Page 28 of Thunder

Long shadows drape themselves across the garage as we unload boxes of gourmet food from the van. My guilt feels heavier than the packages themselves. I stare at the piles of food, thinking about the homeless people it could help and how Lia's face had looked when I took it. My conscience aches like a freshly beaten bruise.

Rook grunts, setting down a box with a thud. "So, now what, genius? We bag and freeze this so we don't have to cook for the next year?"

I rub my beard, trying to come up with an answer that sits right with me. The others exchange glances, their expressions mirroring my uncertainty.

"Look," Bullet says, breaking the silence, "we all know you're feeling guilty, man. But we can still do some good with this food, right?"

"Maybe we can turn this into a fundraiser," Maddy suggests. "Sell the food and donate the money to the people fighting against the resort."

"Or," Eliza pipes in, "we could host a massive food fight." Her eyes twinkle with mischief. "Charge admission. Make a spectacle out of it. That'll get people talking."

It would get people talking, but I think Eliza just wants to see what Rook would look like after being smacked in the face with a bunch of mashed potatoes. I think I might, too. Still, I shake my head. “That’d just be wasting it.”

“You just don’t want me to bash you in the head with a T-Bone steak,” Rook says.

“That too,” I concede. “I know you wouldn’t hold back, and getting knocked out by taking a steak to the face is not something I want to experience.”

“Still might do it,” Rook answers, grinning. His eyes drift alarmingly toward the box of steaks I unloaded a few minutes ago.

“Seriously, we could probably sell this food, and for way more money than you’d expect,” Maddy says. “It's prepackaged, pre-portioned. If we took it down to the financial district in San Francisco, I can find you a thousand finance bros who are into meal prep and who would go nuts for this. We could take the money we earned and use it for a legal fund so Eileen and others can fight the resort."

“Babe, I love you, but that sounds like too much work, and no amount of money is worth it to spend time around those finance guys,” Bullet says. “The last thing anyone needs is to hear a thousand stuck-up assholes talk about how they’re ‘crushing it.’”

“I agree with Bullet,” I say. “Those dudes are the worst.”

“We could create a cooking show with this stuff. 'Cook with Rook.' We could put it up on YouTube. People would pay good money to see my man make beef Wellington." Eliza looks so proud as she says it, and looks at Rook so lovingly, that I allow her a minute of basking before I shake my head.

“I would pay not to see that,” I say.

“And I’d pay not to do it,” Rook adds. “Sorry, love. But you know any cooking show with me involved would just turn into true crime. Probably at least a double homicide.”

"These are all technically ideas," I mutter. As I stand there, surrounded by my friends and their well-meaning suggestions, the memory of Lia's face inches from mine flashes through my mind. The heat in her eyes, the tender fullness of her lips, the magnetic pull that nearly had me losing myself in a kiss before reality slammed back into place and she hit me.

"Alright, listen up," I say, my voice firm as I shake off the memory. "We're keeping this food, but we're gonna use it in a way that actually helps people."

"You've got a plan, don't you?" Bullet asks, knowing me too well.

I flash a grin. "I'm working on it. We're not backing down from this fight; we're just changing the rules."

With that, we continue unloading the food while I rack my brain for a solution. Idea after idea sparks in my skull, but nothing quite catches fire, nothing quite feels right. Every time I think I'm getting close, Lia's face invades my thoughts, challenging me to do better. And I will.

"Hey, maybe we could just host a massive cookout," Maddy suggests, her eyes sparkling. "You know, like a neighborhood potluck or something."

"Or better yet," Rook adds sarcastically, "we could just throw a massive pool party and eat like kings while the world burns."

"Thanks, Rook," I say, rolling my eyes. "Real helpful."

"Anytime, Thunder," he smirks. “I’m always happy to help you out with a good idea, or a steak upside the head.”

"Look, relax with the ridiculous for a moment. I really need to focus," I say, shaking my head to clear it. I’m a mechanic and a biker, not a caterer or community whatever-the-fuck, yet I need to devise a plan that benefits the community, harms the resort, and doesn’t hurt Lia any more than necessary. It's a tall order, but I owe it to everyone involved—including myself. And her. Especially her.

Fuck, I can’t get her out of my head.

As my friends continue tossing out ideas, I pace the length of the garage, my frustration mounting. Then, in a flash of inspiration, it hits me: a plan so perfect, it feels like fate.

"Stop!" I shout, slapping the side of the van. "Everyone, just stop!"

"Damn, Marcus, what's got you so riled up?" Rook grumbles,.

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