshole when you're hungry.”
Owen nodded. “He's not wrong.”
I shot him a dry look. “Whose side are you on?”
“Not a side thing,” Owen said simply. “It’s just a fact.”
Mason grinned. “Damn right it is.”
I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. The anger hadn't fully settled, but the sharp edge of it had dulled under the weight of my brothers’ relentless practicality.
They weren’t wrong. I did need to calm down.
Mason leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, Ethan, we all know this isn’t just about some loose lug nuts.”
I didn’t respond, but that didn’t stop him.
“This is about trust,” he continued. “About the shop. About our grandfather .”
A muscle ticked in my jaw.
Mason rarely brought up our grandfather, but when he did, it was usually because he knew I needed to hear it.
“This business is our legacy,” Mason said, more serious than usual. “We’ve worked too damn hard for it to get screwed up now. That's why we’ve been ignoring that asshole real estate guy. Hank.”
“Lawson,” I filled in for him.
“Right. That's why we’ve been ignoring his requests to buy this place, to add it to his portfolio so he can change Medford or whatever it is he wants to do. Because this is ours .”
Owen nodded. “Which is why we will fix it.”
That landed in a way I wasn’t expecting.
For so long, I had taken on the weight of the business, of keeping everything together.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust my brothers. I did. But responsibility had been burned into me since the day our grandad died.
I exhaled through my nose. “Yeah. Okay.”
Mason blinked. “Wait, that's it? No arguing? No grumbling?”
I shot him a look. “Don’t push it.”
He smirked. “Too late.”
Owen shook his head. “All right, if the crisis is over, we still have cars to check.” He gestured to the logbook I’d set down. “I'll start cross-checking service records. Mason, you check inventory, see if anything else is off.”
“And you?” Mason asked, arching a brow at me.
I grabbed a rag and wiped my hands before picking up my wrench again. “I have a Jag to look at.”
Mason let out a snort. “Oh, now he's eager to get back to work.”
Owen shook his head, already flipping open the logbook. “It’s not just work. He's got an expensive excuse to keep thinking about her. ”
I shot him a look again, but he didn’t even glance up, just smoothed a hand down the page and started cross-checking the most recent service entries.
Mason smirked. “The man’s got a point. You’ve been hovering over that car like it’s a goddamn miracle on four wheels.”
“It is a goddamn miracle on four wheels.” I tossed my rag onto the tool chest and rolled my shoulders. “Not my fault you two don’t appreciate fine engineering.”
Mason leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.
“Oh, we appreciate fine engineering.” His smirk widened. “We just happen to think Aurora's the real reason you can’t keep your hands off that car.”
I exhaled hard through my nose. “You two done?”
Mason grinned, but before he could open his mouth, Owen spoke. “For now.”
I ignored them both and turned back to the Jaguar. At least this I could fix.
The sleek engine components gleamed under the garage lights, and I ran a hand over the polished surface, mentally cataloging the repairs still needed. The shorted wiring would take the longest.
Ordering parts, rewiring the system, testing it all to make sure nothing else was compromised. It wouldn’t be quick, and it definitely wouldn’t be cheap.
Aurora wasn’t going to be happy. But then again, she hadn't seemed all that happy to be in Medford to begin with.
I tightened a bolt a little harder than necessary.
She was a puzzle. A woman who looked at this town like she couldn’t decide whether to tolerate it or burn it to the ground.
I’d seen plenty of outsiders pass through, but she wasn’t like the usual weekenders looking for some quaint, small-town escape.
No, she was stuck here.
And for some reason, I didn’t hate that.
Mason clapped a hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“All right, big brother, you romance that engine for a little longer. Me? I’ve got inventory to check. Gotta make sure we’re not missing anything else. Other than your dignity.”
I rolled my eyes as he walked off, whistling under his breath.
Owen lingered, flipping the page in the logbook. “You want me to break the news to her about the car?”
I snorted. “You volunteering?”
He gave me a flat look. “Not a chance.”
“Then I'll handle it.”
He nodded, closed the book, and tapped the cover. “Good. Just try not to enjoy it too much.”
I smirked, turning back to the car.
No promises.