by Lynn Burke
A slow grin stretched my lips. The boy might be straight-faced, but he couldn’t hide the interest in his eyes. “I know a thing or two about engines.”
He tore his focus off my bike and turned it back on me, his shoulders slumped as he let out a heavy breath. “I’ll mow your lawn, sir.”
I strode forward and offered my hand, clinching our deal the old fashioned way. “Name’s Frankie, but everyone calls me Vigil.”
He clasped my hand with a decent grip, holding my gaze like a man. “De—Dillon.”
A slip up—a fucking lie, his flitting away gaze told me. “Nice to meet you, Dillon. New to the neighborhood, right?” I asked, releasing his hand.
“Yeah. Mom and I moved in behind you a couple weeks ago.”
Just the two of them—not that I truly cared even though I’d busted a nut the night before over thoughts of his mom’s ass.
“That ranch is Widow Betsy’s place. Or used to be. She passed a couple months ago.” I frowned, memories of her sweet smile and watery green eyes always lighting whenever I checked in on her coming to mind.
“Yeah?” Dillion, or whatever his real name was, asked.
“She was like a grandma to me. Took care of her and her lawn.” Not that I missed that part at all. “I pretty much look after everyone in our neighborhood, though.”
“Why’s that?” He peered at me as though trying to figure me out while gripping his handlebars tight.
“Natural instinct to look after those around me—friends, family, neighbors.” I shrugged and swiped at the droplet of sweat running down into my beard. “That makes you part of my tribe, Dillon.”
His lips quirked at the corner, that interest sparking in his eyes again. “Cool.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thanks.”
“Where you from?”
Dillon shifted his focus onto the mower, completely shutting down. “Out west.”
Vague, but not a lie from what I could tell. “You like motorcycles, I take it.”
“Yeah.”
“Come on.” I turned toward my garage without looking to see if he followed, noting the dirt on my black truck in the driveway on my way there. The thing needed to be washed... I’d do that next and spray myself down to cool the fuck off. Maybe I’d put a pool out back next spring—my yard was big enough for one. Less lawn to mow...
I damn near wilted in relief when I stepped into the coolness of the garage. Fucking shade had never felt so good.
“That’s my everyday bike,” I told Dillon when he sauntered in behind me, pointing at my chromed-out and shiny Fat Boy. “And this,” I pulled a tarp off the old bike I had on my lift, “is my baby.”
“Holy shit! Is that a Peashooter?” Dillon crowded close, checking the bike out, his grin catching enough my lips twitched in response.
I stepped out of his way and crossed my arms. “It’s a ’28. Found it on my friend’s property up in Maine.”
He leaned close, checking out the frame I’d been cleaning up. “This is so cool!”
I nodded, enjoying the kid’s enthusiasm as he inspected the bike like he wanted to make me an offer on the damn thing.
“I had an old Shovelhead back home,” he said quietly as though to himself while straightening and pressed his lips tight like he’d said too much.
“Yeah?”
Dillon hesitated a second before nodding. “Do you box?” he asked, nodding toward the other side of my garage outfitted with weights, a heavy bag, and speed bag.
“Just to keep my old ass in shape. I use the weights more than the bags these days. Getting too old for that shit, too.”
Dillon eyed me once more with that wariness as though trying to get a read on me. I didn’t have jack shit to hide like he obviously did so I didn’t bother to shut my face down cold like I usually did if people got too damn nosey.
“You’re welcome to come over and work out whenever you want,” I offered.
“You mean that?”
“Yeah, sure.” I shrugged. “Since you’re new in town, I can’t imagine you’ve got too many friends yet. Going to the local high school in a couple weeks?”
Dillon nodded while moving to the heavy bag and threw a punch that definitely needed work. “Could you show me how to fight?”
I narrowed my gaze, catching that wary vibe radiate off him again as he refused to make eye contact. “Think it’s going to be a rough transition into the new school?”
“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” he said, his voice low.
“Play any sports?”
“I played freshman football last year, but it’s too late for me to try out for the new school’s team for this season.”
“I played back in high school. Lineman. You?”
“Running back.”
The kid had skinny-ass legs for a running back. He must have mad speed and moves. “You want to play ball here, you’re gonna have to put on some muscle—even if you run like a goddamn gazelle.”
He nodded absently while glancing around my garage again, his gaze lingering on my cut I had tossed over the work bench’s vise. His shoulders hunched as though the weight of the world rested on them. With just him and his mom, I expected he felt like the man of the house. Add moving across the country, and I expected the poor kid was hurting. I found myself rubbing my chest.
“Tell you what,” I said, “on top of the mowing, you help me out rebuilding the Peashooter, and I’ll give you a key to the side door there so you can come and go as you please. Tinkering or lifting.”
Dillion’s head jerked toward me, excitement returning to his dark eyes. “You would do that? You don’t even know me.”
“I’m good at reading people, Dillon. You seem like a good kid. Respectful.”
He let out a small laugh. “That’s cuz of my mom. I sass off, and she usually cuffs me upside the head.”
I grinned, remembering Auntie Jeanie doing the same to both Ricky and me. “Your mom sounds like a good woman.”
“The best,” he didn’t hesitate to say before turning to face me fully and letting out a heavy exhale as though coming to a serious conclusion in his brain. “You like watching football?”
“I tend to sit my ass in front of the TV all day Sunday during the season, yeah.”
“Patriots fan?”
“Of course.”
Dillion rolled his eyes and groaned. “Figures. I’m a Jet’s fan.”
I barked a laugh. “We still cool?” I asked, sticking out my hand.
It took him a few seconds, but he offered a sheepish grin and clasped my hand. “Yeah.”
“You’re welcome to come over Sunday to watch the day’s games with me if you want. I got a wicked cool man cave in the basement.”
“Wicked?”
“It’s a Boston thing. Adjective for everything from weather to fried clams.”
“Oh” Dillion glanced over at my cut again. “Mom probably wouldn’t want me over here without meeting you first. Mowing or lifting weights and boxing. How about you come to our place on Sunday? She makes a mean chili and nachos.”
Good food, a single woman with what seemed like a great kid... I’m not interested, I reminded myself I’d never wanted kids, blood or adopted. “Sure, I’d love to. What can I bring?”
“Mom would say nothing, so I’ll go with that.”
“I’ll be there—if it’s okay with her.”
He grinned, a dimple showing in his cheek. “I know how to get my way.”
I chuckled, and Dillion shoved his hands in his jean short’s pockets, his bony shoulders hunching again. “I gotta get going—Mom’s probably wondering where the hell I am.”
“Sure thing.”
I watched Dillion hurry back to his bike, my mind rolling at a steady clip. Good looking kid—I wondered if he got his looks from his mom. I also wondered over his lies and what made hi
m feel the need for them.
While I usually hated liars, something about the kid tugged at my heart.
Absently rubbing my chest, I watched his skinny ass climb aboard his bike like it was a chopper, and he its master.
He waved and took off into the heat.
I went back out into the sun to finish the two rows I had left, cursing non-fucking stop at the damn sun. In a few months I’d be cursing the snow, but there was no way in hell I’d ever leave my life for somewhere with less volatile weather.
My club, my blood brother, even if he ended up getting the boot, and my Viper brothers—they were everything to me. I wouldn’t let anything happen to any of them, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to leave them of my own volition.
Chapter Four
Mila
I chewed off my thumb nail while watching the front windows, head swiveling side to side waiting for Devon to ride into view. The neighborhood was quiet with a dozen or so houses, so I had no clue what he did all those hours while riding around.
He should have been back by now.
My stomach twisted tight. I did not want to be a helicopter parent. I wanted Devon to have his freedom, but my inner protective nature over my only child fought tooth and nail. I’d been doing my best to give him space, but it was hard. I know I failed more often than not.
A rush of breath left me as he came around the corner, peddling lazily through the sticky afternoon.
I yanked open the door the second his foot hit the stoop, the August air blasting my face like a damn furnace. “Where have you been? It’s been three hours!”
Flushed, he’d been smiling until my outburst. His lips flatlined as he walked up the steps. “Just riding, Mom. Met a few neighbors, not like I’m out joining a gang or running drugs.”
I stepped back, letting him into the cooler interior of the house and locked up tight behind him. “You have to be careful! I tried texting you a few times. I told you to keep your cell on you.”
“Yeah.” He pulled it from the back of his jean shorts pocket. “Had the ringer off. Sorry. Hey, did you make those cookies?” he asked, shoving the cell back into his pocket and flashing his dimple at me while wiping perspiration off his forehead.
He knew what that dimple did to me, the little turd. I let out a sigh and waved for him to follow me into the kitchen. “Yeah.”
His butt wasn’t even in the chair before he dug into the plateful I’d set out for him two hours earlier. I grabbed a glass and the milk before he could ask.
“Is this all you made?” he asked, glancing behind him at the kitchen counter. “I was gonna take some over to Vigil.”
“Who’s Vigil?”
“Neighbor guy I met earlier.” Devon washed down a mouthful of cookie with his milk. “He hired me to mow his lawn. Fifty bucks once a week!”
“Yeah?” I leaned against the counter, my own emotions easily swayed by the excitement in his voice.
“Yeah—he’s got like a full gym in his garage, heavy bags and all. He’s gonna help me put on some weight for next football season. Teach me how to fight, too.”
Devon had never been anything but a lover, but I understood his desire to learn how to wield his fists.
“Okay,” I agreed even though he hadn’t exactly asked permission. “So who is this guy?”
“Your ginger.”
My heart stalled out but kicked back in at a heightened speed. “The biker?”
Devon eyed me while shoving another entire cookie into his mouth. “He was real honest, no filter, Mom. I got a good vibe from him, and I felt like shit lying to him about my name.”
“Well he’s a biker, so he’s a liar, too,” I stated with finality.
“He rides with the Vipers.”
No. Way. I stilled, every muscle in my body instantly strung tight as hell. “How did you find that out?” I asked, my tone as wary as my mind.
“Saw his cut in the garage.”
Silence hovered between us as he finished off his cookies and milk and I forced myself to relax. Breathe. “We left that all behind us, Dev,” I finally said. “Fresh start.”
“Fresh start,” Devon agreed with a nod. “That means you take him a plate of cookies and see for yourself that he’s different.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fine, then I’ll take him the damn cookies.”
“Devon.”
“Sorry.” He offered a sheepish grin with that dimple, but I didn’t allow cursing in the house. “How about I take him the cookies and he can bring back the plate on Sunday and stay to watch football with us?”
My eyebrow shot up. “How long were you over there at his house, Devon Zeigler?”
“The name’s Dillon Evans,” he said with a grin while standing and meeting me eye to eye. “And Vigil is a good man.”
I narrowed my gaze, arms crossing tight over my chest while I studied my son. God knew he’d seen enough shit in his fifteen years to have the intuition of an adult, but I wasn’t having it. “No.”
“Come on, Mom,” he whined, rolling his eyes. “You gotta give him a chance. He’s a biker, yeah, but he’s a good man. You don’t trust anyone but me—so trust me, okay? He’s not some asshole who’s going to take advantage of you. I could tell that within five minutes of talking to him.”
“I do trust you.”
“Then let this play out. Please, Mom.” He swallowed, and the pain in his eyes tore my insides to shreds. “Vigil is the first friend I’ve made here.”
“He’s too old to be your friend.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Dev—”
“Come on, Mom. I know this is asking a lot considering the bullshit behind us, but let it ride out.”
Our stare down lasted too long, and I caved to his pain rather than the dimple he didn’t pull out of his bag of tricks again. “Fine. Take him the cookies and invite him to watch the games with us, but I’ll reserve my own judgement for after I meet him.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re wicked cool?”
“Wicked, huh?” I laughed lightly even though I was far from happy.
“It’s a Boston thing.”
“Yeah. I know.”
He grinned and grabbed the plastic-covered plate behind me, landing a quick smack of lips on my cheek. “Thanks!”
“Hey!” I called after him as he scooted for the back door. “That’s all I made!”
“You can make me some more tomorrow!”
I huffed a snort as the back door slammed shut behind him, but couldn’t stay put. Telling myself I needed to keep an eye on him, I followed him outside and remained on the back porch while he loped across the yard toward Mr. Ginger’s—Vigil, the biker.
A shiver licked down my spine despite the stifling heat, but I couldn’t decide if the feeling was pleasant or not. I went with the latter considering all I’d lived through the previous ten years.
Devon knocked on Vigil’s back slider rather than go around front, and Vigil slid it open within seconds leading me to believe he’d been right inside.
He towered over Devon by at least half a foot if not more. With shoulders twice as wide and easily three times as thick as my son’s, the man was a beast. He’d put on a black t-shirt and wore cut-off sweats.
Nothing like a man in sweats.
My mouth flooded with drool as I wished for a closer view—but I wrapped my arms around myself the second he glanced beyond Devon toward our house. At that distance, I couldn’t make out what they said or much more than the fact Vigil’s eyes were light, but definite energy rippled across our backyards, tightening my nipples.
Damn it all to hell and then some.
I turned and let myself back in the house, hoping Devon would hurry so I could lock up behind him.
Chapter Five
Vigil
Rather than wariness, a sheepish grin plaster
ed on Dillon’s face as he handed me a plate of cookies. “From my mom. She makes the best chocolate chip cookies ever.”
“Thanks.” I took the plate and glanced across the yards and bushes separating ours.
A dark haired woman stood on their back stoop watching us like a hawk. Protective momma bear—and my dick twitched even though I couldn’t make her out all that well. She hugged herself and turned away, slipping into the house without a wave, same as Monday night.