The garage door was still locked, but my heart felt wide open and stupidly exposed.
I stared at the phone in my grease-streaked hand like it might bite me. Mom’s voice kept looping in my head — shaky, guilt-heavy, the same tone she used when Marco wrecked her car for the third time and I was the one who fixed it. He’s still your brother.
“Still an asshole, you mean,” I muttered to the half-built chopper on the lift. I gave its frame a little pat like it was an old friend. “At least you don’t steal my savings and sell me to bikers.”
The side door rattled. Three sharp knocks — Colossus’s signature. Not loud, but solid. Like everything about him.
I unlocked it. He stepped inside, ducking slightly even though the door was tall, and the whole garage suddenly felt warmer. Smaller. His cut wa
