Not Broken

NOT BROKENChapter OneThe Mustang’s engine bay gleamed under the fluorescent shop lights, chrome catching the glare in a way that made Jake Mitchell’s chest tight with something close to satisfaction. The problem was right there-had to be. He could almost see it in his mind, the way the gasket would be worn, the telltale gap that let the pressure escape.Two in the morning, and he was still on his knees on the concrete floor, his phone dead somewhere on the workbench, the rest of the world reduced to this: metal, grease, and the particular satisfaction of solving problems no one else cared about.The 1967 Mustang fastback had rolled into Mitchell’s Auto Repair & Restoration three months ago on a flatbed, more rust than car, its glory days a distant memory. The owner had taken one look at the estimate and decided his midlife crisis could wait. Jake had offered to buy it outright, knowing full well he had four other restoration projects in various states of abandonment scattered around the garage.But this one. This one was special.He’d started with the bodywork, then the interior, then somehow he’d ended up pulling the entire engine. That was five weeks ago. Or six? The days had a way of blurring together when he got like this, when the work pulled him under like a riptide and the rest of the world faded to white noise.His stomach growled, a distant complaint he noted and dismissed. He’d eaten... breakfast? There’d been coffee, at least. Several cups, judging by the collection of mugs forming a half-circle around his workspace. The one closest to him had a skin of cream congealed on top.Jake made a face and pushed it aside with his elbow, his attention already back on the manifold. The wrench slipped, barking his knuckles against the block, and he swore, pulling his hand back. Blood welled up across two knuckles, bright and immediate.'Dammit.'