Page 31 of Total Shutdown

The next photo is Collins, same pink-colored hair, same everything, just around ten years younger and with a bronze medal hanging around her neck and no makeup. She smiles at the camera, posing with the silver and gold medalists as they stand on the podium together.

I begin flicking through pages faster, each image revealing more about her life, telling me more than I know she ever would herself. Before, I’d never have described Collins as unhappy—more content with what she had in life. But after seeing these images and catching a glimpse of a smile I’ve never seen, I realize my girl has layers for days.

A roar filters down the street, and I quickly turn and shove the album back into the dresser, pushing on the drawer just as Collins pulls back into the garage.

When she lifts the visor on her helmet, her gaze is suspicious—or maybe it’s just my guilty brain playing tricks on me. Her attention rests on the drawer where the album’s kept, and I follow her eyes.

Shit.It’s not fully closed.

“Dad, youhaveto buy me a bike like this one. Cars suck.” Ezra croons as Collins releases the kickstand and helps him off the Harley.

“Is that right?” I reply, leaning against the dresser and crossing my ankles, trying to emulate a casual pose in a bid to counter her suspicions.

Collins still hasn’t said anything as she pulls her helmet off and shakes out her hair.

Holy shit.

“Did he do good?” I ask her.

She hooks her helmet over the handlebar and unzips her leather jacket, Ezra doing the same with his.

“He did.” Collins’s face is full of mischief, but the kind that makes you feel uneasy, like you’ve been caught in the act and she fucking knows it.

She walks toward me, stopping only a foot away. When she reaches down to my side, shutting the drawer fully, her perfume hits me. Her eyes never leave mine, long black lashes framing deep brown pools that pull me in and make it hard to look away, even if I wanted to.

In this proximity, I can see—and appreciate—how skilled she is at applying eyeliner, the wings at the corners of her eyes sharp and identical to each other.

I wonder how long she’s been wearing her makeup like this since I couldn’t see any evidence in the photos.

“I need to get to an appointment,” she says, voice low and laced with an emotion I can’t decipher.

Anger, hurt, skepticism?

I can’t be sure what it is, but my level of discomfort kicks up another notch.

I nod once and push off the dresser, rounding Collins and making my way over to Ezra and the door.

“That was so cool, Collins. Thank you,” he says.

I ruffle my hand through Ezra’s floppy, dark hair as she turns to face us, her eyes immediately softening for my son.

“You’re welcome.”

“Maybe we can do it aga?—”

“I think once is enough,” I cut him off and place a hand on his shoulder, which is immediately shrugged away.

Despite knowing I just landed myself in the hottest water possible with the one woman I have ever known to simultaneously intimidate and intrigue me in equal parts, I regret absolutely nothing about this afternoon.

He has no recollection of his mom, but I remember the way Ezra gradually closed off the longer he went without Sophie in his life. The past six months have been the worst I’ve seen him, and it’s broken my damn heart to witness and be powerless to change things around.

That is, until today and the past hour we’ve spent in this old, borderline run-down garage.

Collins picks up a microfiber cloth and the pot of wax they were using earlier, handing them to Ezra when she reaches us. She doesn’t look at me, her attention solely on him. “I had a lot of fun today. You can come around and help me anytime you want.”

His face illuminates like the goddamn Fourth of July.

Like I was saying, tornado.

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