Chapter 4 #2
I wanted to dismiss it. Wanted to say I was just being thorough, doing my job, taking the responsibility seriously. But Dutch had a way of cutting through bullshit that made lying to him feel pointless. “Danny reminds me of myself,” I admitted. “When I was new.”
“And?”
“And I keep thinking about all the ways I could fail him. All the ways this run could go wrong despite everything I’ve planned.” I met Dutch’s eyes. “I keep thinking about my father.”
Dutch was quiet for a moment. He’d been one of the brothers who’d shown up at my mother’s door to offer condolences and practical support after my father died. He knew the story better than most.
“Your father’s death wasn’t your fault,” he said. “It was a trucker whose company ran him into the ground. That’s not something you could have fixed.”
“I know.”
“Holden, you’re the best Road Captain this club has ever had.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Your routes are flawless. Your contingencies are solid. If something goes wrong on this run, it won’t be because you didn’t do your job.”
“Then what?”
“It’ll be because shit happens sometimes.” His expression softened fractionally. “You can’t protect everyone from everything.”
“I don’t believe in leaving things to chance.”
“Then trust your brothers. Trust yourself.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “And trust the call you made on Danny. Handful asked the question. I didn’t. The boy’s solid, he’s earned his place, and we all had a first run — you remember yours. Kid’s lucky to be riding it beside you.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to let the words settle into the anxious part of my brain and quiet the constant hum of worry. But I kept seeing it — my mother in the doorway, the floor coming up to meet her.
“I’ll try,” I said, because it was the only answer I could give.
“That’s all I ask.” Dutch released my shoulder and moved toward the door. “Now go home to your woman. You’ve been here since dawn, and she’s probably worried.”
I found Danny in the garage before I left, elbow-deep in the engine of his Sportster. He looked up when I approached, grease smudged across his forehead and a grin splitting his face.
“Holden! I’ve been practicing the plug repairs like you showed me. Got my time down to six minutes.”
“That’s good.” I leaned against the workbench.
“But don’t chase the number. Focus on making the repair, clean.
If you pick up a nail out there, a plug gets you back in formation in minutes.
Anything worse means sitting on the shoulder until the follow van catches up — fifteen minutes minimum, longer if they’re handling something else.
On a run, that’s the difference between riding with your brothers and being a target on the side of the road. ”
“Got it.” Danny’s grin sobered into something more focused.
“How are you feeling about the run?”
“Ready.” The grin didn’t falter. “I’ve studied the route, memorized the checkpoints, practiced every scenario you outlined. I won’t let you down, brother.”
I’d been that sure once. “The thing about runs,” I said carefully, “is that no matter how much you prepare, something unexpected can always happen. The key is staying calm when it does.”
“I know. You told me.” Danny wiped his hands on a rag and turned to face me fully. “Stay alert, trust the formation, follow your lead. I’ve got it.”
“And if something happens to me?”
His grin faltered. “What do you mean?”
“I mean if I go down, if I’m compromised, if you can’t follow my lead—what do you do?”
“I…” He hesitated. “Fall back to Colt’s position?”
“And if Colt’s compromised?”
“Dutch?”
“And if everyone’s compromised?”
Danny was quiet for a long moment, the weight of the question settling over him. Finally, he said, “I protect the cargo. Get it to the rendezvous point no matter what. Even if I’m alone.”
“Even if you’re alone,” I repeated. “Even if you’re scared and everything’s gone to hell and you don’t know what’s happening. You complete the mission. Because the club is counting on you.”
He nodded slowly, some of the bravado fading from his expression. Good. Fear was healthy. Fear kept you alive.
“I understand,” he said. “I won’t let you down, Holden. I promise.”
I looked at him. Nineteen years old, full of potential and determination, so eager to prove himself. “I know you won’t,” I said. “Get some rest. We’ve got a long few days ahead.”
I walked out to my bike. Sun low, air warm, visibility clear for miles. Good riding conditions - and Bea waiting for me at home.
I stopped at the small general store near the clubhouse before heading to Bea’s, picking up the flowers she liked.
Nothing fancy, but they always made her smile.
The woman behind the counter, Margaret, had known me since I was a kid.
She’d gone to church with my mother, had brought casseroles after my father died.
“For that girl of yours?” she asked as she wrapped the lavender.
“Always.”
“You never forget her.” She smiled. “She’s lucky to have someone who thinks of her like that.”
“I’m the lucky one.”
Margaret handed over the bundle. “Your father used to say the same thing about your mother. Every time he came home from a long haul, first thing he’d do was bring her flowers.” Her eyes softened. “You’re a lot like him, you know.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. “Thank you, Margaret.”
She patted my hand. “You be careful out there. And bring that girl of yours by the store sometime. I’d like to meet her properly.”
“I will.”
I rode the rest of the way to Bea’s apartment with the lavender tucked into my saddlebag and the evening wind cooling my face. The anxiety was still there, that low hum of worry that never quite went away, but it felt more manageable now. Quieter.
Dutch was right. The planning was done. All that was left was to trust it.
I parked the bike and climbed the stairs to Bea’s door, the lavender held carefully so it wouldn’t snap. Before I could knock, the door swung open.
“I heard your bike.” Bea stood in the doorway, barefoot and beautiful in an oversized sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes dropped to the flowers and she smiled. “You brought me flowers.”
“The English kind.”
“You remembered.”
“I always remember.” I stepped inside and handed her the bundle. “For you. No special reason. Just because.”
She lifted it to her face and breathed in deeply. “It’s perfect.” When she looked up, her eyes were bright with something that made my chest ache. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m really not.”
“You are for me.” She set the lavender on the counter and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Long day?”
“Long week.” I pulled her close, letting the tension drain out of me. “But it’s over now. The planning’s done. Everything’s ready.”
“So you can finally relax?”
I laughed. “Let’s not get crazy.”
She kissed me then. Unhurried. Like we had all the time in the world. When she pulled back, she was smiling.
“Come on. I made pasta. After dinner, we’re going to watch something stupid on TV and you’re going to stop thinking about routes and contingencies for at least two hours.”
“Two whole hours?”
“I’ll settle for one and a half.” She took my hand and led me toward the kitchen. “But you have to at least try.”
I let her pull me along. In six days, I’d ride out on the most important run of the year, and the outcome was uncertain. In six days, everything could change. But tonight, right now, in this moment—I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Hours later, long after she’d fallen asleep beside me, I lay awake in the dark, my thoughts drifting back to the night we finally became a couple.