Wade pov
The wrench slips in my hand again.
I exhale sharply through my nose, tightening my grip as I lean further over the engine. The metal is cold under my fingers, solid, predictable, everything my head isn't right now.
"Come on…"
I adjust the alignment, nudging the piece back into place, my eyes narrowing as I check the fit.
It should sit clean. But for some godforsaken reason it doesn't.
I pull back slightly, rolling my shoulders before diving in again, forcing my focus down to something mechanical, something that makes sense. Angles. Pressure. Precision.
Not thoughts.
Not memories.
The garage smells like oil and metal, thick and familiar. It clings to everything. My clothes, my hands, the air itself. Usually, it grounds me.
Today, it doesn't.
I tighten the bolt again, slower this time, more deliberate. I watch the way the components sit against each other.
Still off.
Just a fraction.
Barely noticeable.
But still wrong.
My jaw tightens.
"It's fine," I mutter under my breath. "It's just—"
I stop.
Because it's not the engine.
I know it. I've known it for the last twenty minutes.
I drag my hand over my face, scratching at the slight stubble at my jaw.
I should probably shave. And get a hair cut. Neither of those seem important right now.
For a second, the silence presses in.
Too loud.
Too empty.
I push it away immediately, grabbing the wrench again, forcing movement back into my body.
Focus.
Fix it.
Don't think.
The door behind me opens.
I hear it but i don't turn to see who it is
Footsteps follow. Light, careful, like whoever it is already knows they're not welcome.
I keep working.
If I ignore it, maybe it'll go away.
"Wade…"
I close my eyes briefly.
Of course she has to be the one they send.
I set the wrench down slowly, exhaling before I straighten and turn.
Sophia stands just inside the garage, framed by the dim light from outside. She looks exactly the same.
Effortlessly put together in her tight black jeans and crop top that offers up way too much skin. A sight that would have driven me insane once, now makes bile rise in my throat.
She look untouched by life. Like nothing ever comes close enough to her to leave a mark.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice flat. I try to keep my expression as neutral as possible. She doesn't deserve to see anything more than the mask I'm willing to offer.
She hesitates for a second before stepping closer.
"I came to check on you," she says. "You're not answering my calls or messages. Everyone at the club is worried about you too. Vince said you won't see him either."
Vince, the piece of shit my mother married only to have him up and leave the moment she got sick.
I don't respond. I just stare at her blankly.
She closes the distance anyway.
"How have you been?" she asks softly. "I miss you."
Her hand reaches for my arm and I step back immediately.
"Sophia."
There's a warning in the way I say her name.
She falters, just slightly, then steps closer anyway, placing her hands on my chest.
I push her hands off me and then cross my arms over my chest.
"Keep your hands off me."
The words land sharper this time.
Her expression shifts, hurt flickering across her face, but she doesn't back up.
"Wade, I—"
"No."
I cut her off before she can start. I don't have the energy to listen to whatever sad excuse she thinks justified her actions.
"This—" I gesture between us, quick and dismissive, "—this ended months ago."
Her jaw tightens. "I know, but—"
"When you decided to sleep with my best friend." I add, just incase she forgot exactly why this ended.
Sophia flinches. "I told you, I was drunk. It was a party. You weren't even there—"
"Yeah." I nod, as if me not being there makes it okay.
I let out a short, humorless breath.
"You're right. I wasn't there."
My eyes lock onto hers now, something colder settling in behind them.
"Because I was sitting next to my dying mother's hospital bed."
She blinks at me, her lashes fluttering. Tears filling her eyes as if she's the one who had to hold my mother's hand through months of chemo. Who had to carry her limp body back to bed every time I found her on the bathroom floor. As if she was the one who had to say goodbye to the only family she had left.
The calm I had been forcing myself into finally dissolves when I see her lip start to tremble.
"For fuck's sake, Sophia."
Something in my chest tightens, but I don't let it show. I hold it down, lock it in place where it can't move.
"Just leave." I growl out, pointing at the door.
She stares at me, like she's searching for something that isn't there anymore.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," she says quietly.
It almost sounds like she believes that.
I don't respond. I just hold her gaze with neutral indifference.
After a moment, she nods once, like she's accepting something she doesn't want to.
"Okay," she says.
She turns, walking back toward the door.
Pauses.
"I really do miss you, Wade." she says as if it might change my mind.
I turn my face away from the door, jaw tightening.
I hear the door closes behind her. The silence settling in again.
For a second I just stand there, staring at nothing.
Then I turn back to the engine.
Pick up the wrench.
Try again.
The piece still doesn't sit right.
My grip tightens.
And before I can stop myself, I slam the wrench down onto the metal.
Once.
Twice.
Four, forcefully dull thuds land one after the other.
The sound echoes through the garage, sharp and sudden. My hands shake as I grip the wrench with both hands.
The rage if I've keeping locked down.
The hurt. The pain. The loneliness all comes pouring out as I watch the tiny drops fall onto the concrete floor below.
I breathe in a slow shaking breath. Trying my best to pull myself together.
And even shakier breath goes out.
I force my hands to steady.
Force my mind to focus on something real.
The engine.
The screw that refuses to fit.
It's not the engine.
I know that. But it's easier to pretend it is. Easier to fix something that has a solution.
Easier than—
I cut the thought off.
Grab the wrench again.
And keep working.