Gemotions

The engine of the ancient car sputtered and coughed, mirroring the turmoil brewing inside David. He gripped the wrench so hard his knuckles were white. He had promised Mr. Rossi he'd have the '67 Mustang ready for the car show. Mr. Rossi, who had taught him everything, the one constant in his life. The man had suddenly disappeared, a note on the workbench saying he had sold the garage and moved. That was it. Gone.

He wiped the grease from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smear. The engine remained obstinate, the parts scattered across the concrete floor like a disassembled puzzle he couldn't solve. He felt a familiar heat rising in his chest, a frustration that threatened to boil over. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing thoughts in his head.

He had to get the car running. He had to. For Mr. Rossi. But the weight of the responsibility, the absence of his mentor's experienced hand, felt like a crushing burden. He wasn't sure he was ready.