Marlowe
I rebuilt the same carburetor three times in one afternoon, not because it needed rebuilding but because my hands needed something to do that wasn't replaying the exact, unfinished shape of King's mouth against mine before Bear's interruption tore us apart.
It didn't work. Nothing about throwing myself into work made the restless, unsatisfied ache in my chest go away — if anything, the quiet, repetitive motion of my hands just gave the rest of my mind more room to circle the same interrupted moment over and over, wondering when "later" was actually going to arrive.
Nova caught me staring at nothing for the third time that hour and didn't bother hiding her amusement.
"You've cleaned that same part four times."
"Have not."
"You have. I've been counting." She leaned against my b
