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Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Gavin treated the Newburn estate like a cheap motel or a junkyard. His room wasn’t in the main villa–he was stuck in a guesthouse out back with his half–brother, Dylan, another kid the family swept under the rug.
Juvie felt homier than this place ever would.
He barely spoke to the Newburns, except maybe the butler. At school, he’d rather throw punches than waste words.
Right now, he should’ve been chewing out this strange girl for messing with his bike.
But her soft voice, with that quiet, take–charge vibe, hit him hard. He couldn’t brush it off.
He only respected strength. And this girl? She had some serious grit.
Gavin flipped to his feet, brushing off his chest. Gravel stuck to his chiseled pecs clattered to the dirt, his muscles tight like they were carved from stone.
“Alright, come on… stick with me,” he said, swallowing a “fucking” just in time.
He led Joanna to his new motorcycle–or what was left of it.
The bike was wrecked. Totaled.
The glossy paint was scratched to hell, looking like a meteor–cratered mess.
Tires were ripped off, lying flat nearby. Oil pooled under the frame like a crime scene.
His pride and joy was now a pile of twisted junk.
Gavin’s eyes burned red. His nose twitched, lips pressed tight, fists clenched so hard they creaked. “My… baby…”
He looked like he’d just lost his dog.
Sure, he was a Newburn kid, but he was the family’s dirty secret. Barely better than a hired hand.
Too proud to take their cash, he’d been hustling since high school, earning his keep. He’d even worked as a grease monkey, pulling late nights at auto shops.
This motorbike? Pocket change to the Newburns. To him, it was a year of grinding–blood, sweat, and skipped meals.
And now… gone.
“If I catch the jerk who did this, they’re toast!” Gavin snarled, but his feet didn’t budge. He stared at the wreckage, a cold pit in his gut.
Deep down, he knew. If fists fixed everything, he’d have taken out Howell ages ago.
He wanted to blurt it out, “Why’d you have me? Why’d you bail on me?”
He’d buried it. Locked it away. What was the point? His stolen childhood, the love he never got–gone for good.
Same here. He could hunt down whoever trashed his bike, beat ‘em to a pulp. But it wouldn’t fix his ride.
This bike was his birthday gift to himself. A year’s hustle.
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Chapter 13
Today was his birthday. Nobody knew. Nobody ever cared. Growing up, he’d thrown his own pity parties.
This bike meant something. Now it was scrap.
Nothing could be saved. Just like his life.
“Freaking useless!” Gavin growled, slamming his fist into the concrete wall.
A crack splintered across it, blood dripping from his knuckles.
He didn’t feel the pain. His eyes shimmered wet. He was seconds from losing it.
He had nothing. Couldn’t keep his mom. Couldn’t even keep a bike.
‘Screw everything,‘ he thought.
“Hey, you just gonna sulk or lend a hand?” A soft voice cut through his haze.
He turned.
There she was a small girl in a welding mask, sitting on some newspapers, welding the bike’s busted frame with steady hands.
Next to her, the tires, engine, and parts were cleaned and lined up neat.
Maybe the welder’s sparks stung his eyes, but Gavin felt tears slip down his cheeks, raw and real.
“This bike’s done. Just… trash it,” he mumbled, crouching and wiping his face.
Joanna flicked off the welder and pulled off her mask.
Gavin froze. Her eyes were like nothing he’d seen–smoky, calm, but with a quiet fire that said she didn’t mess around.
She looked at him and said, “You love this bike, right? Then let’s bring it back.”
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