Page 88 of Throttle

“Congratulations, Throttle. I’m proud of you. I’m always proud of you. No matter what.”

I take pride in my ability to hide my true feelings and the significance she holds in my life. The coward I am.

I let her go, watching as she gets in and drives away. I hold up my second-place plaque. Somehow it has lost all meaning.

Tequila.

The bar isn't as lively as it usually is. No hang-arounds grinding their bare lady parts on our boy’s laps. Bad Omens is playing from the speaker and the clinking of glass as I remove them from the warm, soapy water.

Throttle is still sticking to me like a possessive bodyguard, although he resembles a lost puppy more than anything. He’s also been different, and I'm unsure how to interpret it.

It's possible that I derive a secret enjoyment from his slight suffering.

Thankfully, none of us have encountered any more threats or incidents since the shower. That's something positive at the moment.

The tall man who just entered catches my attention. His demeanor suggests that he is reserved and most likely lost. He stepped inside without knowing what he was getting into by his furrowed eyebrows and nervous posture.

He has on gray dress pants and a polo shirt. His once dark hair has turned grey along the edges, but there is a sense of familiarity with him.

I observe him with curiosity as he scans the surroundings, embracing the elements that define this bar as a biker club. Hanging next to the metal Harley Davidson signs is a leather cut bearing our club's name. Yes our, this is my family too.

He inhales deeply, shakes his head, heads toward the door, but then changes his mind and stays.

He looks at me, then at Hush who’s sitting at the far corner of the bar, nursing his Dr. Pepper until it's finished. Hush nods at him, and the man peers back uncertainly. His eyes scan his leather, muscles, and tattoos. I've seen that look many times before. It’s a judgmental one, and I’m glad Hush glanced down before noticing it. He is good. He may be quiet, but he possesses an unspoken kindness, and I’d be upset to witness him harmed.

To divert his attention from Hush, I clear my throat. “What can I get ya? Beer, or wine, perhaps?” He looks more like a wine drinker.

He pauses for a moment before deciding. “Yes. A glass of wine.”

He has a pair of golden-brown eyes. I'm certain I've seen them before. A hidden realm of agony lies behind his barely noticeable smile. Lost. Sadness. Regret.

I put down a glass of red wine in front of him and he says thank you. “Will that be cash or card?” I ask.

With a swirling motion, he examines the crimson liquid, then takes out his wallet and gives me a credit card. I accept it and then there’s a sinking feeling in my stomach when I see the name.

Miller.

Oh my God. It's clear why he seemed so familiar. His height. The same golden-brown eyes. The once dark, yet full, thick hair. The smile is still recognizable despite judgement.

Throttle’s father.

With an unsure smile, I swipe his card and return it to him.

The individual who caused Throttle’s pain sits here, drinking the club's wine. I should despise this man who claims to be his father. Hate him for hurting Throttle, but I can’t hate the man who gave me my best friend. Instead, I feel sympathy and perhaps some compassion for him, as he appears to have received his karma. He faced consequences for not doing what a father should do for his son. He didn’t get to watch him grow into a man.

I catch his attention, and his eyebrows crease in confusion.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Throttle’s father is startled by the voice of his son, whom he hasn't spoken to in years, and twists in his stool to face him. Throttle's icy demeanor has to send chills down his father's spine because his expression resembles a deer caught in headlights. However, his gaze traces his son's body, examining every detail from the leather club cut to the tattoos.

“I’ll ask you again, old man. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” He takes a step closer to the guy he once knew, and his father stands matching his height.

Throttle sends a look of apology at me. Despite the reunion with him, his sole concern is my wellbeing.

“So, this is where you’ve been. Hanging out with a gang?” His father's voice carries a sharp bitterness.

Hush raises an eyebrow and shifts his muscular body on the stool, showing Throttle his support.

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