Chapter 16
SADIE
Patrick didn’t retreat to working at odd hours anymore.
Not since I’d stumbled into the restoration bay and discovered he’d been the one behind the progress on the Trimotor all along.
Now, he worked alongside me during normal hours, helping with the parts of the restoration that didn’t require my specialized expertise.
It was still odd to see him there in worn-out jeans and a faded work shirt, a far cry from the tailored suits and corporate demeanor I was used to, but there was something reassuring in his presence.
He had given up his usual power plays, and instead, was quietly falling into line with the rhythm of the job, content to be a helper rather than the leader.
That was a first for him, and it didn’t go unnoticed.
Today, we were working on the engine assembly, one of the final major hurdles before we could put the Tin Goose back together.
The hangar buzzed with the low hum of machinery and the occasional clatter of tools.
I had my head under the engine casing, trying to fit the rebuilt engine block into place, when I felt a shift beside me.
“Let me hold that.” Patrick’s voice was calm but firm as he positioned himself to take the weight. I glanced up at him, ready to argue that I had it, but something in the way he held the heavy steel bracket steady stopped me.
Without saying anything, I stepped aside and watched him guide the part into alignment with surprising ease, his hands steady despite the bulk of the metal.
I had been wrestling with the same piece for what felt like hours, but he managed to secure it in place within seconds.
As I repositioned myself to fasten the bolts, I noticed a slight tremor in his grip and the sheen of sweat along his temple.
The man who had once led boardroom meetings without breaking a sweat was now struggling in the heat of a real working hangar, but he wasn’t about to complain.
He just gritted his teeth, keeping the weight steady while I did the delicate fastening work.
I glanced over my shoulder to where Ellen had been quietly observing, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp with understanding.
She’d been here long enough to recognize the shift between us, the subtle dance we were doing where Patrick tried to be helpful without overstepping, and I grappled with the awkward balance of being the leader but letting him take the heavy lifting.
The dynamic wasn’t perfect, but it worked better than I had imagined. At least for now. Still, it was weird.
I still didn’t know how I felt about Ellen keeping Patrick’s presence in the restoration bay a secret from me, though part of me understood her logic.
She had probably figured out early on that Patrick’s attempts to help were clumsy and misplaced.
He’d been trying too hard, forcing his way in when all I’d wanted was space.
Ellen’s loyalty to me was clear, and I had to believe her decision was rooted in wanting to protect whatever fragile ground we stood on.
In her way, she had been shielding both of us from further complications until things smoothed out.
Still, the memory of those weeks when he’d slipped in and out unnoticed hung in the air, a reminder of just how much had gone wrong before we even tried to make it right.
I tightened a bolt harder than necessary, the tension in my body speaking louder than words ever could.
This was better than before, but better didn’t mean fixed.
And I wasn’t sure what to do next. There was too much lingering between us, and working together day after day brought it all to the surface whether I wanted it to or not.
As I tightened the last bolt, the metallic click echoing softly in the vast hangar space, Patrick finally eased back, his shoulders slumping with an almost imperceptible release of tension.
His hand, which had been braced against the hot engine casing moments before, trembled slightly as he lifted it to wipe beads of sweat from his brow.
The gesture was automatic, born of habit from years of physical exertion that I was now seeing firsthand.
But his hand came away stained with more than just oil and grime.
A thin, bright smear of blood stood out against his grimy skin, catching the fluorescent lights of the hangar like a tiny crimson jewel.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, reaching instinctively before catching myself.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He brushed it off like it was nothing, but I saw the wince he tried to hide, the slight shake of his injured hand.
“It’s not nothing,” I pressed, the boss in me slipping out before the wife. “Take care of it before it gets worse.”
He hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but Ellen stepped forward with a roll of gauze. “Just clean it and wrap it up. Don’t need any infections around here. We’ve got enough problems already.”
Patrick shot me a quick look, almost sheepish, before following her to the supply station.
I stayed with the engine, using the time to gather myself, unsure of how to process the tangled emotions his small injury stirred in me.
He was trying. Really trying, in ways I hadn’t expected, but part of me still bristled at his presence here.
He was doing the grunt work, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d keep it up once the novelty wore off, once the reality of being the underling in the hangar sank in for good.
When he returned, his hand wrapped in a crude bandage, his expression was unreadable but softer. “We’re close,” he said quietly, his eyes on the engine, not on me.
“Yeah,” I said, wiping the oil from my hands as the final adjustments were made.
There was a satisfaction in the work that hadn’t been there before.
Maybe it was because the plane was coming together, but there was also something else, a quiet, unspoken sense that we’d moved just a fraction closer to finding our footing again.
I hated that part of me enjoyed seeing him here, being useful in a way that had nothing to do with Holbrook or corporate strategy.
This wasn’t just about restoring an old plane anymore.
“You’ve been good with this,” I added after a long stretch of silence. It was hard to admit, even to myself, but I needed to say it. “With the plane.”
Patrick glanced up from where he had been staring at his blood-stained bandage.
“It helps. To do something physical. It’s easier than talking sometimes.
” There was a raw honesty in his admission, stripped of the usual layers of corporate-speak or the deflections I’d gotten used to.
The simplicity of it, of him, was a welcome relief.
I nodded, unsure of how to respond. My fingers still carried the weight of tools they had held for hours, the grease under my nails a reminder of the day’s effort, of how different this felt from sitting in a boardroom.
And yet, here we were, finding common ground in the restoration bay of all places.
“We should be ready to test it by next week.”
His eyes met mine then, a cautious but genuine hope sparking in them. “Does that mean I can still be around for that? I don’t want to mess up the testing process.” He didn’t need to say the rest. He wasn’t just talking about the engine.
I hesitated, unsure of what to offer him.
Part of me wanted to keep my walls up, but the truth was, I was beginning to miss him, despite the anger still simmering below the surface.
He was still Patrick, but different somehow, quieter and less polished, more human in a way that made it harder to stay mad at him.
The tension between us, still sharp but less jagged than before, made the moment feel like a crossroads.
“Yeah,” I said slowly, the word catching in my throat as I let it settle in the space between us. “You can be here for the testing.”
I didn’t miss the small, almost invisible shift in his posture, the relief that seemed to ripple through him, subtle but real.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough for today.
Tomorrow, there would be more work to do, more to figure out.
But right now, we stood there, covered in grease and exhaustion, a small bridge formed in the silence between us.
And for the first time in months, I allowed myself to believe it might lead somewhere.
I think he knew to stop at that, as well.
Patrick gave me a smile and walked back over to his part of the engine, his gauze-wrapped hand a clear indication of what he had done for me and my project.
He didn’t have to be here doing this, yet he had committed to it wholeheartedly.
If this was the man I could believe he had always been, then there was hope for us yet.
It was just going to take some work. But maybe he had started to learn that work didn’t only mean going to an office and playing with figures while other people did the grunt work.
At least that’s how I interpreted his bandaged hand, the grease-stained clothing, and his dedication.
When we finally wrapped up the last task for the day, the sun was hanging low in the sky.
The usual rush of evening air rolled into the hangar as the main doors opened, the cool breeze brushing the grime off my face and filling my lungs with the familiar scent of the Seattle waterfront.
I felt the tension in my body begin to ease as I reached for the rag to wipe my hands clean, my gaze falling back to Patrick as he packed up the tools we’d scattered throughout the work area.
The shift in routine was small, but noticeable.
He wasn’t rushing off to the office or pulling out his phone to deal with anything corporate.
Instead, he moved with a slower, more deliberate energy, as though the work in the hangar was grounding him in ways the executive meetings never could.
There was something different about him today, a quiet contentment that hadn’t been there before.
And that change hadn’t escaped Ellen’s attention.
She had been watching us, of course, sharp-eyed as always.
I hadn’t spoken much to her since I’d confronted Patrick about his secret involvement.
Ellen hadn’t offered an explanation for keeping his presence hidden, but there had been no need.
I could see it in her eyes She had chosen to stay out of the line of fire, letting me navigate the fallout however I saw fit.
And now, after today, it seemed her silence had been a protective shield not just for me, but maybe for Patrick, too.
“I’m gonna lock up,” Ellen said, breaking the silence between the three of us.
Her tone was light, but there was a glint of knowing in her eyes as she gave me a glance that was not entirely professional.
“You two go grab a bite or something. Don’t wanna hear my stomach growling while I’m here finishing up the paperwork.
” The hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and before I could say a word, she turned away, heading toward her office, leaving Patrick and me alone.
I stared after her, not missing the significance in her words, though I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.
My stomach rumbled, a reminder of the hours that had passed since breakfast, but more than that, there was an unfamiliar lightness in the air that made me want to linger.
I glanced at Patrick, catching his eye as he tossed the last wrench into his toolbox.
“Guess we’re being told to eat,” he said, a hint of amusement breaking through his otherwise weary expression.
I tried not to let my surprise show. “You’re not going back to the office? It’s still early.”
Patrick shrugged, looking more relaxed than I’d seen him in months. “Everything I need to take care of can wait until tomorrow. I don’t want to ruin a good day with paperwork.” He paused, giving me a hesitant look. “Unless you want to head back. I’m good with that, too.”
I didn’t immediately respond, considering my options.
It felt strange to fall back into casual conversation with him after the distance that had grown between us.
The silence we had shared while working side-by-side had been comfortable in a way, but this was different.
It felt like we were at the edge of something new, or maybe just the remnants of the old life trying to resurface.
“We could grab something,” I offered before I could overthink it, gesturing vaguely toward the doors that led out into the Seattle streets. I expected Patrick to insist on some fancy restaurant, or something corporate and polished, as was his habit. But instead, he simply nodded.
“Sounds good.”
The simple exchange left me standing there for a second, taken off guard by how easy it felt, how ordinary.
We walked out of the hangar in tandem, the weight of the day’s labor hanging in the air between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
In fact, for the first time in a long while, it felt like things weren’t teetering on the edge of collapse.
We made our way through the quieting streets, the early summer sun casting a golden hue over the familiar Seattle skyline.
I felt his gaze on me now and then, but there was no rush, no pressure to say anything more than we already had.
The conversation stayed light, centered around the work, the upcoming test of the engine, and how far we’d come with the restoration.
It was almost enough to forget everything else, at least for a moment.
When we finally reached Sizzles, the same food cart Stan had greeted us at for years, the familiar smell of frying oil and burgers welcomed me like an old friend.
Stan took our order, making small talk, but there was an extra spark of warmth when he noticed Patrick was with me.
It felt like a piece of normalcy that had been missing, but it wasn’t enough to erase the underlying truth that we had been separated for weeks, living in different worlds even if we now worked in the same space.
As we sat on a nearby bench, the burgers warm in our hands, the silence that followed felt more like a pause than a divide.
We weren’t rushing to fill it. And maybe that was the first step.
No big gestures, no forced apologies, just a simple, shared moment after a hard day of work.
Maybe, just maybe, this was how we started to fix what had been broken.
It wasn’t grand or fast, but it was something real.
And that was enough for now.