Page 72 of Tuned To Break
The moment they’re out of sight, Chase slumps against his desk like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “That was too close.”
“Think she suspected anything?”
“Hard to tell. Your girlfriend is scarily observant. She notices things most people wouldn’t even think to look for.”
“Tell me about it.” I rake a hand through my hair, the stress of the last few minutes catching up with me. “She once figured out I’d eaten her leftover pizza just from how cheerful my ‘good morning’ sounded.”
“How the hell did she manage that?”
“Apparently I get a guilty look when I’ve done something I know she won’t like, and I overcompensate by being extra cheerful. She can read me like a book.”
“Remind me never to lie to her about anything important.”
“Good plan. When’s Doc getting here?”
“Any minute.” Chase checks his watch and grimaces. “Think the girls can keep her busy for two hours?”
“With Ella and Yasmin? They’ll probably keep her out until dinner. Those two could talk for hours about anything.”
As if summoned, the familiar rumble of Doc’s old pickup rolls into the car park. The sound’s unmistakable—the engine needs work, the muffler’s been patched too many times, and there’s a distinctive rattle that speaks to decades of hard use.
Through the window I see him climb out—tall and lean despite sixty-something years, grey hair under a worn baseball cap, in coveralls that have seen better decades. He moves with the careful precision of a body that's absorbed years of labour, and there’s something in his posture that speaks to the weight he’s been carrying.
“Right,” Chase says, straightening, trying to look professional rather than like a man who’s just executed an elaborate deception. “Let’s get this over with.”
Doc walks into the workshop like he owns the place which, technically, he did until a few months ago. But there’s something different now—less of the confident ownership he used toproject, more of the hesitant uncertainty of someone returning to a place that’s no longer quite home.
He takes everything in with a critical eye—the changes we’ve made since Stella took over. Fresh paint in the office,better lighting, actual organisation replacing his old, controlled chaos.
“Boys,” he says with a nod, voice carrying equal parts familiarity and distance. “Place looks good. Really good.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Chase says, and I can hear the genuine respect in his tone despite the circumstances. “We’ve made some improvements.”
“I can see that.” Doc’s gaze sweeps the floor, tallying every change. “New paint in the office, better lighting, realorganisation...” He pauses at Stella’s pride and joy—the coffee machine that’s spoiled us. “And this beauty. Someone here knows quality equipment.”
“That’s Stella’s doing,” José says, looking up from the engine he’s working on—blissfully unaware of the emotional landmine he’s about to step on. “She insisted on decent coffee.”
My stomach drops as Doc goes still. Something sharp flashes across his expression—like he’s been hit by lightning.
“Stella?” he asks, voice raw enough to tighten my chest.
Oh, shit. Exactly what we were trying to avoid.
Chase and I share a look of pure panic. In all our careful planning to get her out, we never told the boys not to mention her. It seems obvious in retrospect, but hindsight is a cruel mistress.
“Our operations manager,” Parker adds helpfully, oblivious to the bomb he’s just detonated. “Best thing that ever happened to this place.”
Doc goes very still—so still I wonder if he’s stopped breathing. Colour drains from his face. He looks pale and shaken in a way that’d be concerning if I weren’t more worried about what it means.
“Stella... what’s her last name?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
“Lloyd,” Parker supplies cheerfully, still focused on his work and missing the tension hanging thick enough to cut. “Why? Do you know her?”
The question lands like a death sentence. Doc’s face cycles through shock, recognition, guilt, and something that might be hope.
“Stella Lloyd,” he repeats quietly, testing the words. “She works here?”
“She runs this place,” Robert says proudly, finally looking up from his welding and sensing that something important is happening. “Turned us from a bunch of disorganised mechanics into an actual business. Woman’s a miracle worker.”
