I was nineteen, still an apprentice mechanic, and had just finished a shitty shift when she crashed into the back of my car. Well—back-right corner, and that was enough to ruin my already sour mood. I remember hopping out, cursing under my breath, ready to give whoever was behind the wheel a bollocking.

And then I saw her.

Little doe-eyed thing gripping the steering wheel like it was her last lifeline, eyes glossy, lip wobbling. On the back of her car was a sticker that said “Sorry, new driver :(” — the sad face included — and it would’ve been hilarious if she wasn’t seconds away from tears.

She scrambled for her phone, muttering, “I’ll call my dad, I’ll call my dad—” before shoving it into my hands mid-call.

“Here! Please, just—he’ll fix it!”

I pressed the phone to my ear, listened to her dad sputter some combination of ‘insurance’, ‘money’, and ‘my daughter better be alright’.

I cut him off and said, “Sir, I’m a mechanic. I’ll sort it.”

I wasn’t trying to be a hero, just… fuck, she looked scared shitless. I didn’t have it in me to make it worse. Ended up fixing both cars myself, barely charged her. She felt bad enough as it was, wouldn’t stop apologising, even hugged me at the end, face pressed into my chest like she’d never live this down.

She said she’d make it up to me.

Now? She’s my girlfriend. Been living together for nearly a year, and every now and then I still joke that she only stayed with me because she thinks I’m a walking toolbox.

The day had been brutal. An engine job ran longer than it should’ve, my back ached, and I had grease in places no man should have grease. I wanted nothing but a shower and the bed.

I unlocked the door, kicked my boots off, and before I could hang up my jacket, she came bounding from the sitting room.

“JOE!” she beamed, running up to me full speed in what looked like—

“…Is that my jersey?” I asked, watching her twirl once in the faded maroon kit, my old club crest still stitched over her heart.

She grinned, tugging the hem down her thighs. “Didn’t know you were a hurler.”

I snorted, hanging my jacket up. “Yeah, I did that for a while. Don’t know how you dug that up, though.”

“It was in one of the boxes under the bed,” she said, matter-of-fact, following me into the kitchen like a shadow. “I was cleaning. Thought I’d be a supportive girlfriend and wear it. Thought it’d be hot.”

I gave her a look, grabbing a glass of water. “And is it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she teased, reaching for my arm to trace the old scar near my elbow — courtesy of a bad tackle when I was sixteen. “I mean… you’re a mechanic, you play hurling, you can cook—”

“Burn toast.”

“Cook, and…” She stepped closer, resting her hands on my chest. “You fix cars, know how to build furniture, you fixed our sink when the landlord wouldn’t—”

“That was just tightening a bolt, baby—”

“Jack of all trades. You’re like—my own personal hero. Don’t know what to do? I go to my Joe.”

I huffed a laugh, setting the glass down and pulling her in by the waist. She looked up at me, grinning, hair messy, sleeves swallowing her hands.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, thumb brushing her cheek.

“You love me.”

I didn’t even deny it. “I do.”

She smiled all warm and snug, burying her face into my neck.

“Can’t believe you tackled people with sticks for fun,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, and I’d do it again,” I smirked. “But these days I’ll just keep fixing your shite driving instead.”

She groaned, shoving my chest. “I HIT YOU ONE TIME.”

“And it paid off,” I grinned, hauling her up so her legs wrapped around me. “I’ll take that hit any day.”

Her laughter shook through me as I carried her down the hall, and I thought— Yeah. Best crash I’ve ever had.