Then he nods once and goes back to his coffee.
That's it. That's the alpha checking and accepting. Ash passed whatever test that was, and the tension I'd been carrying without realizing releases all at once.
Toby breaks the silence by scrambling off his stool and throwing his arms around both of us. "I'm so happy for you guys," he says, muffled against Ash's shoulder because he's too short to reach much higher. "This is amazing. We should celebrate. Can we celebrate? Knox, can we have a party?"
"It's eight in the morning," Knox says.
"A breakfast party, then!"
"There's no such thing as a breakfast party."
"There is now. I'm making pancakes." Toby releases us and heads for the kitchen, already calling out toppings. "Jason, you want chocolate chips or blueberries?"
"Both," I call after him, and then turn to Ash. "I'm gonna go work on my bike. You want to—"
"I'll come."
The garage is my favorite place.
It's not fancy—just a big open space behind the bar with lifts and tool chests and the smell of oil and metal. Concrete floor stained with decades of grease, fluorescent lights that buzz slightly when they warm up, a radio in the corner that only picks up two stations. But it's mine, in a way. My space. Where I getto take things apart and put them back together and make them better than they were.
My lion calms when I'm here, content in a way he rarely is anywhere else. Something about working with my hands, about the focus required, about creating order out of mechanical chaos.
Ash takes a seat on a stool near the workbench, out of the way but present. Watching.
"You don't have to stay," I tell him, pulling the cover off my bike. "This is going to be boring."
"I like watching you work."
"You like watching me bend over."
"That too." He doesn't deny it, his eyes tracking me as I move around the bike. "But I also like seeing you in your element. You get this look on your face when you're focused. Like nothing else exists. Like the whole world narrows down to whatever's in your hands."
I duck my head, pleased despite myself, and get to work.
It's comfortable, having him there. He doesn't try to take over or tell me how he'd do it differently—doesn't do that thing some guys do where they hover and make it clear they think they could do it better. Just sits and watches, occasionally commenting on what I'm doing. He knows bikes as well as I do, probably better when it comes to the high-performance stuff, but he seems content to let me talk.
"You're quiet," I say when I'm adjusting the primary chain tension.
"I like hearing you explain things." He shrugs when I glance back at him. "I know what you're doing. I just like the way you talk about it. You get this tone in your voice, like every part matters."
"Every part does matter."
"I know. That's why I like listening."
I duck my head, pleased, and go back to work.
"I've been wanting to upgrade the exhaust system," I say, moving on to inspect the pipes. "The aftermarket one I have is good, but there's a full titanium system that would shave off weight and give me way better sound. Deeper, cleaner. You can hear the difference from a block away."
"How much?"
"Like twelve hundred bucks. I'll get there eventually, just takes a while when you're also paying rent and buying groceries and occasionally eating something that isn't ramen."
Ash already has his phone out.
"What are you doing?"
"What's the system called?"
