The Mechanic’s Apprentice – Part 22

Everyone in this story is 18+

Mending Pieces

The world was a blur of sounds and sensations. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, growing louder, but they felt far away, like I was underwater. My chest heaved with shallow breaths, and everything hurt—my ribs, my face, my hands.

But through the haze, one thing stood out: Connor’s voice.

“Hold on, Ry. Please. Just hold on,” he choked, his hand gripping mine tightly. His words trembled, and his voice cracked in ways I’d never heard before. “Help is here. Just—just hold tight. Don’t let go. Please don’t let go.”

I tried to squeeze his hand back, to tell him I was still there, but my fingers barely twitched before everything went dark again.

The light was blinding when I opened my eyes. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep of monitors told me where I was before my brain fully caught up. A dull ache throbbed through my body, and when I shifted, my ribs screamed in protest, fragile as glass.

“Ryder?”

I turned my head slowly, blinking to clear the fog. My mom sat beside the bed, her face pale and blotchy like she’d been crying. Relief lit up her features the moment she saw I was awake.

“Hey,” I croaked, my voice raspy and weak.

“Oh, baby,” she said, leaning forward to grip my hand gently. “You scared me half to death.”

My chest tightened, but not from the pain. “Connor,” I whispered, the memory flooding back. “Is he—?”

“He’s fine,” she said quickly, her voice steady but thick with emotion. “Some bruises and scrapes, but nothing serious. He’s here, though—he refused to leave until he knew you were okay.”

A shaky breath escaped me, relief washing over like a tide. “Good,” I murmured, sinking deeper into the pillows.

“Ryder, what happened?” she asked softly. Her voice cracked, and when I met her eyes, I could see the tears brimming there. “Why would someone do this to you? Was it those ‘friends’ of yours?”

The lump in my throat grew, and before I could stop myself, tears spilled over. “Mom, no.  I—I screwed everything up,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Her face softened, and she reached out to brush the hair from my forehead. “Talk to me, Ry. Whatever it is, I just need to know.”

The words poured out in a rush—everything about Connor, the bullies, the fight. By the time I finished, my chest felt raw, my breaths shaky, and her expression was a mix of shock, sadness, and anger—not at me, but at the world for what it had done to her son.

“Oh, Ryder,” she whispered, pulling me into a gentle hug despite the wires and bruises. “You’ve been carrying all of this alone?”

“I didn’t know what to do,” I admitted, tears soaking into her shoulder. “I hurt him, Mom. I hurt Connor. And I couldn’t stop those guys from—”

She pulled back, her hands cupping my face. “You did everything you could. And from what you’ve told me, Connor knows that. He’s safe because of you.”

I nodded, sniffling, but the guilt still gnawed at me. “I need to talk to him.”

She smiled softly, brushing a tear from my cheek. “I’ll get the doctor to check on you first.”

She pressed the call button on the side of the bed, and after a moment, the intercom crackled to life. “Yes?” a voice said.

“Ryder’s awake,” my mom said, her voice steady but still tinged with emotion. “Can we have someone come check on him?”

“Of course. A doctor will be there shortly,” the voice replied.

We waited in silence, the soft hum of the monitors filling the space. I could see the questions in my mom’s eyes, the worry she was trying so hard to hide. I gave her hand a weak squeeze, letting her know I was still here.

A knock at the door made us both turn, and a doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. He smiled, his tone brisk yet kind. “Ryder, good to see you awake. We’ve run some tests, and here’s where things stand.”

I braced myself as my mom squeezed my hand tightly.

“You have a sprained ankle, one broken rib, and most likely a moderate concussion. You were unconscious for a bit, so we’ll need to monitor you carefully. We’ll run a few more tests now that you’re awake, but the good news is there’s no internal bleeding or skull fractures. Rest and time will take care of the rest.”

I nodded, my head still foggy, but his words eased some of the tension in my chest.

“You’ll need to avoid strenuous activity, limit screen time, and rest as much as possible for the next few weeks,” he continued, his pen pausing on the clipboard. Then, as if piecing things together, he glanced at me. “I understand there was some kind of incident, and the police have asked to speak with you once you’re feeling a bit better.”

I nodded slightly, though the idea of reliving everything made my stomach churn.

The doctor’s tone softened. “They’ll wait until you’re ready. And I hear there’s someone asking to visit?”

My mom hesitated, her voice quiet but steady. “Connor. He’s still here. He’s been waiting.”

The doctor’s brows lifted slightly, then lowered as he considered. “Normally, visits during observation are restricted to family,” he began, his tone firm but compassionate.

I interrupted before he could finish, my voice scratchy but determined. “Look, Doc. Just five minutes. That’s all I need. If not, I’m gonna wheel myself out to see him.”

He hesitated, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then his lips twitched into a faint smile, the barest crack in his professionalism. “Let’s not do that. Your body needs rest, not heroics.” Finally relenting, he added, “Alright, five minutes won’t hurt. But no more for now. After that, we’ll proceed with some additional tests.”

I sighed with relief, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “Thanks, Doc.”

My mom nodded quickly, her hand squeezing mine. “Thank you, Doctor.”

The doctor smiled faintly. “Five minutes, then.” He turned to me again. “Keep an eye out for worsening headaches, nausea, confusion, or anything like that. Just buzz at once.”

As he left, she smoothed the blanket over me, her touch gentle. “You’re impossible, you know that?” Mom said, her voice soft with affection.

“Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the door. My chest tightened as I waited. Five minutes wasn’t much, but it felt like everything.

“I will go get him. Then I’ll give you two some privacy,” Mom said, standing. “But remember—buzz if you feel worse.”

She hesitated, brushing my hair one more time before stepping toward the door. The sound of her footsteps faded as I waited for Connor, my heart pounding with a mix of hope and fear.

The door creaked open softly, and Connor stepped in, his usual graceful movements replaced by a hesitant shuffle. His face was pale, his blue eyes glassy and rimmed with exhaustion, barely holding it together. A few bruises dotted his skin, but he still looked worlds better than I felt—which, in a weird way, made me feel a little less like shit. Without a word, he crossed the room in a few quick strides and wrapped his arms around me, his embrace desperate and unyielding.

“Broken rib,” I wheezed, half laughing and half wincing.

Connor jerked back immediately, his hands hovering awkwardly near my shoulders. “Shit! Sorry!” His voice cracked, and he looked like he was about to cry.

“It’s okay, Conn,” I said softly, giving him a faint smile. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

He dropped into the chair next to my bed, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t even know where to start. I was so worried for you! I thought we were both done for, until I heard the sirens.

“You called them?” I asked him, looking into his concerned blue eyes.

No, Elena actually—she called the emergency services. She was on her way back to the school because she forgot her ballet shoes. She saw them chasing you and called the emergency services right away. If she hadn’t…” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard.

“Elena?” I repeated, half chuckling before wincing at the sharp pain it triggered. “She really is the dream ballett partner, huh?”

Connor nodded quickly. “Yeah, you could say that. She stayed with me until the police and ambulance arrived—right after those psychos tried making a run for it. My mom’s here too. She’s been freaking out, obviously. And… my dad. He cut his Christmas trip short. He’s on his way back. Mostly for me, but… he asked about you too. Didn’t say much, but I could tell he’s worried.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Joe?”

Connor nodded again, his expression conflicted but genuine. “Yeah. He seemed… rattled, and furious at them.”

I sighed, leaning back against the pillow with a faint smirk. “Good. Maybe he’ll start acting like a proper dad now. And if I were them, I’d be more scared of Joe than the police.”

“Yeah, speaking of, police were here earlier,” Connor said quietly. “They questioned me, but they waited with you since... Well, obviously. They’ve taken those assholes into custody. They’re calling it a potential hate crime and said they’re going to investigate it fully.”

I closed my eyes, relief washing over me. “Good. They can throw the book at them for all I care.”

Connor nodded, his grip on my hand tightening. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You scared the hell out of me, Ry.”

I smiled faintly, squeezing his hand back. “Guess we scared each other.”

Connor hesitated, then looked at me, his eyes searching mine. “But Ryder… why were you even there? At the recital? Why?”

I swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “I had to see you,” I admitted. “I wanted to see your recital, to explain everything. I needed to tell you I was sorry.”

Tears welled up in Connor’s eyes, spilling over as he tried and failed to keep his composure. “If you hadn’t been there… they could have… I could have…” His voice broke, and he dropped his head into his hands. “I’m just a delicate ballet dancer.”

Despite the pain, I managed a small smile. “It seems you can handle yourself just fine, Conn.”

Connor looked up sharply, his eyes locking on mine. “I saw what you did,” he said, his voice trembling. “You took so many punches for me.”

I shrugged weakly, my chest tightening for reasons that had nothing to do with my injuries. “I might be a fuck-up, Conn,” I said softly, my throat tight. “But I protect the ones I love.”

Connor froze, his gaze piercing. “You really love me?”

I nodded, my heart hammering as I reached for his hand. “Yeah. I do.”

The tension broke as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that felt like the first breath of air after drowning. It wasn’t desperate or rushed—it was everything we hadn’t said, everything we couldn’t before. When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breaths.