Page 64 of Worth the Wait
Nathan didn’t rise to the bait. “She cool enough?” He jutted his chin to the bike.
“Yep. She’s all yours.”
Nathan wiped his hands on a rag that had seen better decades, then turned to the workbench. He gathered what he needed without rushing: a ten mm socket, five mm Allen key, long-nose pliers, a fresh ball joint, and the replacement shift rod he’d ordered in. Then he crouched by the bike, eyes on the gear linkage. Cool to the touch. Slight drag in the selector arm. Worn joint.
Reece loomed behind him.
Not for a better look. Nathan knew that. Bloke wasn’t the least bit interested in whether the repair held. He was just… there. All height and bulk and infuriating confidence. Reece was taller, broader in the chest, arms like he bench-pressed engines for fun. Nathan wasn’t small, not by a long shot, but next to Reece, he felt lean. Tight. Contained.
And it fucking killed him to picture those hands, that body, pressing Freddie into anything.
He cracked his neck, one side then the other. No room in his head for that. Not now.
Nathan opened the toolbox, methodical as ever. Pulled out the long-nose pliers, the replacement shift rod, a cloth, and the little box housing the new ball joint. Then he crouched beside the Triumph, letting the world shrink to metal, grease, and precision.
First, he disconnected the old rod, bracing his thumb behind the joint, working the circlip loose with steady pressure. Grease stuck under his nails. Didn’t bother him. Didn’t distract him.
Focus. Anchor down.
Strip the linkage. Clean the contact points. Fit the new joint. Tighten with care.
Keep his head in the job.
“Listen, about yesterday…” Reece shifted closer. Too close.
Nathan didn’t look up. He reached for the degreaser. “Said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, I know. But I thought I’d clear the air a bit. Don’t want you thinking I go around putting my hands on just anyone.”
Nathan flicked his gaze up, brief but sharp as he fitted the new rod into place.
“Me and Freddie…”
Nathan drew in a breath through his nose, those words hitting his gut.Me and Freddie. As if that was something anyone else got to say.
“…we had a thing, yeah.”
Nathan turned his attention back to the bolts. “I know.”
“Right. So when I touch him, it’s not out of line. He lets me.”
Nathan gritted his teeth and focused on the torque wrench, adjusting it to spec. Then overtightened it anyway.
“I mean, we’re a bit back and forth,” Reece said, tone casual. Either clueless or pretending. “But he always bounces back.”
“Does he.” Nathan didn’t phrase it as a question.
Reece leaned on the bench, folding those massive arms to make his leather jacket creak. “He’s all work, y’know? Married to the uniform. But when he needs to let off steam…”
Nathan locked the new joint into place. Turned the wrench. Too far. The thread bit sharp. Stripped. He swore under his breath. Reached for the backup bolt, slid it in tighter this time. Controlled. Clean.
Reece gave a low whistle. “Christ. He’s a fucking storm. Got this edge to him when he lets go…Begs.”
Nathan stood, wiping his hands on the rag, the oil streaking dark across his skin. He looked at Reece, held the stare, breathing through the fire in his chest.
“You think touching someone when they’re burnt out and bleeding counts as connection?”
Reece grinned. “We definitely connected.” He winked. “Slotted right into place.”
