Page 35 of Dirty Mechanic

We linger a moment longer, watching the flickering screen like it holds more than just a heartbeat—like it holds the future.

Then Emma pulls her shirt down, and I help her sit up. The spell breaks gently.

Back at the front desk, Emma leans close. “Tea after this. No excuses.”

I grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Then I glance at Dr. Marvey. “If Derek stops by, please tell him I went to Emma’s, then home.”

He nods and disappears.

The receptionist is buried in charts.

Now or never.

I draw the manila envelope from my bag. It feels like a brick in my palm—lead and truth—as I offer it to Emma with trembling fingers.

“Emma… I need a favor. A huge one.”

Her brow furrows as she lifts the envelope. “What is this?”

“Just some documents,” I say, my voice catching.

“Please, don’t ask too many questions. Can your brothers process these right away? They still have contacts in San Francisco, don’t they? And please, no one else can know.”

Emma’s fingers tighten around the edges, paper crinkling under her grip.

“Are you in trouble?”

I force a weak smile. “Define trouble.”

She doesn’t laugh—just levels me with a probing look that slices straight through the deflection.

“Maybe a little,” I admit, lowering my voice. “But this will help fix some of it.”

Emma studies me the way only a sister-in-law and lifelong friend can—someone who’s seen every version of you and still shows up with pie.

Without another word, she tucks the envelope into her tote.

“I’ve got you,” she says simply.

Her promise hits me like warm sunlight after a storm.

I fling my arms around her.

She holds me tight. Solid. Maternal.

Her belly presses into mine like a second heartbeat of reassurance.

“I mean it,” she murmurs. “If you need anything else, just say the word. I may feel like a beached whale, but I’m still a licensed investigator in three states… and I know where all the legal bodies are buried.”

I laugh, the sound catching in my throat, thick with emotion. “That is…incredibly comforting.”

“I’m also not above jabbing someone with a breast pump,” she adds, grin broadening.

I swallow hard. Humor doesn’t quite reach my eyes, but I manage, “Thank you. I’ll let you know. I promise.”

She pulls back, the warmth in her gaze turning to concern, as if she’s about to unpack every worry etched into my face.