He reaches out again and brushes his fingers across the seat. A small smile forms. Real. Unguarded.
Fuck.
“She’s gorgeous,” he says softly.
“She?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Vehicles are women.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “Who taught you that?”
For half a second, his smile falters. “Dad.”
A cold ripple moves through me. That wasn’t just a slip. That was a wound.
I watch as his whole body goes still, like something inside him is now locked away. Hidden from me.
His jaw is tight, and his eyes are down, looking at the ground, and his feet shuffle.
“My neighbor,” he corrects quietly.
Deck’s voice echoes in my head.He’ll talk when he’s ready.
“So your neighbor liked bikes?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
Relief flickers across Eli’s face, small but real.
“Yeah,” he nods. “A lot.”
He starts circling the bike again, steadier now.
“I used to help him clean them,” he says.
Pause.
“He had three.”
A distant smile tugs at him. Like he’s looking somewhere else entirely.
“He’d let me watch while he worked.”
I lean against the bike. “How old were you?”
The question slips out before I can stop it.
Eli shrugs. “Twelve.”
Then he freezes. Eyes dropping again. His breath stutters. His shoulders curl inward, like he’s trying to disappear.
“Twelve?” I ask, quieter this time.
His shoulders tense. “Maybe younger.”
Another slip. Another thing he didn’t mean to give away. I let it pass.
“You ever ride one?”
The tension breaks a little.
