Chapter 14 #3
“He described the kit, though,” Diaz continued. “Materials, install time, price point. It matches rumors I’ve heard out of other regional series. Same style bottle. Same horn trigger. We’re looking at a supplier who’s been doing this a while.”
“Any idea where he’s based?” Hank asked.
“We’ve got a few leads,” Diaz said. “Nothing I can share yet. Just know this. You didn’t just catch one dirty team. You stepped into the middle of somebody’s income stream. That puts you, and anyone close to you, on their radar.”
A cool thread slid down Hank’s spine. He glanced at Bree; she stood very still, jaw tight, but her eyes were steady.
“We can handle attention,” Hank said. “We have before.”
“I figured,” Diaz said. “Still. Watch your backs. You see that sedan again, or anybody asking weird questions about tech, you call me. Direct.”
She handed him a card. He slid it into his pocket.
“You have a lot of those out there?” he asked.
“More than I like,” she said. “It’s a small town. I intend to keep it that way instead of letting it become a cautionary tale.”
She tipped two fingers in a casual salute, then moved off toward her cruiser.
Bree watched her go. “She’s scary,” she said. “In a reassuring way.”
“That’s the best kind,” Hank said. “Keeps people honest.”
He slid an arm around her shoulders and felt her lean into him, light and warm.
“You still in?” he asked quietly. “Knowing that whoever ran this little black-market speed shop isn’t thrilled with us.”
“Do they know my name?” she asked.
“Not from me,” he said.
“Then I’m in,” she said. “Besides, Einsteins of the world don’t get to scare me back into a life that’s already too small.”
That made something fierce and protective rise in him again, but there was pride there, too.
“All right, then,” he said. “Let’s go eat with people who are happy we’re here instead of plotting revenge.”
The Breakwater Bar was packed, which was exactly what he’d expected on Cup night.
String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting the whole place in a warm, golden glow. The staff rolled up the big garage doors at the front to let in ocean air. Surfboards and old race photos lined the walls; trophies perched on high shelves beside jars of seashells.
Gabe Ortiz manned the bar, big shoulders filling out a faded band T-shirt, dark hair pulled back. He’d swapped a mechanic’s creeper for a bar mat a few years back and never quite lost the grease-under-the-nails vibe.
He looked up when Hank, Bree, Brian, and Colby stepped in and grinned.
“Copper Moon’s new favorite son,” he called. “Get your ass over here, James.”
Lena Ortiz appeared at his elbow, curls piled on top of her head, a bar towel thrown over one shoulder. “And bring that pretty painter with you,” she added, eyes dancing.
Bree laughed, the tension of the day easing off her shoulders as they wove through the crowd.
“Congratulations,” Gabe said when they reached the bar, sticking his hand across to Hank. “Hell of a race.”
“Thanks,” Hank said, shaking it. “Place looks good.”
“Winning does that,” Lena said, leaning over to kiss Bree’s cheek. “How are you, honey?”
“Tired,” Bree said truthfully. “Happy. Mildly terrified about the idea of wiring a warehouse.”
Gabe’s eyebrows rose. “So the mayor got to you.”
“The mayor and this one,” Bree said, hooking her thumb at Hank.
Gabe wiped his hands. “We should talk. When we took over this place, the permits nearly killed me. I’ve got advice and a list of people you should absolutely not hire unless you enjoy watching a man fall off a ladder.”
“Noted,” Hank said.
They grabbed a corner table that looked out toward the water, drinks in hand. The band slid into a softer set; couples drifted onto the small dance floor. The whole town felt like it was exhaling together after holding its breath for days.
Carmen arrived a little later, sliding into a spare chair with a sigh. She’d changed out of team gear into jeans and a simple top. Without the Dragons’ colors, she looked ten pounds lighter.
“You guys good if I crash this?” she asked.
“Only if you don’t bring any dragons,” Brian said.
“Left my fire-breathing accessories at home,” Carmen said dryly. She glanced at Bree; they shared a small, private smile. “Thank you again. For earlier.”
“You're welcome,” Bree said.
They ordered food: fish tacos, burgers, a mountain of fries that disappeared faster than any of them admitted. Conversation flowed easily: racing stories, town gossip, Gabe’s anecdote about the time some guys at a bachelor party tried to body-surf down the boardwalk stairs.
Every so often, someone would clap Hank on the back in passing or raise a glass from another table. He took it in with a mix of pride and discomfort. He was used to being noticed on a track, not in a room.
Bree seemed to sense it. Under the table, her hand found his thigh, thumb rubbing small circles that pulled him back into his body.
“You doing all right?” she asked quietly between bites.
“This is a lot,” he admitted. “But a good lot.”
She smiled. “Good. Because I like seeing people happy you exist.”
Later, when the plates had been cleared and the band shifted into something slow, Gabe nodded toward the floor.
“You two better dance,” he said. “Otherwise, the locals will think you’re fighting.”
Bree’s eyes widened. “Is that a rule?”
“It is now,” Gabe said.
Hank stood and held out his hand. “May I?”
She rolled her eyes fondly. “You already kissed me against a wall. I think we’ve skipped past ‘May I’.”
“Humor me,” he said.
She slipped her hand into his. “You may.”
He led her onto the small dance floor. The song was something with a lazy beat and lyrics about second chances. He set one hand at the small of her back and took her other hand in his, moving them into the gentle sway.
She fit against him like she had in the bed and in the hallway, like her body already knew the map of his.
“Careful,” she murmured, cheek resting against his chest. “This is dangerously close to contentment.”
He smiled into her hair. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I’m still getting used to it,” she said.
He didn’t rush her. They just moved, letting the music and the murmur of Copper Moon wrap around them.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Carmen at the bar talking with Lena, hands moving as she described something, probably the blowback from the Dragons’ hearing. He had a feeling that story was far from over. Somewhere out there, a man named Vic was watching his market contract and taking notes.
But here, in this moment, his world had narrowed to the woman in his arms and the way she relaxed a little more with each turn.
When the song ended, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Walk back with me.”
She nodded.
Outside, the night air was cooler, carrying the salt tang of the sea and the last faint sounds of the day’s festivities. The boardwalk had thinned; most families had taken kids home to bed. A few couples lingered on benches. A street musician picked out a tune on a guitar near the fountain.
Hank and Bree walked side by side, hands clasped. Their steps fell into sync without trying.
“So,” he said. “A warehouse?"
She chuckled. "Yeah."
He said. “We still have to look at the warehouse in daylight. Talk to the mayor. Find a decent electrician. Convince my family I haven’t lost my mind.”
“Meet my parents,” she added quietly. “Tell them I’m not running from my grief anymore, I’m carrying it somewhere new.”
He squeezed her hand. “When you’re ready, I’ll be there.”
She stopped walking and looked up at him, eyes reflecting boardwalk lights.
“You know you just promised to meet my entire complicated life, right?” she said. “Not just the painter who likes your bike.”
“I’ve seen enough pieces to know I want the whole picture,” he said. “Bryn and all.”
Her throat worked. “You say her name like it doesn’t scare you.”
“It doesn’t,” he said. “Seems like disrespect not to.”
She stepped closer, free hand coming up to rest on his chest. “You’re not an easy man, Hank James,” she said. “You’re stubborn and bossy, and you make terrible puns when you’re tired.”
“I feel like there should be a compliment coming,” he said.
“There is,” she said. “You make me feel like the future’s not a cliff I’m going to fall off. It feels like a road I can walk, even if I’m not sure where all the turns are yet.”
He cupped her face, thumb tracing her cheek. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I’m planning on being on that road with you. Warehouse. Studio. Whatever comes after.”
She smiled, slow and genuine. “Then I guess we should start packing.”
“For the warehouse or for your old place,” he asked.
“Both,” she said. “Eventually. Not tomorrow. But soon.”
He kissed her under the glow of the Copper Moon Cup banner that still fluttered over the boardwalk, the taste of salt and possibility on her lips.
When they finally headed back to the hotel, fingers intertwined, Copper Moon felt less like a stop on his racing calendar and more like the place his life could actually unfold.
The race win had been one line of the story.
This, walking into the future with Bree at his side and trouble brewing quietly at the edges of town, felt like the beginning of everything else.