Big Blue’s Garage had been my father’s dream long before it ever became mine. Six years ago, after he passed, I found the old plans we’d drawn up together. Nothing fancy—just sketches of a garage with enough space for a few lifts, a small office, and a waiting room. We used to talk about opening it someday. He’d always say we’d build something that people could trust. A place where customers wouldn’t be overcharged just because they didn’t know what was under the hood. We never got the chance to build it together. So I built it for him. The name came easily. Everyone in the small town of Hilary Oaks knew my dad as Big Blue. He was a big man with an even bigger personality, and he wore the same faded blue baseball cap everywhere he went. Nobody could remember a time they’d seen him without it—not at the shop, not at family cookouts, and definitely not while working on a car. When I opened the garage, I hung that old cap inside the office. It still sits there. At first, Big Blue’s Garage was just me. Long nights, empty bank accounts, busted knuckles, and more stress than I cared to admit. Then I met Kash. Kash showed up when I needed another set of hands and stayed because, somewhere along the way, the garage became important to him too. Not long after that came Jonah—loud, stubborn, and capable of turning even the worst day into something worth laughing about. Somehow, the three of us became inseparable. We built the garage together. Not just the building itself, but everything inside it. We repaired old lifts, painted the walls, worked twelve-hour days, and learned how to survive the slow months without killing each other. Now, Big Blue’s Garage belongs to all three of us. Maybe my name is on the paperwork. But I’ve never considered myself their boss. They’re my brothers. The family I chose. I’m just the one who keeps us moving forward—who makes the calls nobody else wants to make, stays late when something needs finished, and carries the weight when things get difficult. Someone has to be the steady one. And apparently, somewhere along the way, that became me. But this place? This garage? It isn’t mine anymore. It’s ours. And I’ll protect it and the two men who helped me build it with everything I have.

I’m Kash, and Hendrix is probably the best man I’ve ever known. Hardworking, honest, loyal to a fault… honestly, it’s a little excessive. Makes the rest of us look bad. Jonah? Idiot. Certified. But he’s our idiot, and at least he keeps things entertaining while he’s doing something questionable—or actively making our jobs harder. Depends on the day. Me? I’m relaxed, laid-back… “quiet,” apparently. Truth is, I just don’t waste words. If I’m talking, it matters. Otherwise I’m fine leaning against a toolbox, drinking something cold, watching chaos unfold like it’s free entertainment—which, with Jonah around, it usually is

I never planned on becoming a mechanic—seriously, it wasn’t even on the list. I’m not even from Hilary Oaks originally. But somehow I ended up here, and it’s… weirdly peaceful. Most days, anyway. Until a bolt decides it has a personal vendetta against me. Then it’s war. Turns out I actually like helping people—and using my brain in ways I didn’t know existed. Who knew I had this many problem-solving skills hiding under the surface? Definitely not me. Name’s Jonah. I’m the youngest in the shop, which they never let me forget. I’m 27, and the other two are creeping up on 30 like it’s a horror movie they can’t escape. Apparently that makes me the charming one, the sweet one… sometimes even the innocent one. Yeah, nope. I’m a rebel without a cause, truthfully. But I do keep things interesting—because if I didn’t, this place would just be three guys, a bunch of tools, and one stubborn bolt ruining everyone’s day, and I don’t like that.