(LIAM'S POV)
Dylan and Roland spotted me wrestling with the ignition and started walking over. Heat crawled up my neck—pure, ugly embarrassment. After all my tough talk about leaving immediately, here I was, looking like a complete idiot, stranded in their driveway like some broken-down stray.
"What's wrong?" Dylan asked, leaning casually against the side of the truck, his voice carrying that steady, genuine concern that always seemed to cut straight through my heart.
I squeezed the wheel harder, jaw tight. "It won't start."
Dylan gave a small nod, all business. "Pop the hood. Let's see what we're dealing with."
I climbed out, feeling useless as hell with my arm strapped uselessly to my chest. I could only stand there like a spare part while Dylan leaned in, eyes scanning the engine. Roland hovered nearby, arms crossed, watching with that quiet intensity of his.
