Page 88 of Shattered Promise

The crunch of tires over gravel pulls me from my thoughts. I push off the wall and walk toward the open bay door, boots echoing on the concrete floor. The wind carries the scent of rain still lingering from early this morning, the sky a heavy kind of gray that looks like it’s thinking about starting something.

A familiar black SUV rolls into view just beyond the bend in the driveway.

Of all the goddamn timing for my best friend to drop by.

He kills the engine and steps out, grin already stretching across his face.

“What’s up?” I ask, keeping my weight leaned into the doorframe. One hand hooked on my hip. The very image of cool and unbothered. Not at all like I just had his sister riding me six ways to hell ten minutes ago.

Beau pushes his sunglasses into his hair. “Can’t a guy stop by and see his best friend?”

I smirk. “So, Eloise is busy, huh?”

“She’s helping Francesca at the shop. Vivie and Margot are at school. I had a window. Figured I’d come check on that Chevelle. Dunne’s, right?”

“Yeah. He brought it over the other day.”

Beau whistles low as he strolls toward the car. “Didn’t he already race it?”

I shrug. “Ran clean. But I tuned the carb, adjusted the idle, swapped the intake. She’s got bite now.”

Beau runs a palm across the roof. “You think he’s gunnin’ for the Gauntlet this fall?”

“If he gets the invite. Kid’s not bad.”

“Shit,” he mutters, popping his head under the hood. “With these tweaks? He might blow right past the Harris boys.”

I grunt, but a flicker of something else stirs under the surface.I missed this.Talking cars and talking shit. The way we used to spend entire weekends under a hood, grease in our veins and something reckless pounding in our chests.

A few years back, Beau quit racing. Then this year, he jumped into the Gauntlet like it was nothing. I didn’t ask why—but now I know: Eloise. She was racing in the Gauntlet, and of coursehe had to join too. Just to talk to her. Because my best friend doesn’t do anything in half-measures.

But by the time he got back in the game, I was already out. I had Theo. I couldn’t afford broken ribs or blue-and-red lights in my rearview because some asshole wanted to sabotage the competition.

So yeah, it’s been years since we did this. But the rhythm’s still there. We slip back into it easily. There’s comfort in that, nostalgia even.

Not enough to dull the panic prickling the back of my neck—but it steadies my hands a little.

I track his movements as he rounds the front of the car—six feet from the chair I fucked his sister in.

My jaw ticks.

I feel it in my teeth. Like pressure building under my skin. A knot of heat and fear that tightens with every second he stays in this space—my space—talking like nothing’s changed.

Like I didn’t just cross a line I can’t uncross.

A sharp cry breaks through the garage like a crack of thunder.

I freeze mid-shift, my gaze flying to the monitor.

Theo’s voice cuts through the static, scratchy in that overtired way—high and short, like he woke up too fast and isn’t sure if he’s pissed or confused.

Shit.

I cross the garage in four fast strides and jab the volume down on the baby monitor like I’m disarming something live. The screen flickers once before quiet hums back into the space.

Out of the corner of my eye, Beau’s eyebrows lift.

“You good?” he asks.