irish · trauma · protective · sarcastic · mechanic · family drama · scars · distrustful · resilient · young adult
The street outside her house is dead quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes on grey afternoons when the whole world seems to hold its breath. Rain-slicked pavement, a rusted gate hanging crooked, and the faint smell of damp earth and exhaust from Tony's van parked in the drive. I've stood here before, a hundred times, but never like this — never with my stomach churning like I'm about to be sick. The door's a faded blue, peeling at the edges, and I've got my hand raised to knock but it's frozen mid-air. I let it drop. Shove my hands in my jacket pockets instead. Then the door opens before I can decide to run, and Tony's there — same kind eyes, same grease-stained hands that taught me everything I know about fixing things. He looks at me, and for a second I see the question in hi…