I glance at Silas; he shrugs. Jace gives a subtle nod. “Sure. But hands off unless I say so—some parts bite.”
They creep in, excitement and caution entwined in their tiny footsteps. Jimmy’s been here before and moves with confidence; Liam and Noah pause at each tool chest, soaking in the scents of gasoline and metal polish.
I guide them to the workbench. “This—” I tap the exposed ECU “—is the brain. Right now, I’m telling it to fire sparks sooner, push more fuel. It’s basically learning to think faster.”
“Our mom has a motorcycle too,” Noah announces with quiet pride. “A Triumph Daytona.”
My heart stutters. “A Daytona 765?”
“Yeah! She says it’s temperamental but gorgeous.”
Of course, she rides something elegant and difficult, just like she always has been. I force my shoulders to relax.
Jace swivels around his R1M. “That’s a serious bike. Your mom knows what she’s doing.”
“She taught us engines talk if you listen,” Liam adds, voice steady.
Silas halts his carburetor work. “Your brother’s right. Engines don’t lie. They just tell you what’s wrong.”
Noah’s hand twitches toward the keyboard. “Can I help?”
I smile. “Sure. When I say go, press that key there.” I point to an innocuous function button. “It starts the diagnostic sequence.”
He climbs onto a stool, small fingers hovering. “Ready.”
“One… two… three—now.”
He taps, and the screen erupts with scrolling data. Engine revs pulse in sync with the diagnostics. Noah’s grin splits his face. “I did it!”
“Perfect,” I say, pride warming me in a way nothing else can.
Liam crouches beside Silas, watching the carburetor assembly. “What does that part do?”
Silas oil-stains his fingers. “It controls the air–fuel ratio. Think of it like the engine’s lungs.”
Liam nods solemnly. Silas ruffles his hair. “Exactly right.”
Jimmy’s at Jace’s bike now, tracing the sleek black fairings. “It looks like a spaceship!”
“That’s the point,” Jace says with a grin. “Aerodynamics—shaving off turbulence.”
“Can I sit on it?” Jimmy asks, eyes shining.
“Carefully,” Jace warns. “No touching the throttle.”
Jimmy mounts with reverence, fingers curling around the grips as though they’re gold.
“What Mom doesn’t know—” I start, then wince.
“Isn’t going to hurt her,” Jimmy finishes, eyes dancing.
Noah whispers, “Are we keeping secrets?”
“Just harmless ones,” I promise. “Until we ask your mom, okay?”
Liam recites in a solemn whisper, “Secrets are fine if they’re safe and don’t hurt people.”
Every word reminds me how much Parker taught them—how much she taught me.
