Chapter Three #2
“Because you’re here,” he says. “And you didn’t ride all the way from Miami just to sit in a motel room staring at the ceiling.”
I open my mouth, but he keeps going.
“Look. I know Talon’s… a lot.” His jaw tightens slightly.
“I barely remember her,” he admits. “So for me, it’s easier.
I can separate what she did from you. But for him?
She was his mom. They had years together.
After she left, we grew up thinking she left because she chose drinking over us,” he says.
“That her addiction was just too strong for her to beat.”
My throat tightens.
“That’s what Talon used to cope with it all,” he continues. “It wasn’t that she didn’t want us, she was just to sick to be our mom.”
He looks at me then.
“Then you show up and everything we thought we knew, comes crashing down. We don’t just find out we have a sister, but we find out she was pregnant when she left.
With you, and somehow when it came to you, she was able to get clean.
To give it all up and instead of staying here, and doing it with us, she left and started a whole new family. ”
I swallow.
“I didn’t know about you guys either,” I say quietly. “Not until the end.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“She told me when she was dying,” I add. “Last minute. Like it was some kind of gift.”
The word tastes bitter.
“I didn’t get years to process it. I didn’t grow up knowing I had brothers, or get to choose any of this either.”
The room feels smaller the moment the admission slips from my lips.
“I get why he’s hurting,” I say, tears brimming along my eyes. “I do, I just. It’s not my fault.”
Sayshen nods once.
“He’s not mad at you,” he says again. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and he despite what a dick he is, he does know that. But you’re proof that she could’ve stayed, and chose not to, and for him, that shit hurts.”
I look down at my hands. Silence settles around us again, heavier but cleaner now.
“He’s not trying to take it out on you,” Sayshen says. “He’s just hurting. And he doesn’t know where to put it yet.”
I nod slowly.
“I’ll give him as much time as he needs,” I say.
“Good,” he replies.
Then he straightens slightly, like he’s mentally closing the emotional chapter.
“Alright,” he says, clapping his hands once. “Now. Back to the girls. And the brunch you are absolutely going to.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
He smirks. “You heard me. As your big brother, I’m telling you that you have no choice,”
“Hold up, you’ve been my big bro for like two seconds, so chill. Besides, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t exactly scream ‘girl group brunch’,” I say.
His mouth quirks again. “That’s alright, Cece does. She can def carry you.”
I snort.
“She said to tell you to text her,” he says. “She’ll send you the details.”
Sayshen watches me for a second, then shifts gears like he’s giving me an out. “Also—Andre’s been looking for a mechanic.”
My brows pinch. “Who?”
“You know… the team,” he says, like I might be pretending not to. Yep I definitely am. “The Speed Demons. Andre, our coach, has been hunting for a mechanic. Someone reliable for the upcoming season, who actually knows their way around a bike.”
“And you think that's me?”
He folds his arms loosely across his chest, one brow lifting at me in quiet skepticism.
“I might’ve taken a second to admire your Ducati on the way up,” he adds casually. “?hlins rear shock. Aftermarket ECU. That’s not fucking stock mapping, Echo, and those aren’t cosmetic fairings, that’s carbon fiber. You don’t drop that kind of cash if you’re a rookie.”
My jaw tightens slightly before I can stop it.
He smirks.
“And don’t think I didn’t clock the braided steel lines and that quickshifter setup. Pretty clean install too from what I could see. Whoever tuned it knew what they were doing.”
I stare at him.
He holds my gaze without blinking, relaxed and irritatingly pleased with himself.
“You’re fucking serious,” I say.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re really gonna sit there and tell me I’m wrong?”
He tilts his head, studying me like he fucking knows he’s got me.
“You’re a Shaw, Echo. Bikes are in your fucking blood.”
“Okay,” I say, lifting a brow. “Let’s say I do know what I’m doing.”
“What kind?” he asks.
I tilt my head. “What kind of what?”
“Don’t play dumb. What kind of bikes,” he clarifies, arms folding loosely. “Don’t give me the vague answer you give everyone else.”
I roll my eyes slightly. “Sport bikes. Mostly Japanese. That’s my lane.”
“Oh come on, be more specific.”
“Yamaha R6. Cbr600RR. ZX-6R. GSX-R750 if I’m feeling nostalgic.” I shrug. “I don’t waste time with cruisers. I like bikes that are actually built to move.”
His mouth twitches with cockiness.
“Okay,” he says. “So let’s fucking play.”
I narrow my eyes. “Play what?”
“2021 R6,” he says smoothly. “Full titanium exhaust, flashed ECU, quickshifter, with a tuned suspension. Versus a 2023 ZX-6R, stock internals but upgraded air intake and Power Commander. Quarter mile.”
I don’t even hesitate.
“R6,” I say.
He smirks. “Wrong.”
I lean forward slightly, a coy smirk playing on my lips. “Not.”
He lifts a brow.
“The R6 has a higher redline and tighter throttle response once it’s flashed properly,” I say calmly.
“With the titanium exhaust cutting weight and a proper tune, it’ll pull harder off the line.
The ZX-6R’s got decent midrange torque stock, but without internal work, it’s not beating a dialed-in R6 in a straight shot. ”
He doesn’t argue, he just watches me, so I keep going.
“And if you actually tuned the suspension on the R6 instead of just swapping it, the power transfer would be cleaner. Less squat and one hell of a launch.”
“…Okay,” he mutters, clearly slightly impressed.
I sit back, folding my arms. “Next.”
His grin sharpens.
“2019 Cbr1000RR with aftermarket camshaft, race tires, and remapped fuel injection… versus a 2022 GSX-R1000 with upgraded Brembos and a full exhaust system. Track this time. Not drag.”
“GSX-R,” I answer immediately.
He laughs softly. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, tell me why?”
“Because you said track,” I say, pointedly.
He gestures for me to continue.
“The Cbr with cams and remap will scream on a straight, sure. But upgraded Brembos on the GSX-R? Better braking into corners. That wins you lap time. Exhaust system drops weight. And if the rider knows what they’re doing, corner exit speed beats raw horsepower.”
His grin fades into something closer to impressed.
“You’re assuming equal riders,” he says.
“I always assume equal riders,” I shoot back. “Otherwise it’s not about the bike.”
He studies me like he’s recalculating.
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s say you’ve got an R6 overheating on long runs. What’s the first thing you check?”
“I’d start with the coolant system integrity,” I reply instantly. “Radiator cap pressure. Thermostat. Make sure it’s not airlocked. Then I’d look at whether the ECU flash is leaning it out too much at high RPM. People forget aggressive mapping can spike temps.”
He exhales a short laugh and shakes his head.
“Jesus,” he mutters again, quieter this time.
I tilt my head. “You done?”
He watches me for another second, like he’s recalibrating.
“Okay okay,” he says finally. “Shit. I didn’t expect that.”
“Which part?” I ask, cool.
“All of it honestly,”
I shrug. “Well, you’re the one who asked.”
He lets out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head once like he’s half amused, half impressed.
“Most people who say they know sport bikes,” he says, “mean they swapped a slip-on and watched a build series on YouTube.”
“I don’t bullshit,” I say. “Out there, you either know what you’re doing or you eat asphalt.”
He laughs at that.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding once. “You’re perfect for the job, plus it’s an excuse to actually leave this room,”
I squint at him. “You can’t be fucking serious?”
“Dead serious.”
The room shifts a little at that. The teasing edge fades. This is him, grounded.