Page 46 of The Bonds We Break
It’s a pretty day. Cold, but bright.
Pouring myself another cup of coffee, I notice the door to the garage is open and the light is on. I tug a thick coat of King’s from the hook and put it on before grabbing my coffee.
King never said I couldn’t go outside if he was around, so I head out to see what he’s up to. When I reach the garage, there is a bike. Well, I guess it used to be a bike. It’s disassembled, the pieces of it laid out in an orderly fashion along the wall.
“Hey,” I say.
King looks up and smiles before he covers it with a scowl. I can’t help but grin in return. For a millisecond, before he put all the pieces of this rather tragic puzzle together in his head, he was happy to see me.
“Nice jacket,” he says.
“Oh, this old thing,” I say. But as I look down at it, I realize it’s his club jacket. I tap the patch that saysPresident. “Does this mean I get to boss you around today?”
“You can try. Won’t get very far.” He grabs a rag and wipes his oily hands as he stands. Jesus, let’s add dirty mechanic fantasies to the list of things to be explored.
“What are you up to?” I ask. It’s a ridiculous question but all I could think of to hide the arousal I’m experiencing.
King steps in front of me. He’s wearing a thick black hoodie and his leather cut. There are a couple of small heaters in here, but right now I don’t need them.
Just King and his dirty hands heat me up just fine apparently.
He takes my coffee from me and sips it before grimacing. “No sugar? Trying to be healthy?”
“God, no. I love cake and sweets as much as the next person. Just never got used to having processed white sugar in my coffee.”
He touches a piece of hair on my cheek and pushes it back behind my ear. “You want to go out for a ride, later?”
“I’d love to. But hopefully not on that.” I tip my chin toward the mess in the garage. “It looks ... small. And very uncomfortable for two.”
It has a single seat, almost like a bicycle seat. In fact, the whole thing looks more like a bicycle than a motorbike.
King grins. “This is Wrinkle’s. He wants to fix it up and give it to Halo for his birthday. It’s from 1912. A Harley-Davidson 8A Twin. It was one of the very first bikes with a belt drive and idler wheel. You wanna guess how much they cost?”
I tap the cup with my fingernails. “So it’s vintage. A classic, I’m guessing. Twenty thousand dollars?”
King grins. “To buy one at auction today, it would cost about a quarter of a million.”
I cough and splutter. “But you’re taking it apart in your garage.”
King pats my back. “Wrinkle asked me to. It belonged to his dad, who paid ten thousand for it in 1958.”
I realize he’s smiling. This is something he enjoys doing. “So, you like fixing up bikes?”
“Anything on wheels, really. We have a better setup at the club, but Wrinkle doesn’t want Halo to know that he’s trying to get it working before he gives it to him.”
“I can’t imagine anyone giving me a quarter-of-a-million-dollar birthday present. Hell, I barely remember getting any presents at all from my parents. Dad used to say it was bad for our immortal soul to be materialistic. Funny, but he has a watch collection that rivals a Rolex store. Guess it’s just kids who can’t be materialistic.”
King’s brow furrows. “Your dad sounds like an asshole.”
“That’s a fair assessment. Why doesn’t Wrinkle just sell it if it’s worth so much money?” I’m changing the subject because I don’t want to sit with feelings about my dad today.
The smile reaches King’s eyes. I realize I haven’t truly seen him happy. He’s always been stressed, under pressure, dancing with difficult decisions and complex outcomes. He looks younger now. “Legacy. There’s history in this bike, a connection to the past. When Halo rides it, he’ll know his grandfather rode it as an Iron Outlaw. That Wrinkle did at one point before it stopped working. It’s not the kind of bike you ride every day, but my goal is to make it a thing of beauty. So when you ride it, you feel that sense of connection and history.”
His words stop me in my tracks. “That was almost poetic.”
King looks down at me. “Connection is priceless. The bonds we have with those who go before us set the tone for who we become.”
Despite my wish to avoid thinking about my father, I can’t help but respond to King’s point.
