Page 10 of Frosty the Biker

“I plan to. And it’s completely my fault that she didn’t tell me. When she left, I was angry and hurt. I decided to make a clean break when I left.”

“I remember, but you never told me exactly why you decided to move to Montana.”

“As you know, I got a new phone and number after throwing mine in the fucking river. I cut off everyone from here except you.”

He snorted. “Who are you lying too? You ghosted me for a while too.”

“You’re right, I did.” I sighed with regret for my impulsive actions back then.

“So, what happened in the hardware store? All I caught was her telling you off and stomping past me and that kid that was helping me.”

“The little boy from my visions appeared at the end of the aisle. When he spoke to me like he knew me, I was completely thrown for a loop. I thought I was seeing things for a second and I’m ashamed to say, I couldn’t look at him for a minute or so. Then when Ryian showed up, I about fell over.”

“Damn, I bet.”

“Piece by piece, a puzzle I didn’t even know I was a part of started to come together. It might’ve been a long shot, but he looked so much like you when you were a kid—at least from the pictures I saw of you at his age. So, I asked her how old he was—when his birthday was. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. At first, I was pissed and I’m pretty sure I was a dick to her. Sitting out on the tailgate gave me time to calm down and think clearer, though I’m still a bit stunned.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I sent her a text. I’m not going to miss out on the chance to know my son. I’ve already missed so much and I’m having a hard time dealing with that. It’s messing with my head bad.” Absently, I rubbed my jaw.

The rest of the trip out of town was quiet. I think my brother was well aware I needed the silence to process. Lost in my head, I was barely aware of the thickening of the cypress trees and other hardwoods that sprung up along one side of the road.

The closer we got to the clubhouse, the more eerie it appeared with all the Spanish moss practically dripping from the trees. I had a feeling that look appealed to the members of Dallas’s club.

When we were almost to the bayou, he turned on a single lane asphalt road. About forty yards down, we pulled into the clubhouse compound and Dallas backed the truck up closer to the front door. Several guys came out and one opened the tailgate.

I climbed out and started helping. We all had our hands full of supplies when I heard a motorcycle approaching. It was Killswitch and I gave him a lift of my chin. He parked his bike and got off, hanging his helmet on the grip as he did.

“Hey, Frosty!” he called out as he smoothed his hair and his dark beard that had two single strips of gray that went from his lower lip to his chin and into his longer beard.

With a half grin, I shook my head. That nickname all the time—it was starting to grow on me.

“When are you gonna ditch that fucking crotch rocket you got and get a real bike so you can join us?” his booming voice called out. He asked me that almost every time he saw me when I came down to visit my brother.

I laughed. “Hey, Killswitch,” I greeted. “How were things at the shop today?”

“Busy this morning, but I took most of the day off since I knew y’all would be bringing this shit in.” He grinned, then turned to Dallas. “Crypt, you get everything okay?”

“Yeah, no real issues,” he said before he carried two five-gallon buckets of paint inside. I followed him with the bags I had. Then we went to grab more.

“Did my sister give you trouble?” Killswitch asked with a chuckle.

“Nah, she wasn’t there. But—” Dallas started to answer, but I cut him off.

“Sister?” I asked warily as I swallowed hard.

“Yeah, my sister and I own Miller’s but I was never into running a hardware store. That was her place from the time she was little. I’ve got the shop and I don’t need the money from the store, she does. Besides, I don’t like the hassle of keeping up with two businesses.” He shrugged.

“Mrs. Buchanan is your sister?” Chills raced down my arms and my stomach bottomed out.

“Yeah, not that anyone would know.” He laughed. “We don’t look the least bit related. She looks like our mom did and I got my dad’s dashing good looks.”

He wasn’t kidding. He had dark brown eyes and near black hair. The last time I saw Mrs. Buchanan, she was a sandy blonde. But her natural color was a dark brunette.

Like her daughter.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I fell back against the truck bed.

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