Page 6 of Frosty the Biker

Shit, Ryian’s mom still ran the place. For a second, I hoped they had sold it.

Dallas had gone up to his father after Mom died. He had lived several hours north of New Orleans. Since no one knew who my father was, I went into foster care. When I was younger, I wished I could’ve went to his dad’s with him. Later I realized that our mom had cheated on him with whoever my father was, so he didn’t really want me as a reminder.

Thankfully, my foster parents had been pretty cool. They were an elderly couple, and they were good to me. I still missed them, and I felt bad that I’d left town like I had a few years ago. Two years ago, they passed away within three days of each other. I was on my way home for Helen’s funeral when I received word that John died.

“She. Ryian was the chick I dated off and on through high school and when she was in college. She ran off to Chicago the summer after she graduated without a word.” We had argued because she found a tube of lipstick in my car.

I’d explained to her that it probably belonged to my buddy’s girlfriend. She’d been the only female besides Ryian that had been in my car. Well, except for when I had to give my coworker a ride home after work when her car wouldn’t start. She was still in high school though and I’d never seen her wear lipstick—or maybe I’d never paid attention.

“I know it didn’t help that I panicked and lied about some lipstick she found in my truck. She was pissed though, and I thought I could just ease her mind and say it was my friend’s girl’s lipstick. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. I thought we had worked through it, and it was water under the bridge. Then she up and hauled ass.”

“Damn,” Dallas murmured. “Though lying was dumb as shit.”

“No shit. I think I figured that out. She wouldn’t answer my calls. I went to talk to her mom because she and her mom were super close, and her mom always liked me. Her mom wouldn’t tell me why she left like she did. Just that she told her she had to go get a fresh start,” I muttered. Though I didn’t get the feeling that Ms. Buchanan was lying, I couldn’t believe Ryian would just haul ass like she had without telling her mom why.

“Well, fuck her. Good riddance and Chicago can have her,” he said.

Though I’d said that often enough myself over the years, to hear anyone disparage Ryian, even my own brother, set my teeth on edge. There was seriously something wrong with me.

How could I possibly not hate her for ripping my heart out?

Maybe because I’d been in love with Ryian Buchanan since I was probably nine years old. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but I can’t think of a time when she wasn’t the center of my world.

I was almost sixteen and she was fourteen when I finally crossed the friendship line and asked her out.

What ensued after that was a tumultuous roller coaster of emotions. We were young and immature and with that came typical juvenile jealousy and behaviors. I’m not putting all the blame at her feet, because it was definitely both of us.

But I thought we’d moved on from that. She had graduated college and come back home. I thought she’d been there to stay. I was working my ass off as a shift manager at the grocery store by that time, with the intent of buying her a ring. Then that fiasco with the lipstick happened and evidently, she freaked out or something after I thought we were good.

“You can stay in the truck if you want,” Dallas offered.

I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Nah. I doubt her mom would recognize me anymore. If she’s even there.”

It had been over four years since I’d seen her mother. When she couldn’t tell me why Ryian left and refused to tell me where she was, I’m ashamed to say, I threw in the towel—and my phone. Her picture had been on the screen, and I was drunk down by the river one night and pitched it into the murky water. Not that it mattered. I’d quickly figured out Ry had blocked me.

Then I packed my shit, turned in my notice, and moved to Montana where I started to apprentice under a friend of mine from high school. His family had moved there the year after we graduated, and he’d gone with. We reconnected through a mutual friend I’d run into.

It seemed crazy that I’d left everything behind to become a tattoo artist, yet I didn’t regret it for a second. I loved what I did, and I was damn good at it. I was making more as a tattoo artist than I had at the grocery store, by a long shot.

As we pulled into the small parking lot behind the hardware store, my stomach was in knots. After taking a deep breath, I got out and we started toward the entrance. As I walked past a red Toyota truck, I heard a gasp and turned to look.

“Dalton!” a woman said with wide eyes as she opened the back door of a little gray Nissan next to the truck.

At first, I wasn’t sure who she was, but then recognition dawned.

“Hey, Holly,” I greeted. Then I saw the little boy peeking from the inside of the car. “Holy cow! Is that little Daniel? He’s grown!”

“He sure has,” she murmured with a fond smile at the boy in question. Then her gaze returned to me before it darted to the store and back. “You know—”

“Dalton! Let’s go!” Dallas shouted from the doorway.

“Sorry, I gotta run. Good to see you again,” I said before jogging to catch up to my demanding brother. “You’re such a dick.”

“I told you that you could stay in the truck. You said no, so hurry up,” he replied as he teasingly shoulder-checked me.

I grunted in retort.

Except I’d been all talk. The second I stepped foot into the store, the past flooded back, and I damn near hyperventilated. Jesus, I was a pussy. “I need to look for something real quick,” I muttered to Dallas before I shot down the first aisle.

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