Chapter 1

The sky broke open just as I hit the end of the driveway, the kind of heavy, aggressive Maryland rain that turns the world gray in seconds. I didn't think; I just bolted for the half-open garage door, sliding under the metal lip with a gasp. The air inside was thick with the scent of Pennzoil and old rubber, a sharp contrast to the cooling petrichor outside.

I wasn't alone.

Gabe was hunched over my brother’s vintage Honda, his back to me. His t-shirt was stained with grease, the muscles in his shoulders shifting as he wrenched at a stubborn bolt. The sight of him usually sent me scurrying back to the house to avoid the awkward "hey, kid" nods, but the rain was a solid wall behind me.

I took a step, my wet sneaker skidding on a rogue patch of lubricant. "Whoa—"

I didn't fall. Before I could even process the slip, Gabe was there. He moved with that terrifying, effortless grace he’d always had, catching me by the upper arms. His hands were hot against my damp skin, his fingers grazing the edges of my tank top. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the frantic drumming of the rain on the tin roof and the heavy thrum of my own pulse.

"You okay, Riley?" His voice was low, vibrating through the small space between us. He didn't let go.

"I’m fine," I snapped, the defensiveness rising up like a shield. I shoved at his chest, but he was like a brick wall. "You can stop playing the bodyguard, Gabe. My brother isn’t watching."

Gabe’s jaw tightened. He stepped back, wiping his greasy hands on a rag, his eyes darkening. "Is that what you think I’m doing? Watching out for Chris?"

"Isn't it?" I felt the sting of years of being ignored, of being the 'little sister' who was always in the way. "You don't even look at me. You haven't had a real conversation with me since I turned eighteen. I’m just a chore Chris assigned to you, right? Make sure Riley doesn't get into trouble. Make sure nobody hits on Riley."

"You think I stay away because you're a chore?" Gabe stepped back into my space, his shadow looming over me in the dim light of the single overhead bulb. The motorcycle sat between us, a jagged metal barrier. "You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to be 'just the best friend.' I’ve spent four years looking at the floor whenever you walk into a room because looking at you is dangerous."

I froze. The anger didn't vanish, but it morphed into something sharper, more electric. "Dangerous?"

"Loyalty is a bitch, Riley," he whispered, his voice cracking the stoic mask he’d worn for years. "I’ve stayed away because if I didn't, I’d have done this a long time ago."

He didn't wait for me to bridge the gap. He reached out, his grease-stained thumb tracing the line of my jaw, leaving a dark smudge that felt like a brand. The "off-limits" sign that had hung over my head for a decade disintegrated. When he leaned in, it wasn't a tentative question; it was an answer to every lonely night I'd spent wondering why I wasn't enough for him to notice.

The kiss tasted like rain and salt. It was desperate, a release of all the tension that had built up in the quiet corners of this garage. I pulled him closer, my fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, dismissing the ghost of my brother and the weight of being "the kid."

When we finally pulled apart, the storm outside had slowed to a rhythmic drip. The garage felt smaller, warmer. Gabe rested his forehead against mine, his breath hitching.

"Chris is going to kill me," he muttered, though he was smiling—a real, raw smile I’d never seen before.

"Let him try," I said, catching his hand and interlacing our fingers, grease and all. "I think it’s about time we stopped hiding in the shadows."