“Maybe I can bring two bunnies. I don’t want the one to get lonely.”
“We’re going to spend our honeymoon in lock-up, aren’t we?”
“I’ll sweet-talk TSA into letting me bring a bunny onto the plane. I’ll dazzle the security agents. They won’t know what hit them.”
“I’ve created a monster with you, haven’t I?”
I shrug innocently. “Well, you did buy me a bunny farm.”
Logan places his fingers under my chin and whispers against my lips, “I did.”
“Hurry up and kiss me, Logan. You know I don’t like being kept waiting.”
“No, you don’t,” he agrees and finally presses his lips to mine. The kiss is strong, powerful and causes tingles in my blood. It’s the type of kiss that makes me want to run my fingers through his hair, unbutton his shirt and…
“Say cheese.”
I open my eyes only to be blinded by a flash of light as Noah takes a picture of me and Logan.
“I hate you, Hutchins.”
“Consider it payback for that damn toy you bought Oliver that makes all that noise.”
I smile because that toy was fun.
Rachel comes up beside him, and I gesture for her to sit next to me.
“We need a group photo,” Rachel says. “My parents are watching all the kids so after the photo I vote we all take off before they notice. Ariel is trying to talk my parents into hosting a sleepover for all the kids, and she is going to be mad when Mom says no.”
“So will Macie. I vote we go to a pool hall,” Noah says as the rest of our friends walk up. “Isaiah needs to be beat at a game.”
Isaiah pats Noah’s shoulder. “Like you can beat me at pool.”
Beth and Ryan enter the firelight hand-in-hand, and she rolls her eyes. “Anyone can beat Isaiah at pool.”
He laughs because it’s true.
It takes a few minutes to get everyone settled, and a few more minutes for the guys to swap insults about how they look in suits and tuxes. The photographer positions herself across from us, and we’re silent for a moment, waiting for the picture to be taken, lost in the joy of being together again.
Logan beside me, West beside Haley, Isaiah beside Rachel, Ryan beside Beth and Noah beside Echo. Exactly how the world should be.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Returning Home
A Pushing the Limits and Thunder Road Novella
Chapter 35
Oz
I’m kicking ass in college while working close to full time for the security company. I’m studying to be a special education teacher, have been student teaching at Snowflake Elementary School, and I’m an upstanding member of the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club. What’s more, I’ve dated Eli McKinley’s daughter since I was eighteen and have somehow not been shot by him yet.
Today, though, the last part could very well come to an end.
From the infant seat in the bathtub, Pigpen and Caroline’s daughter, Adelaide, looks up at me with bright blue eyes and giggles.
Giggles.
I’m going to get shot in the head and the eight-month-old giggles.
“Oz, what the hell happened to Eli’s motorcycle? It’s—” Chevy stops short as he enters the bathroom. He studies me, studies the baby and does the math quick. “Oh, sh—”
“There’s a baby,” I cut him off, and I gently scrub Adelaide’s hands again with the washcloth to make sure I got all the paint off. Getting her into the bathtub before she could put her fingers in her mouth was a momentous feat. Last thing I need is to leave any paint on her skin for her to eat, and then have Pigpen gunning for me because his kid’s been poisoned. “Watch the language or Caroline will rip our hearts from our chests.”
“Yeah. I got the lecture, too. Tell me that’s finger paint.”
“I wish.”
“Is she the reason why Eli’s motorcycle has purple spots and streaks?”
“I left her alone for less than a minute.”
Chevy chuckles deeply then leans a shoulder against the doorframe. “How did she get into paint? Even better, how did she get into paint near Eli’s bike?”
Because I was born under an unlucky star. “Mom was putting finishing touches on the going-away gift she’s making Emily. She asked me to help take some stuff into the clubhouse. I placed Adelaide on her blanket in the grass, next to her two million toys, and I was in the clubhouse for a second and…then….”
Eli’s black Harley-Davidson is now decorated with purple Adelaide fingerprints and her creative streaks. Eli’s going to torture me for weeks and then, if he’s feeling merciful, he’ll kill me.
“You realize the kid can crawl, right?” Chevy shakes his head in amusement. “Even if she couldn’t when you left her, that’s Pigpen and our high school English teacher’s daughter.
Genetically, she’s got enough brain power to launch rockets to Mars. If she wanted to decide to learn how to crawl in thirty seconds, that kid could do it. I’m scared to let Adelaide have my cell to gnaw on because not only could she hack into my phone and change my password, she’d probably use the cell to break into CIA databases and then I’d be the one arrested.”
“I was gone for thirty seconds.”
“You suck at babysitting.”
Understatement.
“That paint’s drying out there. Once it’s dried…”
“I’m screwed.” I’m aware, but I chose to clean up Adelaide first because paint is poison and she likes to eat her thumbs. “Can you wipe down Eli’s motorcycle while I wash her up?”
Chevy laughs to let me know he’s no fool. He’s aware how bad this is, and, as a criminal justice major, he’s not stupid enough to be caught at the scene of the crime. Instead, he steps past me in the cramped bathroom and crouches down beside me. “I’ll finish washing the tyke. You can handle Eli’s motorcycle. Or you can run. I suggest running and looking into witness protection, because you’re a dead man.”
“You’re not scared Caroline’s going to catch you with Adelaide while she has paint under her fingernails? She and Pigpen will be home soon.”
“That’s easy. I’ll remind Caroline you were the one babysitting.”
“Some friend you are,” I mumble, and Chevy laughs again as he takes the washcloth from me.
“Who’s taking a bath?” Chevy coos at Adelaide as if he’s not over six feet tall and close to two hundred pounds of muscle—one hundred percent McKinley, dark brown eyes and hair included. “Does Adelaide like her bath?” A master magician, he waves his fingers in the air and then produces a miniature rubber duck out of thin air. Adelaide cackles. “See, she wants me.”
“Because you bribed her with a duck.”
Chevy grins from ear to ear as he hands the little paint monster the toy. “You should get moving and clean Eli’s bike. Or are you going to use this horrific event as an excuse to coward out and not ask Emily again?”
The glare I throw him should leave him shaking in his black boots. “You’re a—”
He mock covers Adelaide’s ears. “There’s a baby.” Then uncovers them and coos at her again, “Uncle Oz is a coward.” Chevy glances at me and motions near his cheek. “You’ve got paint on you.”
Because when I snatched Adelaide off the ground and away from Eli’s bike, she decided to start painting me. The words I really want to say definitely aren’t baby appropriate, so as I walk out of the bathroom, I flip him a bird that’s not a duck.
I grab towels, head out of Cyrus’s house, and cross the yard to the front of the clubhouse, to where Eli’s motorcycle is parked. I groan at the damage. “Damn,” I say, running a hand through my hair. It’s a hot day and the smeared paint’s dried.
As I contemplate the ways Eli’s going to peel the skin off my body, my cell vibrates in my back pocket. I take it out and find a text from Emily: Just finished my last final, my car is packed and I’m on my way to you!!!
Me: Congrats and I love you. Be safe on the drive. Maybe you can con
vince your dad to leave me alive long enough to propose to you.
Emily: I will and I love you back!
Suddenly, my front pocket becomes heavy. In it is a small box. In that box is an even smaller diamond ring. Paying for college—even by going part-time—plus paying for rent and just meeting everyday needs, I don’t have a lot to offer Emily.
Emily, my Emily. Long chestnut hair, dark eyes like a doe, and the most beautiful girl in the world. She’s intelligent, kind, vivacious, and she’s going to become a doctor.
When I first met Emily, she was bold, but she had so many fears. Fear of change, fear of leaving home, fear that loving Eli, her biological dad, would affect her relationship with her adoptive father, and a fear of dead bodies. Now Emily fears close to nothing and will be attending medical after she graduates from college. She wants to be a pediatrician—just like her adoptive father.
She’s heading here tonight, dropping off the boxes from her dorm, and then flying home to her mom and dad on Monday. After that she’ll go to Europe for a year—to travel with her folks and then to study abroad. I’ve had this ring for a month, and I’ve planned several different ways to get down on one knee, but life keeps getting in the way.
My first idea was to propose during our weekend trip to the Smoky Mountains with Chevy, Violet, Breanna, and Razor, but then Emily came down with bronchitis. Instead, I held her in bed while she alternated between watching TV and sleeping. Idea number two was to propose at her favorite restaurant. I made plans to put the ring in her favorite dessert, chocolate cake, but then Eli announced that he and Nina, Chevy’s mom, were going to elope in Nashville that weekend, and he wanted us all there to watch them tie the knot. Proposing to Emily during her father’s wedding felt rude, so I held off.
Then life got busy. Emily goes to school an hour away. I go to the same school two days a week, then do the rest of my classes online. She works, I work. I student teach, she’s had internships. We see each other, but for fleeting moments.
The new plan is to take Emily to the overlook to pop the question. The problem is that while I’ve asked Emily to go with me there tonight, she hasn’t agreed yet, telling me that we will if we have enough time. That’s the problem. Time is the enemy.
Yeah, I understand why she’s hesitant to go away with me. Violet and Chevy are coming in for the summer from college, Isaiah and Rachel are coming in from Louisville, and Razor and Breanna are driving in from the northeast. It’s going to be the first time in months we’ve all been together, but I need this time with her. I want to ask her to be my wife.
The question is, will there be time, and if there is, will Eli kill me for what I’ve done to his bike? Even better question—will Emily say yes?
Chapter 36
Isaiah
I love working on any car, but I prefer the classics. There’s something genius about the simplicity of an older car. It never fails to amaze me that something made over fifty years ago, with a few tweaks along the way, can still roar with the power of a lion when I hit the gas.
One of the best parts of having family in the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club is that these men love machines nearly as much as I do. They share a love affair with two wheels, while my desires lie mainly with the four-wheeled version, but most of the guys own, along with a motorcycle or two, a beautiful four-wheeled machine.
My favorite is this one—a 1964 Chevelle. It packs a 300-horsepower, 327-cubic-inch V8. She’s gorgeous, and she belongs to Violet, my half-brother Chevy’s girlfriend. Afraid, with good reason, that it’s going to be scratched or stolen at her college, Violet only drives the car when she’s home, and the last time she was home, she heard a rattling under the hood. I changed a few belts and now the Chevelle’s running almost as good as when she was driven off the line over fifty years ago.
Eli, my uncle, leans back against the wall of Hook’s garage with his arms crossed over his chest. Hook—Razor’s dad—and Cyrus—my grandfather—are standing near the hood of the car, inspecting, with awe, my work. Cyrus constantly tells me I have a gift. There isn’t much about me I’ll brag about, but when it comes to my knowledge of cars, I don’t disagree.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, I rev the engine one more time just to hear that beautiful purr, then twist the key to turn the engine off. I ease out of the car, shut the door, and toss the key to Eli. “She’s as good as new.”
“Thanks.” Eli snatches the key out of the air. The muscles in his arms ripple with the motion, causing the stars tattooed there to wave. The man might be one of the few in the world who can match me in skin ink. “What do we owe you?”
“Something to drink?” I ask.
“I got it,” Cyrus says, and Hook follows him in to the house.
“Besides water,” Eli says. “What do I owe you?”
“Same as last time.” Chevy’s my brother. Violet is the women he loves. That’s family, and I don’t charge family.
“We’d feed you and Rachel without you working on a car,” Eli says. “The least we can do is give you something for your time.”
“Naw, I’m good.”
“I’m serious.”
“I said I’m good.” I pick up my tools, drop them back into my toolbox and wish Eli would let it go.
He doesn’t understand. Years ago, before Chevy and Violet walked into the garage I was working at, I was an orphan. My mom had spent most of my life in prison, and her getting out during my senior year didn’t make me any less alone in the world.
Yeah, I had Noah, Beth, and Abby, fell in love with Rachel, and had met our other friends I consider family, but I never had a family. Those people who are bound to you by blood and have to love you—or at least tolerate you during holidays.
I’m grateful for the family I’ve chosen and wouldn’t trade them for anything, but to find out that I have a blood family who wants me, loves me, well, that still chokes me up. And to be honest, I still don’t know what to do with this newfound family.
Everyone has been nice. Friendly. Overly welcoming. They each have a hunger in their eyes for me to accept whatever it is they’re offering whether it’s a plate of food, a chance to join the conversation or a simple handshake.
The problem lies with me. When I get around my blood family, I close up. Way deep down on the inside, I want to be here, but there’s something that clams up, keeps me quiet—observing. Except when I work on cars. Then it feels natural, like being at home.
For the past few hours, I’ve been chatting with Eli, Cyrus, Hook, Man O’ War, and whatever members of the club have dropped by. The conversation is easy, like I’m back in the garage in my old neighborhood talking with Noah, Echo, Abby, Logan, and any other of our friends. We’ve not really talked about anything serious—just useless chit-chat while my hands are covered in grease—but now that the car is done, I’m brain dead on conversation.
I close the toolbox and straighten. “Is there anything else you’d like me to take a look at?”
“You know you could come down here to visit us, never touch a car and we’d be happy.”
I know. It’s what I want to say, but I can’t. It’s stuck somewhere deep in places where only Rachel’s been allowed to break through and enter.
Eli stares at me with his steady glare. He’s sizing me up for a fight. Not for a physical fight. Nothing in his body language suggests that. I’ve never felt threatened around any McKinley or anyone in the club, but I can tell his mind is working overtime. Searching for a way to win this battle to give me something in return for work I don’t mind doing.
“You’re my family,” Eli continues. “If you were raised here, you would basically be my son. Cyrus and my mom would have loved and cared for you. The moment I had gotten out of prison, I would have been involved in every second of your life. You have to know—”
“But I wasn’t raised here,” I cut him off. I was raised by the foster care system. Bounced from house to house. Some of them good, some of them bad. A few were awful. “I’m giving you the
best I’ve got.”
“Isaiah,” he tries again.
“Let it go, Eli,” I say with quiet exhaustion. Enough for him to hear, but low enough for him to know I can’t. I turn away, give him a second to be pissed then move on with the day.
There’s shifting behind me as he readjusts his footing then he does what I need: moves on to small talk. “How’s work?”
My work, his work, Rachel’s work. I don’t do small talk with many people, but I allow it with the McKinleys. They’re trying, and though they might not know it, I am, too.
“Good. Pro-Performance’s been busy. The overtime money’s been good. Work’s been steady over at…” I stumble over Tom’s name, but continue, “the shop.”
Tom’s shop. Tom gave me a steady paying job when I was thirteen. It was he and Mack, the lead mechanic, who taught me everything I know about cars. Tom died a few months ago and left the shop to Mack. Mack’s health isn’t the best. His joints and bones plague him, and he’s looking to sell the shop and retire to Florida.
I make good money at Pro-Performance, the custom car shop, and don’t need to work at Tom’s to make ends meet. But I do work there on nights and weekends. I’ve told myself it’s to make extra money so Rachel and I can purchase a garage of our own. But it’s also because there are few things I have allowed myself to become attached to, and the garage is one of them.
“You okay?” Eli catches my slip.
“Yeah.” No. Tom dying, Mack selling the garage…it’s a lot of change I don’t care for, and it ends one of the streams of income that helps me reach my and Rachel’s dream. I pick up a few more tools off the bench near Eli, drop them into the toolbox and then place the box into the trunk of my car, which is parked next to Violet’s. Now it’s my turn to try.
“How’s the security business?”
Eli’s part owner of the security company that he and other members of the Reign of Terror run. “Great. Business is booming. Razor’s done a great job expanding our club and our customer base in the northeast.”
The Novella Collection: A series of short stories for the Pushing the Limits series, Thunder Road series, and Only a Breath Apart Page 17