21. Shattered Connections
Chapter 21
Shattered Connections
Liam
T he wrench slips in my grip, clattering against the concrete floor of the garage. “Dammit,” I mutter, reaching down to retrieve it. My hands are shaking—have been all morning—making even the simplest tasks feel impossible.
The familiar sounds of the auto shop surround me—the whir of power tools, the metallic clang of equipment, the low murmur of my brothers working in their respective bays. Usually, these sounds ground me, give me purpose. Today they just add to the chaos in my head.
It’s been five days since I told Hannah I loved her. Five days of stilted conversations and careful distance. Five days of watching her walls go back up, brick by painful brick.
I close my eyes, trying to focus on the engine in front of me. I thought physical work would do me good since I can’t seem to focus on paperwork, but I was wrong. All I can see is the look on her face that day by the lake. The way she froze when I said those three words, fear flickering across her features before she shut down completely. We’d been so close to something real, something lasting. Now it feels like we’re right back where we started.
“You gonna stare at that engine all day, or actually fix it?”
Ash’s voice cuts through my brooding. I open my eyes to find him leaning against the workbench, arms crossed and wearing that shit-eating grin he gets when he thinks he’s being clever.
“Don’t you have your own work to do?” I snap, more harshly than intended.
His grin widens. “Someone’s grumpy today. Which is weird, considering you finally got the girl. Shouldn’t you be walking on sunshine or some shit?”
The wrench creaks in my grip. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” He pushes off the bench, moving closer. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve got everything you wanted. Hannah’s back, Cam knows you’re his dad, Charlie’s locked up—”
“It’s not that simple.” The words come out through gritted teeth.
“Never is with you, big brother.” He claps me on the shoulder. “But hey, try to be more like me. Andrea and I keep things uncomplicated.”
Something in me snaps. Maybe it’s the smug way he says it, or maybe it’s just that I’m tired of watching him chase the wrong woman while Clara pines away in silence. “You don’t know the first thing about love.”
He recoils like I’ve slapped him. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means—” I catch myself, forcing back the words I really want to say. It means you’re too blind to see what’s right in front of you. It means you’re settling for easy when real love is staring you in the face every day. Instead, I wave him off. “Whatever. Forget it.”
“No, please, enlighten me.” His voice has gone hard. “Tell me how I’m doing it all wrong while you’re over here making yourself miserable.”
“I’m not—”
“You can’t fix her wounds for her, Liam.” We both turn at Warren’s quiet interjection. He’s standing in the middle of his bay, wiping his hands on a shop rag. His expression is knowing, almost sympathetic.
“I’m not trying to fix her wounds,” I say, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears. “I just want to be there for her. For both of them.” My voice cracks slightly. “I can’t lose them again.”
Warren’s eyes soften. “Then be there when she lets you. Give her space when she needs it.” He runs a hand through his hair—an understanding in his expression that makes me think there’s more he’s not saying. “She’ll come around when she’s ready.”
“Will she?” The question comes out smaller than I meant it to. “Because right now it feels like she’s slipping away and I don’t know how to stop it.”
“What happened?” Warren asks, moving fully into my workspace. “Things seemed good between you two.”
I lean heavily against the workbench, suddenly exhausted. “I told her I loved her.”
Understanding dawns on both their faces. Ash lets out a low whistle. “Ah.”
“Yeah.” I scrub a hand over my face. “She didn’t say it back.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel it,” Warren says quietly.
“No, but you didn’t see her face.” The memory makes my chest ache. “She looked… terrified. Like I’d threatened her somehow. And now she’s pulling away, barely talking to me except about Cam.”
“Give her time.” Warren repeats. “She’s been through hell. Charlie used love as a weapon against her for years.”
“I know that.” Frustration wells up in my throat. “Christ, don’t you think I know that? I saw what he did to her, War.”
The image flashes through my mind. Hannah curled up, covered in blood in Christian’s arms while he rushed her to safety, not me .
“Then you know better than anyone why she might need time to process this,” Warren says gently. “Love isn’t just words for her anymore. It’s loaded with trauma and fear.”
“I just…” I grip the edge of the workbench until my knuckles turn white. “I thought we were past this. We were doing so well, you know? She was letting me in, trusting me with her heart, with Cam. It felt like we were finally building something real.”
“You still are.” Ash chimes in, his earlier anger forgotten. “But maybe you need to take a step back. Let her come to you.”
“What if she doesn’t?” I admit my deepest fear quietly.
Neither of them has an answer for that. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant sound of a car driving down the road outside.
Finally, Warren sighs. “Look, you can’t force this. Either she’ll work through her fears and choose you, or—”
“She won’t.” I finish for him. The possibility sits like lead in my stomach.
“But running yourself into the ground won’t help either way.” He continues. “When was the last time you actually slept?”
I shrug, turning back to the engine. Sleep has been elusive lately, my mind too full of what-ifs and might-have-beens. Most nights I lie awake remembering the way Hannah felt in my arms, the sound of her laugh, the light in her eyes when she looks at our son. All the things I’m terrified of losing.
“That’s what I thought.” Warren’s voice takes on that authoritative tone he uses when he’s about to hand down orders. “Go home. Get some rest. The shop won’t fall apart without you for one afternoon.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “And you won’t be any good to Hannah or Cam if you run yourself into the ground.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But the thought of going home to an empty house, with nothing but my thoughts for company, makes my skin crawl.
“The Reynolds’ truck needs to be done by—”
“I’ll handle it.” Ash cuts in. “Seriously, man. Take a break before you hurt yourself. Or someone else’s car.”
I look down at the engine I’ve been supposedly working on all morning. In my distraction, I’ve managed to cross-thread one of the bolts and probably stripped the threading. They’re right—I’m liable to do more harm than good in this state.
“Fine.” I concede, tossing the wrench onto my tool cart with more force than necessary. “But I’m coming back first thing tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” Warren claps me on the shoulder. “Just... try to get some actual sleep, yeah?”
I grunt noncommittally as I gather my things. The walk to the house feels longer than usual, each step weighted with exhaustion and worry. But I don’t make it very far. I stop halfway between the shop and the garage and stare out at the open fields.
I pull out my phone and open the text chain with Hannah. The last message from her sits at the top of our conversation thread, sent three days ago.
Hannah
Cam has baseball practice after school. Don’t worry about picking him up.
I scroll up through our texts, watching our easy banter deteriorate into short, practical exchanges about Cam’s schedule. I hate that it feels like we’re strangers again?
A memory surfaces. Hannah in my arms that day by the lake, sun-warmed and laughing as I kissed my way down her neck. The way she gasped my name, her fingers tangling in my hair. The perfect feeling of rightness when I slid inside her.
I thought we were healing. Thought we were building something stronger than before. But maybe I rushed it. Maybe I asked for too much, too soon.
Warren’s words echo in my head. Either she’ll work through her fears and choose you, or she won’t.
The problem is, I’m not sure I can handle it if she doesn’t. I’ve already lost her once. The thought of losing her again, of losing Cam. It’s too much.
After stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I rest my hands on my hips, trying to breathe through the ache in my chest. This must be what drowning feels like—watching everything you love slip away while you struggle to keep your head above water.
The sound of the garage door creaking open draws my eyes behind me. Warren stands there, concern etched across his features.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a neutral expression.
“Thought you were headed home,” he says.
“I am.”
“You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes.”
Has it been that long?
“Come on.” He steps toward me and points to the house. “Let’s get a beer and some of Grams’s leftover lasagna. I’ve been thinking about that all day.”
“Warren—”
“Not a request, big brother.” His tone suggests he’s not going to take no for an answer. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
He’s probably right about that too. But being around people means talking, and I’m not sure I have the energy for that right now. Still, the alternative is standing here wallowing in my own thoughts, which clearly isn’t helping either.
I follow Warren to the house, determined to pull myself out of this funk. Warren glances over his shoulder as he opens the door, his expression unreadable in the afternoon light.
“She’ll come around,” he says quietly, like he can read my mind. “Just give her time.”
I want to believe him. God, how I want to believe him. But as we step inside, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m watching my last chance at happiness disappear.
And I have no idea how to get it back.
I take another long pull from my beer and stare at the Chevelle’s rusted frame in front of me. The garage is quiet except for the occasional metallic ping of cooling engine parts and the soft classic rock playing from the old radio in the corner. Grease covers my hands and forearms, evidence of the hours I’ve spent trying to lose myself in this project.
The car has sat here for years, collecting dust and cobwebs, waiting for me to fulfill the promise I made when I first dragged it home. Back then, I had grand plans of restoring it to its former glory—new engine, fresh paint, the works. But life got in the way. The shop needed my attention. My brothers needed my guidance. And now it’s the perfect distraction for my wounded heart.
My phone buzzes on the workbench, screen lighting up with a new message. My heart leaps when I see Hannah’s name, then immediately sinks as I remember the growing distance between us. Still, I can’t stop myself from reaching for it, wiping my hands on my jeans before picking it up.
It’s a photo of Cam at Frank’s, grinning wide in his new baseball uniform. Pride swells in my chest at the sight of him. The league’s colors—royal blue and white—suit him perfectly. He’s gotten taller in the past few months, starting to lose that gangly pre-teen look. In the picture, he’s mid-laugh, probably at something one of his teammates said. His eyes crinkle at the corners just like Hannah’s do when she really smiles.
Used to do . My mind corrects. I haven’t seen that smile since that day at the lake, when I opened my stupid mouth and ruined everything by telling her I loved her.
Without thinking, I type back.
Liam
Missing you both. Let me know if you need anything.
The message shows as delivered, but no response comes. No typing indicator, no read receipt. Just silence.
“Fuck,” I mutter, setting the phone face-down on the workbench. I grab another beer from the mini-fridge, popping the cap off against the edge of the table.
The familiar motion reminds me of countless summer nights spent here with my brothers, working on cars and shooting the shit. Warren would always bring the good beer, imported stuff that made the rest of us roll our eyes even as we reached for another bottle. Garret preferred whiskey. The twins usually shared a six-pack between them, their identical grins—when Christian actually let us see it—getting progressively more crooked as the night wore on.
But tonight I’m alone with my thoughts and the ghost of what could have been. The garage feels too big, too empty. Even the radio seems muted, like the music is coming from underwater.
I turn back to the Chevelle, determined to at least accomplish something tonight. The engine needs a complete overhaul—timing belt’s shot, pistons are probably seized, and God only knows what’s happening with the transmission. But that’s good. Complicated problems require focus, attention to detail. No room for thoughts about cool blue eyes or the soft curve of a smile.
My hands move automatically through the familiar motions of dismantling the engine block. Each part I remove gets carefully laid out on an old towel, arranged in the order they’ll need to go back in. It’s methodical work, almost meditative. For a while, I can almost pretend that’s all there is—just metal and grease and the satisfaction of fixing something broken.
But then my phone buzzes again.
Hope flares before I can squash it down. Maybe she’s finally ready to talk. Maybe she’s realized that my feelings for her aren’t a threat or a burden. Maybe—
But it’s just Mac, sending a video of his latest practice run at the track. He’d asked me to come with them, but I made up some lame excuse. Any other time I’d be proud of how smoothly he takes the turns, how he’s finally learning to trust his instincts instead of just gunning for speed. Tonight, though, I can barely focus on the screen.
Liam
Looks good. Keep it up.
Mac
You okay? Missed you tonight.
Liam
I’m fine. Just busy with the shop.
Mac
Bullshit. I don’t buy it for a second.
A humorless laugh escapes me. Trust Mac to cut straight to the chase. He may be the youngest, but sometimes I think he sees more than the rest of us combined.
Before I can decide how to respond, another message pops up.
Mac
Want company? I can bring better beer than whatever piss water you’re drinking.
The offer is tempting. Mac’s good at filling silence without demanding conversation, and God knows I could use the distraction. But tonight… Tonight I need to sit with this feeling. Need to understand where I went wrong and how to fix it.
Liam
Rain check. Thanks though.
He responds with a thumbs up emoji, but I can feel the concern radiating through the screen. I’ll probably hear about this from Grams tomorrow. Nothing stays secret in this family for long.
Setting the phone aside again, I grab a socket wrench and get back to work. The engine isn’t going to fix itself, and at least this is a problem I know how to solve. Unlike whatever’s happening with Hannah.
The memory of that day at the lake haunts me. Everything had been perfect—the weather, the food, the way she fit against me like she was made to be there. When I told her I loved her, it wasn’t some grand declaration or carefully planned speech. It’s not like I hadn’t already told her that since her return.
The words just slipped out, as natural as breathing, because how could I not love her? How could I ever stop?
Now she barely answers my texts. She’s building walls again, and I don’t know how to break through without scarring her further.
The wrench slips, scraping my knuckles against a sharp edge of metal. Pain flares, bright and immediate, and I welcome it. At least physical pain makes sense. At least I know how to handle that.
Blood wells up from the cut, dripping onto the engine block. I should probably clean it up, put some antiseptic on it. Instead, I just wipe it on my already-ruined shirt and keep working.
Hours pass like this—working until my hands shake, drinking until the edges blur, trying not to check my phone every five minutes. By the time I notice how late it’s gotten, the garage is pitch black except for my work light, and I’ve made surprisingly good progress on the engine.
The beer’s gone warm, but I finish it anyway before starting to clean up. Tools go back in their proper places, parts get covered to protect them from dust. Some habits are too ingrained to break, even when I’m half-drunk and operating on autopilot.
As I’m wiping down the workbench, my phone lights up one last time. For a split second, I let myself hope again.
But it’s just a notification from the shop’s scheduling app, reminding me about tomorrow’s appointments. Reality crashes back in, cold and unforgiving as ever.
I grab my keys, fully intending to walk to the house and try to sleep. Instead, I find myself heading toward Hannah’s house. It’s late—way too late for a social call—but I need to see that she’s okay. Need to know that she and Cam are safe, even if they don’t want me around.
The road is empty at this hour, her porch light casting long shadows across the yard. As I walk, I remember all the times I made this same journey in high school, sneaking over after her parents went to bed. We’d sneak out to the large oak tree at the back of her property and talk for hours, planning our future together. Everything seemed so simple then.
As I get closer to her house, I slow my pace. There’s a light on upstairs—Cam’s room. He always stays up too late playing video games if Hannah doesn’t catch him.
What the hell am I doing here? This isn’t helping anyone. If anything, I’m probably crossing some line that will make Hannah pull away even more.
But then I see movement through the downstairs window. Hannah paces past, phone pressed to her ear. Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her free hand keeps running through her hair—sure signs that she’s upset about something.
My first instinct is to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and promise that whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it together. The muscle memory of comfort is so strong it physically hurts to stay standing at a distance.
She stops pacing, and even through the window’s distortion, I can see her wiping at her eyes. She’s crying. Hannah’s crying and I’m standing here like a creep instead of helping her.
Whatever she’s dealing with, she needs to handle it on her own. My presence would only complicate things, maybe even set back the progress she’s made.
The realization settles like lead in my stomach. I spin around, hands stuffed into my pockets. As I walk away, I catch one last glimpse of her when I look over my shoulder—still on the phone, still pacing, still fighting her own battles.
“I love you,” I whisper to her from afar. “I’ll always love you. Even if you never say it back.”
The words dissipate into the darkness, unheard and unanswered. Just like my heart.