Page 21 of Fire Me Up (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #2)

Dylan

I stripped the carburetor for the third time, my fingers slipping on the tiny screws like a fucking amateur.

Five days without seeing Gael, and suddenly I couldn’t remember how to do the shit I’d been doing since I was fourteen.

Each part I removed looked wrong somehow, foreign in my hands.

I tossed another screw into the parts tray, missing completely.

It pinged across the workshop floor, disappearing under a workbench. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

“Goddammit.” I set the half-disassembled carburetor down harder than necessary, ignoring the concerned glance from Lennox across the shop.

I dragged my hands through my hair, leaving behind streaks of grease I’d regret later. My brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, every thought sticky and slow. This was why I kept things casual. The moment feelings got involved, I turned into a distracted, useless mess.

“Going to the parts room,” I announced to no one in particular. Lennox nodded without looking up from the brake assembly he was working on.

The narrow hallway to the parts storage felt longer than usual. My phone burned a hole in my back pocket, heavy with unanswered texts from Gael. Seven of them, to be exact. Not that I was counting. Not that I’d read each one a dozen times, thumb hovering over the reply button before chickening out.

The parts room was organized chaos—shelves packed with everything from brake pads to spark plugs, all meticulously labeled in Liv’s precise handwriting. I stood in the doorway, suddenly unable to remember what I’d come for.

“Fucking focus, Dylan.” I smacked the side of my head lightly, as if I could physically knock my thoughts back into order.

Gaskets. I needed gaskets for a Honda CB750. I scanned the shelves, pulling open drawers at random. Where would they even be? Liv had reorganized recently, and I couldn’t remember the new system. Or maybe I’d never bothered to learn it in the first place.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I froze mid-search. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled it out.

Gael.

A simple text: “Miss you” with a photo attached.

I opened it, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest. Gael stood in front of a fire truck, surrounded by his crew, all in uniform.

His smile was bright, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He looked good—fucking beautiful, actually—but something was missing from his expression. The spark I’d gotten used to seeing.

I leaned back against the shelving unit, knees suddenly weak. I missed him so much it felt like a physical wound, raw and throbbing. The urge to text back, to call him, to jump on my bike and ride to Colorado Springs was overwhelming.

But what would I even say? “Sorry I ghosted you after pushing you toward another guy then running away like a coward”? “Sorry I’m a fucking mess who can’t handle real feelings”? “Sorry I’m falling for you and it terrifies me”?

I closed the photo, but couldn’t bring myself to put the phone away.

Gael kept reaching out, sending me these little lifelines, and I was too scared to grab one.

Too scared of what would happen if I let myself need him, want him, love him.

Too scared of the inevitable moment when he’d realize I was too much work, too chaotic, too intense.

Better to end it now. Better to be the one who walked away first.

Except it didn’t feel better. It felt like I was slowly tearing myself apart.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and resumed my search, pulling open drawers with more force than necessary. What the fuck was I even looking for again? Gaskets. Right. For the Honda. Except now I couldn’t remember which specific gaskets I needed.

“Fuck this.” I slammed the drawer shut and stalked back toward the shop, empty-handed and furious with myself.

I was halfway through the door when I heard Liv’s voice, low and concerned. I froze, suddenly not wanting to be seen.

“I’m worried about him,” she was saying. “He’s working himself to exhaustion again. Fifteen-hour shifts, volunteering for extra calls. It’s like before the accident.”

“You know how he gets.” That was Marisol’s voice, softer but equally worried. “Work is his coping mechanism. Always has been.”

“Well, his coping mechanism is going to put him back in the hospital.” Liv sighed heavily. “He’s got the worst hero complex I’ve ever seen. Thinks he can save everyone.”

They were talking about Gael. My chest tightened, a new kind of worry threading through me. I knew he was dedicated to his job, but this sounded different. Worse.

“I wish Dylan would get his head out of his ass and go talk to him.” Liv’s words made me flinch. “Gael was so happy those three weeks. So relaxed. Dylan was good for him.”

“Liv,” Marisol chided gently. “It’s not our place.”

“The hell it isn’t. Our brother is working himself into an early grave, and the one person who got him to slow down is—”

“Gael isn’t happy and relaxed?” I blurted out, stepping fully into the shop. Because honestly, happy and relaxed was the only way I could picture him.

Both sisters turned to me with identical startled expressions. Liv recovered first, her surprise morphing into a look so eerily similar to Gael’s that it made my chest ache.

“Not usually, no.” She crossed her arms. “You know him. He’s so wired, so focused on his work. And your disappearing act isn’t helping.”

“Liv.” Marisol placed a gentle hand on her sister’s arm before turning to me with kinder eyes. “Gael has always been... intense about his work. It’s probably not how you know him because he was on leave, I suppose.”

“And you were fucking good for him. He doesn’t know how to slow down.” Liv’s voice softened slightly. “Not unless someone makes him. That’s why we were so happy when he started spending time with you. He was enjoying his time off, and finding ways to relax.”

I tried to reconcile this image with the Gael I knew—the guy who’d spend hours playing with his cat, who’d drag me on hikes just to find the perfect picnic spot, who’d laugh at my stupid jokes until he snorted.

“I never knew,” I said. “He seemed so... balanced.”

“Around you, maybe.” Liv’s expression was pointed. “You’ve never seen him at work. Didn’t you wonder why you’ve never met him before? Because we always visited him in the Springs. He never came to us—said he couldn’t get away from the station.”

The weight of what they were saying settled in my gut. I’d gotten a version of Gael that his own sisters rarely saw—relaxed, playful, present.

“How is he?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. “Now, I mean.”

Marisol’s smile was gentle but sad. “He misses you. A lot. But he seems convinced you just need time to process your emotions.”

I laughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “He said that?”

“He’s been researching ADHD. Trying to understand what happened, what made you run. That’s his current theory.” Marisol chuckled. “Of course, I believe most of his sources are Instagram, so…”

The thought of Gael trying to understand me better instead of just writing me off made something crack open in my chest. No one had ever done that before. Not my parents, not my friends, definitely not my exes.

“That’s...” I couldn’t find the words.

“That’s Gael.” Liv’s voice was softer now.

I leaned against my workbench, suddenly needing the support.

“My last boyfriend told me I was too much work. Too loud, too impulsive, too needy. All the fun parts of my ADHD were sexy until they weren’t anymore, you know?

The hyperfocus, the energy, the intensity.

.. they loved it until they realized it didn’t go away.

And it comes with a heaping dose of forgetfulness, emotional dysregulation, and fucking chaos. ”

The sisters exchanged a look I couldn’t interpret.

“Did you ever think that maybe he needs a little of your chaos in his life?” Marisol stepped closer, her voice gentle but firm. “And you need a little of his steadiness?”

I thought about Gael—his steady presence, his quiet strength, the way he looked at me like I was something precious instead of something broken.

The way he’d reached out again and again, despite my silence.

The way he’d been researching how to understand me better while I’d been hiding from my own feelings.

He deserved better than what I was giving him.

“I’m going to Colorado Springs.” The decision crystallized suddenly, absolute and clear. “I’m going to win him back.”

“You never lost him, dumbass.” Liv rolled her eyes, but I caught the hint of a smile. “You just did a bunch of jackass stuff.”

“Thanks for the support.” I flipped her off, but I was smiling too.

“When are you going?” Marisol asked.

“Right now.” I set down the parts box I’d been clutching without even realizing it. “As soon as I can get my bike ready.”

“It’s an hour and a half ride.”

“I don’t care.” I was already moving, gathering my things, mind racing with plans. What to say, how to apologize, how to show Gael I was ready—terrified, but ready—to be all in. “I know where he is. And I’ve wasted enough time already.”

I caught the sisters exchanging another look—part exasperation, part fondness.

“Fine.” Liv threw up her hands. “I’ll finish this repair myself. In the name of love.”

Marisol stood up. “I can help! What do you need me to do? I like the wrench that makes those cute little clicking noises. Can I use that?”

“No!” We both barked, then burst out laughing, and I reached out, giving both of them a hug, thanking them for everything.