Page 82 of Steel

He points above it.

“Footrest.”

“Is this the engine?” He points to the gas tank.

“Nah, this is.” I tap the engine.

“Cool.” Austin smiles. “Havoc told me you’d show me all the parts.”

He looks up, and the excitement in his eyes floods my chest.

I’ve worked at the garage on and off since I was sixteen and trained plenty of guys on the ins and outs of fixing a bike. But with Austin looking up at me like I’ve got the secrets to the universe in my back pocket, I want to sit here and teach him everything I know.

I want to show him how to take the bike apart piece by piece and put it back together, just like my father did.

“I’ll show you anything you want, kid.” I try to bury whatever that thought was that just rustled up inside me. “But let’s start simple with changing the oil.”

Austin hops up, following me around the garage while I gather everything I need. He asks me what everything is from the socket wrench to the oil pan. And he surprises me by memorizing each item the first time I tell him.

“Maybe you got a little mechanic in you, kid.”

Austin smiles. “You think I could build a car when I grow up?”

“If you want to.” I shrug, squatting down while Austin mirrors my exact movement. “I was just a little older than you the first time I helped rebuild a bike. My dad got a 1925 Harley Davidson JD motorcycle for us to work on. We spent a year taking it apart and putting it back together. We restored it until it was as good as new.”

Working on that bike with my dad is still one of my favorite memories. He got it shortly after we lost Wyatt, and he used it to keep me busy while Mom slowly deteriorated.

We finished it after we’d already lost her, but to this day, that bike still reminds me of the in-between. The good in the middle. Before everything about my father got a little colder.

“Is this the bike?” He points to my motorcycle.

I shake my head. “No, that one’s in the garage back at home. Maybe I can show you sometime.”

Austin smiles so big it lights up his whole face.

“All right. First things first, we need to drain the oil.”

I hand Austin a rag and get to work, explaining every step as I go. Austin holds the parts and hands them to me as I need them, asking questions about every step of the process. He’s more observant than I expected, but I haven’t spent much time around kids, so it’s not like I know what to expect.

“You wanna pour?” I ask, positioning the funnel when we’re ready to fill it back up again.

“Really?” His eyes widen.

“Sure thing.” I hand him the oil, keeping hold of the bottom to balance it. “Pour slowly into here.”

He tips up a little too quickly at first, so I have to slow it down.

“Patience.” I steady it. “Nice and slow.”

Austin chews his bottom lip as he focuses. His eyes squint like it’s the most important task he’s undertaken.

“Perfect.” I stop the flow and take the oil from him.

We check the level a final time, and it’s done.

“Now we just gotta run it.” I stand up, swinging my leg over my bike. “Stand back for a second.”

Austin presses his back to the wall of the bay, and I rev the engine, letting the oil run through it for a minute before cutting it off.

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