Phoenix:
I walked into dad's shop, Saint’s Garage, like I owned the place.
Technically, I didn’t. Not yet, not on paper. But the way I felt? The weight in my chest, the steady hum under my skin, the smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth for no damn reason?
Yeah. It was mine.
It was always mine. But now I have even more to look forward to, too.
The doors clanged shut behind me as I stepped onto the concrete floor, work boots echoing. The usual scent hit first—oil, grease, burnt rubber. It should’ve felt the same. It should’ve felt like any other Monday at the shop.
But it didn’t.
Something had shifted.
I had shifted.
“Damn, girl,” Ty called from under a lifted truck, wiping his hands on a rag. “You look like you won the damn lottery.”
I shrugged, playing it cool even though
