The next day, I found myself in the garage, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in grease. Chris and Evan were already there, leaning against the workbench, tools scattered everywhere. My Mustang sat in the middle, hood up, waiting for some well-deserved attention.
"About time you got here," Evan teased, tossing me a wrench.
"Had to grab some parts from the shop," I replied, catching it mid-air.
Chris inspected a new set of spark plugs. "So, what's the plan today? Engine tuning or bodywork?"
I wiped my hands on a rag, contemplating. "Bit of both. I want to get the performance right, but the paint's starting to show some wear too."
As we got to work, the familiar rhythm of metal on metal and the hum of machinery filled the space. Chris worked on the engine, muttering under his breath whenever a bolt wouldn't come loose. Evan focused on buffing out a few scratches from the side panel, while I replaced the old spark plugs.
Between adjustments and oil changes, the conversation flowed effortlessly. We talked about classes, upcoming events, and random stuff, like how Evan nearly set his dorm on fire trying to cook.
After a while, Chris broke the comfortable silence. "You've been pretty laid-back lately. Feels different."
I glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged. "Just saying. You're usually more... I don't know, guarded. Lately, you're more relaxed."
I didn't respond immediately, focusing on tightening a bolt. "Maybe I just needed a break from all the chaos."
Evan chimed in, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You've always been the guy who's either fighting or fixing something. Sometimes both."
I couldn't argue with that. Growing up, I was always caught in one mess or another. Trouble had a way of finding me, and I guess I didn't do much to avoid it. People either feared me or avoided me. Sometimes both. It was easier that way—fewer questions, fewer attachments.
Chris gave me a knowing look. "Must've been rough. Always feeling like you had to prove something."
"Yeah," I admitted, focusing on the car instead of his gaze. "People didn't see past the fights. Just the guy who didn't back down."
The conversation hit a lull as we worked, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just a reminder of the stuff I usually kept buried. I wasn't the type to open up, but with Chris and Evan, it felt a little easier. Maybe because they didn't push too hard, just enough to let me know they were there.
Evan tossed me a can of soda after we finished replacing the engine parts. "You've come a long way, man. Maybe college isn't just about classes. Maybe it's about starting over."
I took a sip, the cool drink washing away some of the tension. "Yeah. Maybe."
Chris clapped me on the shoulder. "Just don't let your past keep dragging you back. You've got a chance to build something new here. Don't waste it."
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the garage, I couldn't help but think about how right he was. The Mustang gleamed under the dim light, engine purring like it was brand new. I ran my hand over the hood, a small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe I could tune up my own life the same way—replace the worn parts, smooth out the dents, and let it run smoother.
By the time we were done, we were exhausted, but there was a sense of accomplishment hanging in the air. Chris leaned back against the wall, wiping his hands. "We should take it out for a spin tomorrow."
I nodded. "Yeah. Let's see how she runs."
The Mustang wasn't just a car. It was a piece of my past and a glimpse of my future. And maybe, just maybe, I was finally ready to leave some of that old life behind.