9. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Bridges
Why the hell was Weston Aames so damn tempting? I’d probably asked myself that question hundreds of times over the last few weeks since Weston and I had hung out.
West slept on my couch on the night of the Fourth of July after sharing a bottle of wine and researching some options for gear that I could get for a discounted price, shaving a hundred bucks off the prices he’d found.
Not surprisingly, I’d barely got a wink of sleep when we finally said goodnight, tempted to go out to the living room and bring him into my bed. I didn’t do it, but I’d fought with myself until the sun came up, reciting all the reasons why it was a bad idea like my personal mantra.
The rest of summer went by in a flash. Weston didn’t quit his job at the courier service, saying he enjoyed the work there and was making friends. I certainly wasn’t going to push him to stop doing something he enjoyed.
I’d given Alexis the responsibility of finding things for Weston to do while he was at Eaton Cycles.
I kept my distance because I didn’t want to look like a stalking asshole when he was there.
He helped her out with various projects—sometimes just tidying up the office or workshop—every night for two hours as promised.
He even wrote his time on a calendar on the wall of the shop before he left while I hid out in my office.
He was a hard worker and Alexis said he had no problem accepting instructions if he didn’t know how to do a task.
As I thought, he was a good guy who really wanted to succeed, though he didn’t want to run Aames Investments.
I didn’t bring of the subject if I ran into him during the day when he was around.
Any advice he needed on that matter was well above my pay grade.
West took off Labor Day weekend so he could take his first distance ride from upstate New York back to Brooklyn.
He was used to battling Manhattan traffic for his day job as a bike courier, but he also needed to experience riding in rural settings, like those he would experience on the ride to San Francisco.
I picked up the small RV camper I had parked in a garage a few blocks over and had the oil and fluids changed and the tires and wiper blades checked. We were leaving to drive to Albany as soon as he finished his workday.
In return for me going along with him, West agreed to test drive the newest prototypes I’d created to mass market, the Eaton Elite.
The two bikes we were taking were the same except there were a couple of differences I wanted to compare so I could judge which changes needed to be made to the bike to make the Elite a high-performance machine that could be used in many types of competition.
I had a customer in Spain who was looking for a new bike, and I wanted to supply him the best model I could. We’d see how things worked out by the end of the trip.
The style of tires on each bike was different, one had cross-country knobby tires and the other had racing tires, though they were both quick-change tires for different riding conditions if one were to ride on both terrains.
The tires were lightweight and could be inflated with a can of air.
They could be attached to a backpack the rider was wearing and were valuable time savers in competitive races.
The seat type was different between the two bikes. One had a slim saddle like most racing bikes, but the other seat was built with more springs to adapt for trail use and offered more cushion for the tailbone, though it was a bit bulkier.
Each bike contained differently configured handlebars to see which worked better for the rider on a distance ride.
One set was a carbon drop handlebar used for a more aerodynamic posture on the bike.
The other set was a lightweight aluminum adjustable aero bar.
My interest in the bars was from the standpoint of comfort for the rider.
The trip would be the perfect trial for the bikes. Based on our discussions while I was working on them with West observing, he was more than happy to be a part of it.
Speaking of which, what the hell was I going to do about my increasing attachment to Weston?
I now made sure to see the man every afternoon and found myself excited when I noticed it was time for him to arrive at Eaton Cycles.
I’d put off really analyzing what he meant to me.
I’d yet to answer the question of how I viewed Weston and how far I wanted things to go between us.
Was he my protégé? Was I only trying to help him because I owed a debt to his father, or was it something else? For the life of me, I couldn’t come up with an answer.
“Hey! Sorry I’m late. I got into a traffic accident.” West pushed his bike down the alley where the camper was parked, loaded and ready to go.
Both bikes were already attached to the ladder on the back, and I’d put a duffel with clean clothes inside.
A trip to the grocery store down the street for snacks, water, sports drinks, and a first-aid kit had rounded out what we’d need for the trip, but I had to be sure he was okay before we got on our way.
“Are you okay?” He didn’t look as if he’d been hurt, but I wanted to be sure.
“Yeah, I’m fine. A cab hit the back of my bike when I was delivering in the Financial District. I fell off.” He showed me the skinned knees with large bandages, and my heart flew into my throat.
“We can postpone the ride, West.”
His expression revealed alarm. Was he afraid I was going to quit helping him? “No. No, Bridges. I’ll be fine. I went to the MedStop, and they fixed me up. I have ointment and bandages to take care of it while we’re on the road.”
The idea of anything happening to him made me sick to my stomach, which I hadn’t expected. “Okay. Uh, are you sure you’re able to ride? Can I see your injuries?”
“I’ll show you later when I change the bandages. I’m ready to go if you are.” He gave me a grin, and I shrugged.
“I believe it’s best to drive up tonight. I’ve got us a spot at a campground near the trailhead to sleep tonight, and then we’ll start the ride in the morning. It’s three hundred miles and we have three days. Let’s see how it goes.”
“Thanks, Bridges. I’m fine, okay? I, uh, I can’t drive because I don’t have a license, but I’ll stay awake and talk to you so you don’t get sleepy.”
No license? I vaguely remembered Claude telling me about West getting into trouble years ago because of his lead foot. Obviously, it was a lot worse than I thought.
“Sure. Let’s get going. We should get to the campground in Albany around seven. We’ll stop somewhere and get dinner before we park for the night.”
West nodded. “I’m excited.”
I was too, but I was also freaking the fuck out. Being cooped up in the camper with him would be a test of my will.
We put his bike in the studio and his backpack in the camper as we climbed into the cab of the 2020 Winnebago View that I’d bought used in 2021.
The former owner was an older gentleman who decided the excitement of life on the road was a lot less fun when being cooped up in the twenty-five-foot vehicle for long stretches of time with his wife.
One trip to Niagara Falls, Canada, and he was ready to sell. I got it for a steal.
Once we had both used the restroom and were settled in the Winnebago, we were on the road.
“Does she have a name?” West asked as we fought the traffic to the interstate to head north.
“A name?” I wasn’t the kind of guy to name a vehicle.
“Yeah. I mean, I named my bike Essie... Eaton Essex. She takes care of me, and thanks to you, I’m learning to take care of her.
The accident didn’t do any damage except to the back tire.
I had a can of tube sealant and the bicycle cop who stopped had a can of air so I could get here, but by Monday, I might need to borrow a tire to get home. ”
“You sure you’re okay? I don’t want you to be in agony as you ride. We can postpone this if you’d prefer.”
His face showed surprise. “No, please. I’ll be fine.
I appreciate that you’ll take time away from your business to do this for me.
I owe you so much, Bridges. I need to see how it is on the open road.
I’m good at urban riding. I need to see how it is with rural riding.
I haven’t done much of it, and eventually, I’ll need to do some mountain riding. ”
I nodded in agreement. “Did you permanently lose your license, or can you petition to get it back with a fine or driving classes?”
Weston was quiet for a moment. “I was stupid. For reasons I can’t remember, I thought I was running out of time and had to speed everywhere. It was ridiculous of me to think so, but back then, I wanted to get everywhere in a hurry. The law caught up with me, and they took my license. Permanently.”
“Okay. The wildness of youth can catch us by surprise. I did stupid things in my life, too. That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.
So, have you tried to get your license back?
It’s no big deal if you haven’t.” I wasn’t trying to make him feel guilty.
The frailty of youth, when we all think we’re invincible.
We’re not invincible, are we?” I turned onto the ramp for the highway headed north.
“No, we’re not. I really haven’t thought about it lately. I have a lot of stuff on my mind. So, uh, can I ask you about your marriage? You said your ex cheated.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, uh, Scott and I were married for a few years. We met in college and became fuck buddies. Once we both graduated, we decided to get married for reasons I can’t begin to explain and still don’t understand.
Maybe it seemed like it was time, and we got along okay.
I stopped dating, but Scott didn’t. It was for the best, really.
We just didn’t love each other.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Why? That was a good question.
“Did people give you grief because you were gay?” I turned to see Weston’s expression. He was worried.
I chuckled. “At first, I didn’t look at it that way, but as I look back on things, maybe? I was always more into mechanical things rather than friendships. I was a weird kid, I guess.”
“So, what degree did you graduate with?” West was staring at me, which I saw in my peripheral vision.
“Mechanical engineering. I, uh, I like building things, so after I graduated, I started building bikes. Cycling was always my passion, and my father never understood it. He wanted me to go to business school or law school like him, but that wasn’t what I wanted.
That was where your father came in. He liked cycling around the city, and he’d take me with him.
He seemed to understand me. I don’t know how or why, but he did. ”
I drove another few miles before Weston spoke again. “Do you miss him?”
The question caught me off-guard. “I looked up to your father, Weston. He was good to me when I needed someone. My father was an asshole because he didn’t agree with my choices. Your father supported me.”
“So, you got along with my father? The two of you were tight?”
The fact he sounded surprised was a shock. “Your father was kind to me when my own father wasn’t. But remember, I wasn’t Claude’s son. He knew what a prick my father could be, so maybe he was trying to give me the support my father wouldn’t give me because I was gay.”
“And why was my father so kind to you when he didn’t show that kindness to me? He wasn’t mean to me, don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t harsh. I know he loved me, but it seemed as if he didn’t know what to do with me.”
“Oh, Weston, don’t think your father didn’t love you. You were his whole world. I think he just didn’t know how to support you. I don’t think he knew what you needed.” I breathed out as I said what I thought he needed to hear.
West turned to look at me. “Do you think he loved me? Do you have any idea why he did what he did in his will?”
I sighed. “He loved your mother, happy to catch me up on what they were doing. He told me about your mom’s membership on charity boards and things they were planning. I know what he did looks bad, West, but I don’t think it was meant in malice.”
Claude loved his family—even CJ and Claudia—and I had a hard time believing he had a mean bone in his body. He’d supported me when I needed him, and he definitely loved West. I was sure he’d support his son.
Weston held his head high. “But did he really truly love us? He cut us out of his will? How could he love us and do that?”
I didn’t answer.
I was quiet for twenty miles, mulling over what Weston said. When I glanced at him in the passenger seat, his eyes were closed. What answer could I give him when I didn’t know one myself?