I moved without thinking.
My hands found his waist, fingers digging into the solid muscle beneath his shirt, and I hauled him backward off the tipping bike. My other arm caught the handlebar, wrenching the Sportster upright through brute force that would probably make my shoulder ache tomorrow, and then we were tangled together—Tyler's back pressed against my chest, my arms wrapped around him from behind, both of us breathing hard.
He was solid in my arms. Compact, athletic, the kind of body that came from discipline rather than vanity. I could feel the rapid hammer of his heart through his ribs, feel the heat of his skin through the damp fabric of his shirt. The muscles of his abdomenwere taut beneath my hands, firm ridges of strength that spoke of training I didn't know the details of.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
His back rose and fell against my chest. His weight pressed into me, warm and real and unexpectedly right. I could smell him—sweat and soap and something underneath, something warm that I couldn't name.
Then I stepped back, released him, let the distance open between us.
"Too fast into the turn." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "You need to scrub more speed before you commit."
Tyler stood frozen for another heartbeat, something unreadable flickering across his face—surprise, maybe, or something else I didn't want to examine. Then he shook himself, rolled his shoulders, and turned back to the bike.
"Again?"
"Tomorrow. That's enough for today."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but something in my tone must have convinced him. He killed the engine and dismounted, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair.
"Thanks. For catching me."
"That's what I'm here for."
I turned and walked toward the garage before he could say anything else.
Axel was elbow-deep in his Harley's engine when I found him, cursing softly at something I couldn't see.
"Oil filter?" I guessed.
"Stripped thread." He pulled back, wiping his hands on a rag, frustration carved into his features. The garage was dim compared to the bright lot outside, the air thick with the smell of motor oil and metal. "I swear this thing fights me on purpose."
"Here." I moved in beside him, leaning over the engine to study the problem. The filter housing had been cross-threaded at some point—probably during a rushed job months ago—and now it refused to seat properly. "You've got to re-tap the hole. I've got a kit in the back cabinet."
"Of course you do." Axel stepped aside, letting me work. "I don't know how you keep track of all this shit."
"Someone has to."
We worked in comfortable silence for several minutes, me re-threading the housing while Axel handed me tools without being asked. This was the easy part of brotherhood—the wordless cooperation, the shared labor, the way years of riding together had taught us to anticipate each other's needs.
The thread tapped smoothly, metal shavings curling away from the die. I tested the fit, felt the filter housing seat properly, and nodded to myself.
"Hey."
Kai appeared in the garage doorway, violet hair bright against the afternoon sun slanting through the bay doors. He looked better than he had in the days immediately after the war—more color in hischeeks, less tension around his eyes. Being with Axel had been good for him. Being safe had been even better.
"Hey yourself." Axel's whole demeanor shifted when he looked at Kai—softened, opened, became something almost gentle. It was the same transformation every time, like Kai's presence unlocked a version of Axel that only existed for him. "Thought you were doing inventory with Irish."
"Finished early. He's surprisingly efficient when properly motivated." Kai stepped into the garage, his eyes finding me. "Actually, I was looking for Tank."
I didn't stop working, just kept my hands moving on the engine. "What do you need?"
"Just wanted to say thanks." He moved closer, leaning against the workbench a few feet away. "For what you said in church yesterday. About Tyler."
"I said what was true."
"I know. But you didn't have to. A lot of people wouldn't have." Kai was quiet for a moment, and I could feel him watching me even though I didn't look up. "He doesn't have many people in his corner. Hasn't for a long time. It means something that you're willing to be one of them."
