Chapter Five
“WarofChange”—ThousandFootKrutch
O n the back of my bike, I was at peace. The wind blew all my troubles away as my tires ate up the asphalt. I rode aimlessly, with no particular destination in mind. My hoodie would never have been enough in Montana this time of year—if I could even ride at all. Yet here in New Orleans, it was perfect.
I flew past another rider on a Harley, but they caught up to me as we got closer to town and the traffic picked up. At a red light, they pulled up next to me.
I glanced over and gave them the universal biker hello, which they returned. Dressed in a unisex style leather jacket, thick-soled leather boots, and straight leg jeans, it was difficult to tell if they were a thin guy, or a chick.
But that bike… seemed familiar. Too familiar.
When the light turned green, we ended up riding together for about an hour, with me glancing over every so often to see if I was right. My heart dipped into my ass when they signaled they were pulling off into a gas station.
Though I didn’t need gas, I figured I might as well fill up—and maybe see if I was correct. After the day I’d had, this would be just the type of coincidence to fall in line with the rest.
Slowly, the other rider pulled up to a pump and I stopped at the one across from them. It was stupid, but I couldn’t help but stare as I waited in hopes they would take off their helmet. Then I realized I probably seemed like a creep, so I got off and removed my gloves.
They did the same, then unbuckled the chin strap. My heart raced in anticipation. If it was a dude, I was gonna feel like a dumbass. At least they wouldn’t know.
It seemed like a commercial or a movie where the moment is in slow-motion as I watched. Under the helmet, was a skull-cap, but I caught their side profile and I knew. I’d seen the perfect slope of that cute button nose more times than I could count. She didn’t need to take off the cap for me to know there would be shiny dark brunette locks beneath it.
She turned my way as she opened her fuel cap and ran her card. Her gaze found me every so often as she fueled up, and she was trying not to smile. She was beautiful. Then again, I’d always thought that.
“You getting gas or are you just stalking me?” she finally called out.
That was when I realized I was still standing there. I gave an exaggerated shrug, but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t ready for this playful interaction to end. With my helmet on and visor down, I filled up. She finished before I did, but sat sideways on her bike, facing me and eyeing my bike. She always was fearless.
Once I was done, I replaced the fuel cap on my Matte Carbon Ducati.
“Nice Panigale V4. It’s a beautiful bike—for a crotch rocket,” she teased.
I splayed my hands over my heart as if she had mortally wounded me.
Her laughter was music to my ears.
“I always did like the strong silent type,” she replied with a grin.
Part of me got my feathers ruffled with that comment. But I was enjoying this too much to let that bother me. We’d been apart for over four years. I’d be an idiot to think she never dated.
Instead, I pretended to flex my muscles and did some ridiculous body builder type poses. Again, she laughed, and my heart ached.
“You sport bike guys always walk around in your helmets. Is that because you need to reel in those BookTok girlies and it’s easier if you hide your faces?”
I tapped the chin of my helmet thoughtfully with my index finger.
“Too ugly for public?”
Dramatically, I smacked my hand above my visor.
“Too pretty?”
I thrust my hands into the air in mock triumph.
She sputtered and choked on her laughter then.
I pointed at her, then pointed at me, and motioned like I was putting a backpack on. Then I pointed at my bike.
“Ride with you? Hell no. This is fun and all, but I don’t know you and I’m not stupid,” she replied with a shake of her head.
I slouched and dropped my hands so my arms dangled dejectedly.
“Nice try.” She smirked, but she got to her feet and grabbed her helmet.
Near panic hit me because I didn’t want her to go. I motioned for her to stop. Then I mimed out pleading before I pointed at the twenty-four-hour diner attached to the gas station. There was a scrawny Christmas tree in the window that had definitely seen better days. It still flashed valiantly with its multi-colored little lights.
She appeared to consider. I thought she was going to say yes. Instead, she pulled her helmet on, then her gloves, and got on her bike. I didn’t need to pretend that time, I watched her start her bike with a heavy sadness eating at me.
Color me shocked when she pulled away and over to a parking spot in front of the diner. She got off the bike removed her helmet again and walked inside. She sat at a table and looked out the window at me as a waitress set two menus down at her table. It was her turn to gesture a “well?”
I wasted no time moving my bike and heading inside. Though I knew this would end very soon, I insanely wanted to steal every moment I could with this carefree, fun version of the angry woman I’d seen earlier today.
An old-fashioned bell jingled as I pushed open the door. In three strides I was at her table and sitting down. I set my gloves to the side.
The waitress brought her a mug of what appeared to be hot chocolate. Then she looked at me, propped her hands on her hips, and raised an eyebrow at me.
I pointed at Ryian’s cup.
The waitress rolled her eyes and walked off.
I crossed my arms and rested them on the table.
Ryian gave me a stare that screamed really?
Happily, I bobbled my helmet back and forth, imitating a bobble-head doll.
“Okay, biker boy, take off the helmet.” She reached up and removed the skull cap she was wearing, setting free a cascade of brunette waves that I had to clench my hands not to reach out to touch.
Said helmet fell forward in defeat as I realized the gig was up. Dammit .
Slowly, I unfastened the chin strap as she ran her fingers through her hair to smooth it a bit. Then I lifted the helmet at a snail’s pace. The waitress set my mug in front of me, but I doubted I’d be drinking it.
When I pulled the helmet off, I did it with my head tipped down so it covered my face initially. Finally, I set it to the side and looked up.
Her smile instantly vanished, and she gathered her shit and started to get up.
I grabbed her arm, halting her.
“Is this some kind of fucking joke to you?” she practically snarled through clenched teeth.
“No. Not at all. Please… just give me five minutes,” I pleaded. “Five minutes and you can leave if you still want to.”
Her nostrils flared in irritation, and she jerked her arm free.
Defeat weighed heavy on my shoulders.
She sat back down with a huff. Then she withdrew her phone from her inside pocket and set the timer. “You have five minutes.”
“Ryian, I’m sorry. I swear to you, I didn’t know. I was hurt and angry that you left for no reason, and I decided to cut all ties with this place and the memories associated with it. I got drunk one night and threw my phone in the river. Then I packed my shit and moved to Montana. Dean had moved up there after high school. He asked me to come up and apprentice under him, so I did. Then I made a clean break with my past by deleting my email, my social media, everything,” I explained in a rush.
“No. Reason?” she bit out. “ No. Reason? ” she repeated in a louder tone.
It made me look around to see if anyone heard her or if we were causing a scene. The waitress was oblivious, watching an old Christmas movie on the TV. No one else was in the restaurant except for an old man with a bushy white beard, a red sweatshirt, and glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read from a paper. I wanted to laugh but it wasn’t appropriate at that time.
“Then tell me,” I begged. “Why did you leave? I thought we discussed the lipstick thing. That was the only disagreement we’d had. I don’t understand.”
“Then let me spell it out for you.” She leaned in close, and I could smell the cool outdoors on her and the lingering scent of her perfume. “Little blonde twit you worked with.”
“What about her?” I was so fucking confused.
“Oh my God. This is unbelievable. You really must think I’m an idiot,” she grumbled. “A few days after the lipstick incident, I felt bad for being so jealous. I was bringing you lunch and cookies as an apology. As I was walking in the store, she was standing outside talking to you on the phone . And imagine my surprise when I heard her tell you that she’d be willing to give you a blow job—again—in your truck! Also, imagine that her lipstick was the same. Exact. Color. As the one in your truck. Oh, and I know all about your little trip to the zoo when you were supposed to be working doubles and you wouldn’t be able to take an actual lunch. Remember that? ”
“Actually, no. I have no clue what you’re talking about. Tiffany never wore lipstick to work a day in her life. She was in high school—I wouldn’t have touched her, even if you didn’t exist. I never in my life got a goddamn blow job from her and I sure as hell never talked to her on the phone about going anywhere, let alone the zoo. The night I gave her a ride, we all closed, and her car wouldn’t start. We were in the parking lot, and she asked for a ride. Never talked to her on the phone that night either. What the fuck do you take me for?” I was astonished with the story she’d told me.
“I heard her say your name on the phone. She told me she was dating you! And she seemed very excited to tell me,” she angrily whispered.
“Well, she is a damn liar because that never happened. If I knew where she was right now, I’d take you to her and demand she tell you the truth. Or maybe it was a different Dalton, because it sure as hell wasn’t me,” I insisted. “You were my world, Ryian. I would never have cheated on you. In fact, the reason I was taking on all those extra shifts is because I wanted to be able to take you nice places and get you nice things.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes.
I dug in my pocket and pulled out my keys. Then I set them on the table with a clatter. “In fact, I’d been scraping money together for two years for this.” I stuck my thumbnail in my keys and unwound one of the items. Then I slapped it on the table.
Eyes wide, she sat there not speaking while staring at the diamond ring I’d placed before her. Tentatively, she reached out with one finger to pull it closer and spin it around. She blinked and her eyes went glossy before she rapidly blinked several more times.
“This is the one at the pawn shop I told you I wanted,” she whispered. “I was so upset the next time we went, and it was gone.”
“Yeah, because I had put it on layaway. I picked it up the day you found the lipstick in my truck.” I fell back in my seat and ran a hand through my hair. I was shaking and I hated it. This wasn’t how I planned this. Nor was this how I intended to feel anytime I imagined running into her again over the years.
“I can’t believe you still have it. Why?” she asked in a confused tone.
“Oh, it almost ended up in the river with my phone. Except in my inebriated state, I couldn’t get the fucking thing off my keychain. Thankfully, I had the tiniest bit of sobriety that crept in and reminded me I needed those keys for my truck or I was walking everywhere,” I muttered.
Was that a smile she almost had before she rolled her lips between her teeth?
Taking a chance, I leaned forward again and placed my fingers so they were touching hers. “I want to be a part of my son’s life. I want to help you raise him. Even if that means we coparent from different sides of town. I’m twenty-nine years old. I’m not a child and neither are you. We are capable of working together. Please, Ryian, do this with me. Let me show you that we can give our son a good life even if we aren’t together.”
“I don’t—” she closed her eyes.
“Ryian,” I begged.
She swallowed hard. Then she opened her pretty hazel eyes to look at me.
Before she could say anything, the old man from the back corner walked by. He paused at our table. “The is the time of year for second chances. Merry Christmas you two.” He set a small, wrapped package down on top of a paper that was ripped at both ends.
We watched dumbfounded as he waved at the waitress and placed a red and green plaid scally cap on. He then left the diner, got in an old red classic pickup truck, and drove away.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” she replied.
We both looked at the box. I reached out and slid the paper out from underneath it.
Ryian gasped when she saw what it said.
There were three lines with two boxes on each—one that said Naughty one that said Nice . After that they read Dalton, Ryian, Anson. Each one had the “nice” box checked.
The waitress came by our table. “More cocoa?” she asked staring pointedly at our untouched mugs.
“Who was that?” I asked her, motioned toward the table he was sitting at.
She glanced back at his table, then at us. “The old guy? That’s Kris. He hangs out here a lot this time of year. Does a lot of paperwork in that booth. Then he’s gone until next year. I think he might be a snowbird.” She shrugged, then walked off. “Let me know if you want anything else.”
I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open as far as Ryian’s was.
“Do you think it’s rigged?” she asked as she pointed at the box.
“No clue,” I murmured.
“He’s here every year. He can’t be a serial killer or terrorist bomber. Right?” She lifted her gaze to mine again.
“Want me to open it?”
She nodded.
Carefully, I untied the satin bow and let it fall to the table. Nothing happened, so I lifted the lid and frowned in confusion at the contents.
She craned her neck to look inside.
There was a folded piece of paper, what looked like a house key with an address written on the cardboard tag in a shaky scrawl, and an oval-shaped stone the size of my palm. The stone had several stripes with a sort of reflective sheen to them. I realized there was also a small key attached to the house key as well.
“That’s a labradorite,” Ryian murmured. “Anson loves them for some reason. He carries one in his pocket like a little old man.”
After handing it to Ryian, I opened the note and smoothed it out on the table. It read, “Best Surgical Oncologist with a phone number. Call him—he’s already aware of her case.”
Ryian started crying.