“The motorcycle repair shop over on Sixth needed a new mechanic.”
“No shit?”
“Yup. I start Monday. Full time.”
I pull him in for a hug. “That’s awesome, man. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.”
Underneath the joy, a sharp, ugly flicker of jealousy twists in my gut. Not because of the job—no. Because Ace has always known what he wanted to do after the military. He’d always wanted to work hands-on with motorcycles. Specifically dirt bikes—the kind he used to race when he was a teen. Ace has several national and international medals for motocross, and he’s always said if given the chance he’d love to coach junior riders.
He gave it all up to serve his country.
It’s something else I’ve always envied about him—the choice. I never had that luxury.
Ace and I talk for a few more minutes, then he gestures to the bar. “Crazy tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, Ruby Rose is playing soon.”
His eyes widen. “The indie guitarist?”
“The one and only.”
“No fucking way. I have to see this.” He disappears into the crowd so fast I almost laugh.
With a rare moment to breathe, I sink onto my barstool, hoping it’ll ease the sudden tension creeping in. The conversation with Ace has tanked my mood. I fist my hands—not from pain, but from anger. I really need to figure my life out. Most days, even planning a couple of hours ahead feels too risky.
Like the damn Christmas ornaments. I’d started that project wanting to do something for Fletcher and ended up being forced to stop because my hands hurt too much. I didn’t trust myself not to break his fragile ornaments.
More and more people come, their voices high and full of excitement. Some people wear all red, from red hats down to bright red shoes. One woman is even wearing creepy red contacts. Clearly, they’re big fans of Ruby Rose.
Georgie is too. She’d begged me to get an autograph since she was too young to attend, which is why Fletcher and Darren are coming. Well,oneof the reasons, anyway. Fletcher visits me often at work now, and more and more it feels like he’s just checking up on me. Sure, he wants to see me, but the worry is always there—always.
When I see his truck pull into the parking lot, I stand up straighter and smooth the front of my shirt. Fletcher grins wide as he crosses the parking lot, earning a playful shove from his brother.
Darren slips through the door with a smile while Fletcher quickly steps into the corner so we can talk without him being in the way. It takes five minutes for the crowd to slow down, but as soon as we’re alone, he leans in to kiss me, slow and unhurried, like he’s got nowhere else to be.
“Hey, handsome,” he says, kissing me again. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” It’s mostly true, anyway. Fletcher doesn’t need to know about my sudden self-doubt.
He scans my body, but doesn’t comment when he sees me leaning against the barstool. His gaze drifts to the lobby. “It’s already crazy, isn’t it?”
“Declan moved it to the patio, so it should open up a little soon.”
He shakes his head. “Georgie is so sad she can’t meet Ruby.”
“Get some pictures for her.”
“Oh, I will. She threatened to buzz Darren’s hair off if I didn’t.”
I laugh.
He stays with me for twenty minutes, patiently waiting every time another person comes in. Electric shocks flick up my calves to my knees, making me grip the back of the barstool. I shift from foot to foot, trying to relieve the sudden pain. It’s persistent tonight, a constant hum under my skin, and it’s only getting worse the longer I’m here.
Fletcher notices, of course. He always notices.
Instead of asking if I’m okay, he presses a quick kiss to my cheek and disappears toward the bar. He comes back with a glass of water, like taking care of me is the most natural thing in the world. I grit my teeth as I accept it.
