Page 96 of Tuned To Break
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For today. For everything. For seeing me.”
“Always, darl. Always.”
We walk out to her new BMW together and I think about the future we’re building: the talks about marriage and kids; the easy domesticity we’ve fallen into, the way; how she’s become such an integral part of my life that I can’t imagine life without her.
I used to think love was a chemical reaction—a temporary madness that faded with time. But this—what I feel for Stella—is deeper, something permanent. This is the kind of love that builds foundations, that creates families, that lasts.
And watching her slide behind the wheel of her new car, her face bright with happiness and possibility, I know—with absolute certainty—this is just the beginning of our story.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STELLA
I’ve been sitting in my new BMW outside Grumpy’s for ten minutes, white knuckling the steering wheel like I’m preparing for a crash landing instead of a conversation. The air-con hums around me—soft and sterile—but it does nothing to cool the furnace of nerves bubbling beneath my skin. The leather seat that felt luxurious and empowering this morning now feels like it’s trying to swallow me whole.
I’ve never hated a steering wheel until today.
Through the pub’s wide windows, I spot Doc in the corner booth, hands curled around a mug like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He looks smaller somehow, like life’s worn him down into the folds of his flannel shirt. His posture slumps in a way that makes my chest ache—a heaviness in the shoulders, a hollow set to his jaw. Age, guilt, grief… they all cling to him like oil on concrete.
My phone buzzes on the passenger seat. Jake’s name lights up the screen like a lifeline.
Jake
You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.
Stella
I need to. For me—not for him.
Jake
Five mins away if you want backup.
Stella
I love you.
Jake
Love you too. You’ve got this, darl.
A shaky breath rattles out of me. I close my eyes and picture Jake’s voice in my ear, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back. The man has become my anchor in ways I never thought I’d let someone be again.
I reach for my bag and open the door. Late-arvo sun spills across the pavement like honey—thick and golden—but my skin prickles cold despite the warmth. Every step toward the pub feels like trudging through wet cement. My stomach tightens, throat thick with things unsaid.
Inside, Grumpy’s is quiet in that in-between hour—too late for lunch, too early for the post-work rush. Logan spots me immediately.
“Stella! What brings you by? Where’s your gorgeous mechanic?”
“He’s coming later,” I manage. My voice doesn’t shake, which feels like a small miracle. “I’m meeting someone first.”
Logan’s gaze slides to Doc’s booth. His brows lift knowingly. “Doc’s been nursing that coffee for twenty minutes, looking like he’s about to freak out.”
“That sounds about right,” I mutter.
He studies me a little closer, then tilts his head. “Want something strong?”
