by Meg Ripley
She looked into his eyes, surprised that he was asking about how she was doing. It seemed as though everyone assumed that their grief was her grief and that she didn’t need anyone to confide in about it. After all, she was Benny’s tough girl. She was taking care of herself. But sometimes taking care of oneself did not mean that one was feeling ‘okay.’
“Thank you for asking,” she said, looking at him and giving a vague, little smile. She wished that she could reassure him that she was fine and everything was taken care of, but honestly, she felt like she was broken up inside and had no way of letting that out. She had cried, of course. She cried a lot, these days. But she also tried to keep most of her feelings inside. She was Benny’s strong little girl. She couldn’t reveal how weak she actually felt now.
He gave her hand a soft pat; almost as if he knew how she was feeling and understood that it was difficult for her to just let go.
They finished their coffee in a comfortable silence. She was glad that he was there with her. She was glad that she could depend on him. “As to your other question,” she said. “Yes, I’d love to go out with you.” She stood up and took away their empty mugs. Leaning towards him as she scooped his up, she winked and added, “Normally guys ask that before fucking the girl, but I love you so I’ll let it slide this time.”
He watched as she went to the dishwasher to store the mugs away, admiring her ass again and the way her hips swayed when she walked. She was a bit like a runway model, except she wasn’t quite so thin and she had muscles. She could probably beat the shit out of a runway model. She put girls like that to shame.
“So,” she said, clapping her hands together and grinning at him. “Are you ready to take me for a ride, Mr. Kirby?”
Ryan grinned back at her. “It would be a delight, Miss Myers.”
She led the way back down the steps into the garage. Aside from The Duke, the other bikes had been cleared out, but there was a row of helmets on the shelves around them. “I sold the rest of the motorcycles and put the money into the kitty for our club,” she explained.
Ryan wasn’t surprised that she’d done something like that. “It must’ve been hard to give away those bikes,” he said.
Mona nodded. “Yeah… That’s part of why I kept the helmets. They’re sort of a memorial to them,” she explained. Going over to the shelf, she lifted up a blue and black helmet, then eyed The Duke to see if the colors would work well enough together. She didn’t want to clash, even though it didn’t matter. Case in point, her black outfit and brown jacket.
She put the helmet on, unfastened, and looked at him. “How do I look?” she asked.
He tried not to laugh, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he was holding back.
She felt frustrated and started to remove it, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm, chuckling a little. “No, don’t take it off. You look good. It looks like it’s supposed to. You just… It looks so cute on you.”
Mona balled her hand into a fist and moved like she was going to punch him in the stomach, but then she didn’t. She smiled, chuckling slightly herself. “It’s not supposed to look cute; it’s supposed to make me look like a serious biker.”
He nodded. “You look like a serious biker,” he said. “Although, you don’t have to actually be serious.” He winked at her.
Once he’d grabbed a helmet from the shelf as well – a simple, black one that had been paired with one of Benny’s more standard, less impressive bikes – they went over to The Duke.
Mona took her leather jacket off of its handlebars, tossing it over onto the shelf. She eyed the bike as though it were a priceless artifact. In a way, it was. “So, what do you think we should do now? Start your lesson, mister.”
First, he demonstrated the proper way to mount a motorcycle. Once she seemed to have mastered that, he got on and patted the seat behind him. “I think the best thing to do is just go out on the road. I’ll show you the tricks of the trade. Watch everything I do carefully.”
Mona nodded briskly. “Got it.” Gingerly, she got onto the bike behind him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and he started revving the engine. Pulling out the garage’s remote control from her pocket, she opened up the door and they were off.
****
The Running Hill riders met at the race track on Flag Day, as planned. Mona was there to hand out their numbers and collect the money they raised in the event. Audience members could bet on different racers from the different teams and all of the proceeds went to the charities that each club sponsored.
The riders on Benny’s team took motorcycling seriously, but they were not competitive. They rode in races to thrill spectators and earn money for their cause, not to actually win. The winning was simply in participating and being able to give back.
That was what Lance could never seem to get through his thick skull.
Mona had shown up on the back of Ryan’s beloved motorcycle, CopyCat. It was a black Harley with small, red paws painted into the back. All of the riders on the racing team had motorcycles with a unique insignia. That way, each rider could be recognized by both his number and his logo.
Doing her part to join in with the fun, Mona wore a black and red outfit, resembling a harlequin character. She even went so far with the theme as to draw black and red diamonds on either cheek, under her eyes. The theatricality of these events was something she loved to get behind.
Riding practice with Ryan was going well, but she was in no way ready to race. She still wasn’t sure she’d ever want to full-on race with the club. She’d be happy just to ride with them.
She sat at the Running Hill Riders table, watching as her club started their engines and took off down the track. She knew that it didn’t matter who won and that there was more than one rider on her team, but she secretly hoped that Ryan would win anyway.
Perhaps it was not actually much of a secret. She was pretty sure that he knew.
Suddenly, there was a giant burst of flame as one of the bikers crashed and went down against an outer wall of the circle. Mona jumped up, hands over her mouth, and a stunned hush went over the crowd. It wasn’t until some of the smoke had cleared before she realized that the injured rider was one of her own.
It was Weasel.
A handful of people were running around beneath the glowing lights of the racetrack in complete panic. Many of the bikers from both Mona’s team as well as competing teams stopped racing when they saw the crash.
The fire was quickly put out. His motorcycle lay on its side in a melted, molten heap, but Weasel was okay. He was on the ground and in pain, but he was alive.
“Weasel, don’t squirm!” she told him, kneeling beside him. “You’ll bleed more.” She knew basic first aid for situations such as this. It was a good thing indeed that she’d shown up for this race instead of sitting at home and only wishing she had.
Weasel’s eyes were moving nearly as fast as his mind, and he felt like his body was going to start revolving next. Soon, he’d go whirling off into space, a shuttle made of bones and muscle, spinning until he found a void as cold as he felt now. Weasel struggled to feel present, and Mona’s voice brought him solidly back to earth. Weasel forced himself to take a deep breath as the alcohol-soaked rag crept toward the jagged slice on his right arm again, bracing himself for the burning sensation the cloth would bring. Some of the other Running Hill Riders were milling around behind Mona, looking at him and trying their best to find some of the discarded pieces of his crashed motorcycle. Mona knew that they were trying to keep themselves focused on the task, and not consider the chaos the race had descended to. The first needles of pain from the alcohol seeped into Weasel’s wound and actually seemed to help sharpen his focus.
“Can you count how many fingers I’m holding up?” Mona asked him.
She was holding up three and Weasel informed her as such.
That made her smile. He was going to be okay. With any luck, he was not even concussed. He’d just had a bad
tumble and got some glass in his arm. No big deal, right?
“This was no accident,” he growled suddenly so that only Mona could hear.
“What?” she asked, startled and wary of what the accusation implied. Surely, he was just being paranoid…
“My brakes wouldn’t lock,” he said, looking her in the eyes so she would hear him out instead of just shrugging it off as nothing.
Weasel was a trusted rider. He was no liar. But she didn’t want to believe that anyone in their club would do such a thing.
She pressed the rag into his arm more firmly, bringing his left hand up to replace hers. He applied pressure as she pulled her hand away. “If you’re suggesting that somebody on our side sabotaged your bike, maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. We’ve weeded out the rats already, remember?”
Weasel tried to get to his feet and winced as he put pressure on his right leg. “Yeah, I remember. But this isn’t a rat. It’s a cancer. And those are more insidious.”
Mona grabbed his arm as he tried to walk away, whirling him around to face her again. “Don’t go around accusing our family of trying to fuck with you, Weasel. Not until we know more about this.”
“Are we a family?” he suddenly asked her. “Or are we all just a bunch of riders looking out for ourselves now?”
It pained her to think this way about the people who had been by her side for years, but there was a shred of truth in what he said. Who else had access to their bikes before races?
The clubs they were racing with were not their enemies. Everyone was there to raise money and have a good time. Mona saw no reason that any of the other racers would want to hurt any of her men.
But something lurked at the back of her mind. There was someone who was set against their club and the wishes of their fallen leader. Lance Olsen. He was a sore loser and even sorer when he didn’t get what he wanted. Mona didn’t want to believe that he’d actually cause a crash like this and endanger Weasel’s life, but there was that lingering ‘but…’ that wouldn’t go away from her mind.
Ryan carefully lifted up the battered and broken bike, moving it away from the wreckage and off the track. Mona went to him now that Weasel had made his way to the first aid tent and was recovering from his shock and injuries. An ambulance would be coming for him soon, but meanwhile she and Ryan had bigger things to deal with.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute alone?” she asked him.
“Sure,” he said. He wheeled the bike towards the grassy area everyone had arrived from and let it lay down against the softer ground there. The bike was going to need a lot of repairs now. It was unlikely that Weasel would be able to cover it all on his own, but that was what this club did for each other: they helped out when it was needed. “What is it?” he asked. “Aside from something getting fucked up back there…”
“Weasel seems to think he was sabotaged.”
Ryan sniffed and shook his head, smiling a sardonic smile. “No shit,” he said. “And I think you and I both know who it was.”
Mona sighed. “Lance.” It wasn’t even a question. They both just thought it, felt it, knew it.
No one else was as vehemently against the Running Hill Riders continuing on as a showmanship, charitable club. No one else was has foolhardy and dangerous either.
“I didn’t think the bastard had it in him,” Ryan said. “But he was pretty annoyed when he left our meeting.”
Mona looked into Ryan’s eyes. If he was going to start secretively showing up at their events and ruining their rides, would any of her teammates be safe? Would she be safe?
****
Mona and Ryan didn’t know quite what to do. There was no evidence of foul play on the bike, largely owing to the fact that the bike was nearly destroyed. There were likely no fingerprints because all of it had been engulfed in flames. It was a carefully plotted out scheme.
That didn’t stop them from filing a police report. At the next race, they would also be sure to have at least two people standing guard by the bikes beforehand, to keep any delinquents from manhandling the motorcycles.
Mona was in a state of panic. Her first race had ended in fire and fear. They raised a considerable amount of money, but a large chunk of it was going to go into fixing Weasel’s beloved Night Rod Special. That and helping him pay off some of his large medical bills. The young rider had broken one of his leg bones as well as sliced up several of the tendons in his arm. He was going to be out of the running for quite a while.
Mona kicked the trashcan in her garage, causing it to clang loudly and tip over, knocking its contents to the floor. She put her head in her hands, crying in angry frustration. Thank goodness Ryan was there with her.
He wrapped his arms around her and let her cry against his broad chest. She’d been working so hard and was even close to riding herself. Now, she was too afraid to get on the back of her bike, just in case some asshole had tampered with it while her back was turned.
“It’s going to be okay,” Ryan told her soothingly, gently rubbing her back. “We’ll catch the creep who did this. We won’t live in fear.”
“Maybe not you,” she said sadly, looking up into his eyes. “I’m the one who’s got to worry about this. I’m the one who’s already—”
She cut herself off, but he already knew what she was going to say. “Scared?” he suggested.
She looked down. “On-edge, I would say… Can I just say something?”
He put his hands on her shoulders supportively, looking at her with care and concern plainly written on his face. “You may.” He didn’t want to prod her, but he had been able to sense for a while that something was not fully right with her. That was why he’d asked how she was holding up in the first place, the other evening.
Returning her gaze back to his caring blue-green eyes, Mona sighed and wiped at her wet cheeks even though it didn’t do much to remove the tears that had slid into position there. “I feel like I’m losing it,” she said. “I feel scared and alone and pretty depressed, actually. I’ve been working so hard to keep it together for the Riders. I just… Can’t always. And now, with this, I’m starting to feel like maybe it’s a bad idea to even try and keep this up.”
“Hey…” Ryan said. He gently lifted her chin with an index finger and leaned down towards her face, kissing her softly. “Don’t give in to Lance. Don’t let one bad apple spoil the bunch. We will deal with this together. You’re not alone. Do I look like a ghost to you?”
She smiled and chuckled a little then. “No,” she said. “Definitely not a ghost.”
They kissed again.
“Now, what about that date?” he asked her. “Nothing will take your mind off of things better than a date with this guy.” He pointed both thumbs at himself and grinned. “Dinner? Movie? Dinner and a movie?”
She thought it over. “Arcade.”
Ryan beamed at her, impressed. “Niiiice.”
They went back into the house and out the front door. She pulled out her keys for the Mini, but he shook his head at her and gestured to his CopyCat. Mona eyed the sleek black motorcycle nervously.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Come on, Myers. You can trust me. No one touches my baby without my say so.”
He took a spare helmet out of the storage compartment and tossed it to her. Mona caught it and put it on, a look of trepidation in her blue eyes. Ryan smirked a little at her and put on his helmet, buckling it and kicking one leg over the big bike. He patted the seat behind him. “You’re safe with me, Mona,” he said. “I promise.”
With a long, deep sigh, she got onto the back of Ryan’s bike and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He took off down her driveway and turned down the street. Before long, with the wind on her face and the world zipping past her, she forgot to be scared and she was flooded with excitement.
When they got to the arcade, the place was popping. There were so many flashing lights and sounds. Mona felt like a kid again. She rushed to a shoot-em-up game in
volving zombies and gestured with her big, plastic zapper gun for Ryan to come over and join her.
They worked together to annihilate as many zombies as they possibly could in three minutes. When it was over, a little paper ticket came out of the machine.
Mona cackled. “Aww, we even get a token for participating! Oooh, I wonder what sort of ridiculous prizes we can even win.”
He smiled at her. “I’ve already got my ridiculous prize.”
She giggled. “Oh yeah?”
Wrapping his arms around her, the walked along – albeit slowly – checking out the games. He was more concerned with kissing her neck and enjoying being with her than actually playing any games. However, her enthusiasm was infectious and any time she “aww”ed or “ooh”ed one of the games, a piece of him felt electrified with adoration. Probably it was his heart.
“Mona,” he said to her as they were tossing skee-balls side by side.
She smiled but kept her attention focused on the holes she was aiming for. “Yeah?”
“I think we should move in together.”
She let loose and her ball went flying… backwards. “Oh shit!” she said, laughing and watching as the small but heavy white ball went sailing through the air, hitting one of the games about ten feet away. “Sorry!” she called to everyone around.
Mona turned back towards him while the attendant was bringing back the wayward ball. “What did you say?” she asked.
He blushed. Now that he had her full attention, he was a lot more nervous about the proposition. “I think we should live together.”
Mona stared at him. She didn’t know what to say. The idea was a pretty good one. Ever since her dad died and she’d moved into the old house, she’d felt lonely. Perhaps this was the best solution.
Especially if she factored into the equation the fact that she loved Ryan. Not just as a member of the club.
“I think that sounds like a great idea!” she said, leaping into his arms and hugging him tightly.
Just then, the attendant handed Ryan the wayward skee-ball. He chuckled. “Thanks.” He turned his full attention back to Mona. “Really? I know that living in your dad’s place has got to be kind of nice for you. You get to feel close to him there, at least, right? I don’t want to be in the way of that. I just don’t want you to feel alone. And I want to be around you more… is that okay?”