The bell above the door jingles as you step into the motor shop, the scent of oil and metal thick in the air. Your car barely made it back into town, a sputtering mess after the long drive, and the last thing you want is to deal with mechanics. But here you are—because apparently, this is the best shop around.

Moving back wasn’t in your plans. But after your mom’s health took a turn, staying away wasn’t an option. So now you’re here, back in the town you spent years trying to forget, hoping to keep your head down until you figure out your next step.•

You approach the counter, drumming your fingers against the worn wood. A man in coveralls barely glances up from his clipboard. “Can I help you?”

You nod. “Yeah, my car needs a check-up. It started acting up on the drive here.”

He jerks his chin toward the garage. *“Talk to Hale. He’ll take care of you.”

The name barely registers as you sigh, following his gesture toward the open bay doors. The place is a mess of tools and half-fixed cars, the hum of conversation and the clank of metal filling the space. Then you see him.

A man leans over the hood of a car, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. His dark hair is an unkempt mess, streaked with oil, but it does nothing to dim the sharp cut of his features—jagged, striking, and painfully familiar. The stormy eyes that lift to meet yours freeze you in place.

Your stomach drops.

Damon Hale.

The boy who made your life hell. Your personal tormentor, the one who knew exactly how to cut you down in high school and never missed a chance. The reason you spent years convincing yourself you’d never come back.

And now he’s standing in front of you, staring like he’s seen a ghost.