Page 24 of Rolling Thunder

“Evan, we received a call from a young lady named Amber McKenna who claimed that she saw you on TV, but your last name isn’t really Holton. And that you were just released from prison a few years ago,” Duckie said without any preamble.

“Amber,” Evan muttered. “I should have known.” To say things hadn’t ended well between them was an understatement. And she’d obviously seen him on TV with much more exposure than she was getting in her attempts at becoming a social media influencer. He knew just how that would sit with her. She would be compelled to try to ruin it for him and get herself some new subscribers in the process.

“Is this true?” Duckie went on.

“Yeah, it’s true. I legally changed my name. It’s all a matter of public record. I’m sure you don’t need me to fill you in.” Evan stalked toward the door.

He could hear Dan behind him trying to run interference. He didn’t care, couldn’t care. He stormed out to the driveway where he’d left his bike, mounted it, and kicked up the stand with force as it roared to life. He peeled out, leaving a rubber mark in his wake, and stormed down the road until the screaming thunder of the engine drowning out all the noise in his head.

He finally stopped to sit by the Gulf and calm down. His phone had completely blown up with text messages and voicemails while he was riding. Most of them were from Dan, but some he knew were the show’s producers, and a few he didn’t recognize. As he thumbed through them, he realized with dread that a few YouTubers were making stories about the controversy, led by none other than Amber herself. The last one was a link from Dan. It was a thumbnail for a video made by Amber—her face sporting an exaggerated look of shock with a title that read “Remodel Network Star Evan Holton’s Criminal Past Revealed.” He almost threw the phone into the Gulf. Their show had been more successful than anything else Home Improvement Channel had launched this year. Ratings had been excellent, and people seemed to like Evan and Dan as much as Duckie had thought they would. Amber’s YouTube channel was floundering, and she’d seen an opportunity to hit two birds with one stone. Get more subscribers for herself and try to take him down again. Hell hath no fury, he thought.

He needed to ride, long and hard. He’d just keep riding on and on, all the way out to Key West. It first popped into his brain because the thought of beating the crap out of his brother, Jake, right now seemed like the perfect solution and outlet for his rage. He wanted to blame it all on Jake, but the fact was, he had inserted himself into the situation trying to be the hero big brother, and he never would have gone to prison if not for that. Also, he should warn Jake.

Technically, Jake had stood by him through the prison bit along with Dan. Jake had been unreliable, going incommunicado for months at a time. Still, Jake and Dan were the only two people in the world who really knew what had happened and what it had done to his life. One of those two people was now the subject of gossip news thanks to amateur vloggers. And he should really warn Jake that he might become the subject of unwanted scrutiny. He was done protecting his brother at this point—but selfishly if they uncovered anything truly objectionable about Jake it would wind up being more fodder for the network to want to cut them loose. He simply could not keep losing everything because of Jake’s bad choices.

He instantly began to feel better as he imagined roaring past Naples and blazing onto US 41 Tamiami Trail, where nobody would stop him from doing a hundred miles per hour, scaring the shit out of gators and herons as he flew like a raging cannonball to outrun his worries…when he remembered…goddammit…now he had a dog. He sighed and decided there was only one solution. Evidently, she’d used him for sex. He could use her for dog sitting. With any luck, she’d decide to keep the damn dog, and that would be that.

Still sitting on the pier, he texted her:

Can you take care of the dog for a few days? It took her half an hour to reply.

Sure.

She’s in the kennel out back. Dog food is in my kitchen, it isn’t locked.

Okay.

With that done, he swung onto the bike and roared off for Alligator Alley, running from the past and, ironically, right back to it.

The swamp closed in around him in a cloak of dense vegetation. Big, fat gators lay on the side of the road here and there, sunning themselves. He was lost in the thick, humid heat, and the sun beat down on his shoulders. He dared it to burn the misery out of him. He urged the bike still faster, zooming around the occasional tourist gawking at alligators or taking pictures next to signs that read “Panther Crossing.”

The contrast wasn’t lost on Evan as he roared through the swamp with its deep, dark secrets. Black pools with mirror-still surfaces hiding prehistoric monsters alongside tourists in floral shirts taking pictures.

He’d been a bit of a local sensation when he got out of prison. After the years of isolation and constantly being on edge, the lights and the cameras were an unwelcome shock. What wasn’t unwelcome, at least at first, was the attention from girls. Amber had really fooled him. Coming from a modest family and having been locked up young, Evan didn’t have the life experience to see what she was really up to at first. Finally, he’d realized that she was trying to make it as an influencer so she didn’t have to work a real job. His fifteen seconds of fame and the payout from the state had drawn her attention as a way to get subscribers to her channel. It was one more betrayal that had practically sent him over the edge.

He’d moved here to help Dan flip houses and try to lose himself in the swamp after the media circus died down. He bought an unassuming little yellow house in the middle of nowhere with cows and horses for neighbors, mostly to hide his money and his identity. That was after he realized the bitch didn’t really have any interest in him other than fame and money. So, he’d invested some of the money and used the rest to start his little house-flipping venture with Dan, which had been surprisingly successful until Hurricane Ian.

He should have known better than to agree to go on TV, but Dan wanted it, and he owed Dan. Who had been there when the prison finally let him out? Not his brother Jake, who was more than half the reason he was in there. It was Dan, long before the money was even a thought. That was how he knew Dan was the real deal. He drove all night to pick Evan up, gave him a couch and a meal when Evan couldn’t bear to speak to Jake, and his parents didn’t believe him.

But it was too late to second-guess it all now. He was on his way to the Keys. Maybe he wouldn’t come back.

He rolled onto the seven-mile bridge at sunset, a spectacular show of cotton candy, pastel-colored clouds and glittering blue water as far as the eye could see. Riding the bridge on the big Indian felt just like flying low, and tonight, it was just what he needed. He eased off the throttle and swayed lazily back and forth within his lane, drinking it all in. Over the railings, he could see dolphins breaching the glittering sunset waves. What a spectacular show. It was times like this on the bike that he lived for. The nostalgia replayed memories of riding with his brother when they were young and wild, as he passed through the less famous keys, one after another, his battered emotions unwinding with every lowering mile marker on US 1 South until he finally got to mile marker zero. It was a fitting place for Jake to be.

Live music, the aroma of fried seafood, and hints of coconut suntan lotion wafted in the air as he cruised through town. It had been a long time. He pulled into the parking lot of Conch Republic Custom Choppers, half hoping it would be gone and Jake would be gone too. At least maybe it would be closed. But the lights were blazing and the parking lot decorated with brightly colored, long-rake custom motorcycles. Evan knew Jake secretly thought they were ridiculous, but they were popular with the rich biker-wannabe visitors to the island and made him a good living.

He let himself into the lobby to the tinkling of a seashell door chime. A girl at the front desk who was obviously selected as eye candy immediately took notice and batted too-long eyelashes. She was dressed like a typical biker tramp. She wore a black leather halter top that displayed the goods and sported a full-sleeve tattoo of brightly colored flowers.

“Can I help you?” she asked. He had the sense that she would be willing to help with mostly anything—not limited to the shop’s services.

“I’m looking for Jake,” Evan said.

Immediately, her face took on a false glaze of feigned ignorance, and he realized two things. One: she wasn’t actually a bimbo, and two: Jake was still involved in some nefarious business. She intended to decipher his intentions before she announced whether Jake was here.

“I’m his brother,” Evan added with more patience than he felt. She nodded slightly.

“Wait here.” She stood up from the desk. Evan admired the Levi’s jeans that looked like she’d been poured into and come-fuck-me boots up to her knees. Yeah—he was starting to feel better already. She disappeared through a glass door into the shop bay. A few minutes later, he saw the approach of a silhouette he would know anywhere—the wild reddish-brown hair sticking every which way and somewhat contained by a black bandanna wrapped around his forehead. Jake’s eyebrows shot up when he saw that it was actually Evan in his office. But before Jake could speak, Evan did.

“We need to talk,” he said grimly.

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