Ethan Grey wiped the sweat from his forehead, the grease on his hands smearing across his skin. The garage smelled of oil and metal, and the hum of a car engine filled the air. He was under a beat-up sedan, wrench in hand, tightening a bolt that refused to cooperate. His back ached from hours bent over engines, but he didn't stop. Stopping meant losing time, and time was money he didn't have.
"Ethan, you done with that one?" his boss, Tony, called from the front of the shop. Tony was a big guy with a loud voice, always barking orders but fair enough if you worked hard.
"Almost," Ethan shouted back, giving the bolt one last twist. He slid out from under the car, his faded blue coveralls stained with grime. The clock on the wall read 4:45 p.m. He had fifteen minutes before his shift ended, just enough time to clean up and rush to his second job delivering pizzas across Chicago's South Side.
Ethan stood, stretching his stiff muscles. The garage was small, with tools scattered on workbenches and tires stacked in corners. It wasn't much, but it was his world. He'd been fixing cars since he was sixteen, learning from his mom's friend who owned a shop down the street. Back then, he thought he'd have his own place by now, a sign out front reading *Grey's Auto Repair*. But life had other plans.
He grabbed a rag to wipe his hands, though it didn't do much. His phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from his mom, Sarah.
*Don't forget to eat, Ethan. Leftovers in the fridge. Love you.*
He smiled faintly. Sarah was always worrying about him, even though she was the one working double shifts at the hospital. At fifty, she was still a nurse, still putting others first. Ethan typed a quick reply: *Got it, Mom. Love you too.* He slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed to the sink to scrub off the worst of the grease.
"Yo, Ethan, you out?" Jamal called from the other side of the garage. Jamal was Ethan's best friend, a lanky guy with a quick grin and a guitar case always slung over his shoulder. He wasn't a mechanic, just stopped by to hang out before his gig at a bar downtown.
"Yeah, in a sec," Ethan said, splashing water on his face. "You playing tonight?"
"Open mic at Rusty's. You should come, man. Take a break for once."
Ethan shook his head. "Can't. Got deliveries till midnight."
Jamal frowned. "You're killing yourself, bro. Two jobs, no sleep. When you gonna live a little?"
"When the bills stop coming," Ethan said, half-joking. He grabbed his jacket, a worn-out denim thing that barely kept the Chicago wind out. "Break a leg tonight."
Jamal gave him a mock salute. "Always do."
Ethan clocked out and stepped into the late afternoon sun. The South Side was alive with kids playing basketball on a cracked court, cars honking, and the smell of fried food from the corner diner. He walked fast, his sneakers scuffing the sidewalk. His mom's apartment was a ten-minute walk, but he needed to grab his delivery bag and bike before heading to the pizza place.
The apartment was on the third floor of a tired brick building. Paint peeled from the walls, and the stairs creaked under his weight. Inside, it was small but clean, with Sarah's touch everywhere with photos of Ethan as a kid, a knitted blanket on the couch, a cross on the wall. He dropped his jacket, grabbed a slice of cold lasagna from the fridge, and ate standing up. No time to sit.
As he chewed, his eyes landed on a photo on the counter: him and Maya, five years ago. She was smiling, her dark hair falling over her shoulder, her arm around his waist. He was grinning like an idiot, thinking they'd be forever. Then she left, chasing a guy with a fancy car and a fat wallet. The memory stung, but Ethan pushed it down. No use dwelling on it.
He grabbed his delivery bag and headed out, locking the door behind him. The pizza place, Sal's, was a twenty-minute bike ride. He pedaled hard, weaving through traffic, the cold air biting his face. By the time he got there, the dinner rush was starting. Sal, a gruff Italian with a thick mustache, tossed him a stack of orders.
"Move fast, Grey. People don't tip if their pizza's cold," Sal said.
Ethan nodded, stuffing the orders into his bag. For the next five hours, he was a blur—biking through neighborhoods, dodging potholes, handing over pizzas with a forced smile. The tips were okay, enough to cover rent and maybe a little extra for Sarah's meds. She'd been coughing more lately, and Ethan worried it was more than just a cold.
Around 10 p.m., he delivered to a house near a community center. The place was lit up, with cars parked out front and music spilling onto the street. A sign read: *South Side Aid Fundraiser*. Ethan handed the pizza to a tired-looking mom, pocketed the tip, and was about to leave when he saw her.
Ava Torres.
She was standing by the community center's entrance, talking to a group of people. Her curly hair was pulled back, and she wore a simple sweater, but she looked... radiant. Ethan froze. Ava was his high school crush, the girl who'd always been kind when others ignored him. They hadn't talked in years, not since graduation, but seeing her now hit him like a punch.
He should've kept moving, but his feet wouldn't budge. Ava turned, her eyes catching his. She smiled, and Ethan's heart did a stupid flip.
"Ethan? Ethan Grey?" she called, walking over.
"Hey, Ava," he said, his voice rougher than he meant. "Been a while."
"Yeah, it has." Her smile was warm, real. "You delivering pizzas now?"
He nodded, suddenly aware of his sweaty shirt and greasy hands. "Yeah, just, you know, keeping busy."
She laughed softly. "You were always working hard, even back in school. You here for the fundraiser?"
"Nah, just dropping off an order." He gestured to his bike. "What about you? You running this thing?"
"Helping out," she said. "I'm a social worker now. We're raising money for families hit by the factory layoffs."
"That's cool," Ethan said, meaning it. Ava had always cared about people. In high school, she'd been the one organizing food drives, tutoring kids, being nice to guys like him who didn't fit in.
"You should come in," she said. "Grab some food, meet some folks."
He wanted to say yes, to stay and talk, but his phone buzzed with another order. "Can't. Work calls."
Her face fell, just a little. "Okay, but don't be a stranger, Ethan. It's good to see you."
"You too," he said, and he meant it more than he could say. He hopped on his bike, pedaling away, her smile stuck in his head.
By midnight, Ethan was bone-tired. He dropped off his last order, returned the bag to Sal's, and biked home. The apartment was quiet when he got in. Sarah was asleep, her nurse's scrubs folded neatly on the couch. He grabbed a glass of water and sank onto the couch, his body screaming for rest.
As he sat, he noticed an envelope on the coffee table. It wasn't there earlier. His name was written on it in neat handwriting, no return address. He frowned, picking it up. Inside was a single sheet of paper, typed, formal.
Dear Mr. Grey,
My name is Robert Kline, attorney at Kline & Associates. I represent Victor Langston, a businessman who wishes to meet you regarding a matter of great importance. Please contact my office to arrange a meeting in New York at your earliest convenience. All expenses will be covered.
Sincerely,
Robert Kline
Ethan stared at the letter, his tired brain struggling to process it. Victor Langston? He'd never heard the name. New York? That was a world away from his life of grease and pizza boxes. He turned the letter over, looking for more, but there was nothing. Just a phone number and an address.
He set it down, his gut twisting. Something about it felt... big. Too big. He thought of Sarah, who'd never mentioned anyone named Victor. Was this a scam? A mistake? He wanted to ask her, but she was asleep, and he didn't want to worry her.
Ethan leaned back, closing his eyes. His life was hard but simple. Fix cars, deliver pizzas, take care of Mom. This letter was trouble, he could feel it. But curiosity gnawed at him. What kind of man sent a lawyer to find a nobody like him?
He stood, tucking the letter into his pocket. Tomorrow, he'd call. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was a mistake. But deep down, he knew it wasn't. Something was coming, something that would change everything.
He turned off the light and headed to bed, Ava's smile and the letter's words chasing him into sleep.