While I stayed in here, he got a call from Miles. He brought three of his brothers and fixed my car. And I was able to get home to grandpa before his caregiver had to clock an additional hour since I always schedule some overlap to allow for me to be late.
Miles stepped in from states away to save my day. I wish he was here so I could show him my appreciation. Since he’s not, I make a mental note to give it to him in the near future even if I only get a weekend trip to North Carolina to do so.
Yeah, I have it bad for the man who has come into my world and left me filled with butterflies since the beginning.
Thirteen
Miles
The garage at Honey's Hot Rods smells like oil, rubber, and a hundred ghosts of engines that have roared through here before mine.
I breathe it in like it’s oxygen.
My bike’s stripped down to her bones in the center bay, chrome and black scattered across the red concrete floor. I’ve got grease under my nails and sweat sliding down my spine, radio low in the corner playing some classic rock Stud has it set to. The overhead fans churn the heavy Carolina heat but don’t do much more than push it around.
This is my church.
Out back, in the second building where Stud keeps his personal collection—a series classic muscle lined up like trophies in a glass case—I hear a truck door slam hard enough to rattle the sheet metal walls.
I don’t have to see him to know who it is. The gate out front limits activity in the bays to keep customers out of the unsafe areas. The amount of people who will casually walk under a car on a lift not knowing a thing about vehicles in the first place astounds me. Cars fall even with seasoned mechanics using the lifts. Stud learned a long time ago, even the gate and fencing only limits the fools that tread back here.
That specific slam, I know it anywhere. It’s an late nineties model Dodge truck. One that may be rough around the edges, but carries an unmatched loyalty. Much like the owner.
Smoke.
His boots hit gravel, fast and heavy. The man never learned how to walk into anything calmly. It’s probably his biggest downfall, rushing into everything with a reaction rather than stopping to read the full situation. It’s him through and through. One thing about me, I’ll never ask a man to change because I’ll be damned if anyone can change me.
A second later, his voice carries through the open bay doors. “Honey, I’m not here to fight with you dammit. I want to talk.”
There’s a short laugh—sharp as broken glass. The edge of a tired woman who seriously can’t believe she’s standing here listening to him. Same song and dance they have had for years. Honey.
And she is fired up this morning. The problem is Smoke is a brother in the Hellions MC and Honey, she’s Stud’s daughter. She is like having a little sister to all of us because she tells us like it is out of genuine care but without hesitating to bust our balls every chance she can. She understands our lifestyle. She accepts each of us with all of our flaws.
I wipe my hands on a rag and tilt my head just enough to catch the rhythm of it. I can’t see them from this angle, but sound travels in a shop like this. Every word bounces.
“You always say that,” Honey fires back. “Then you do exactly what you always do. We talk, I fall for every empty promise and within months your words mean nothing once again.”
“I’ve fucked up more than I’ve gotten right. But dammit, I want you, I want our family.”
She lets out a huff. “You’ve said that too.”
There it is. The argument that’s been circling them for years like vultures waiting for the death of their past to be final.
I lean back against the tool chest and close my eyes a second, listening without meaning to. Smoke’s voice has that edge—desperate and proud at the same time.
“Give me another chance. I’ll stay home. No more road trips. I’ll tell Country Boy no transports, no rides. No barflies. I’ll fucking work here with you if that’s what it takes.” He blows out a breath. “For our kids, come on, Tiff.”
“The ship sailed, Smoke.”
Silence. Not the peaceful kind. The heavy, breathing kind.
Before I can decide whether I should walk over there and make sure things don’t go sideways, boots crunch back toward the main garage. Smoke rounds the corner, jaw tight, dark eyes stormy.
He spots me and snorts. “Women ain’t worth the trouble if they can’t see when a man is laying it all on the line.” He tosses the words like they’re nothing. Like they don’t weigh anything.
I don’t answer right away. Because behind him, Honey steps into view. She’s got her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, curls wild behind her, grease on her cheek, and fire in her eyes. She catches me looking and lifts one brow. “Don’t,” she instructs. I can see the glisten of unshed tears that she refuses to let fall. “Just don’t, Miles.”
Didn’t plan on it. I don’t have a dog in this pony show and I’m not about to wade in between two people who are family to me. I hold up my hands in surrender.
