11. Tink #2
“We’ll…explain later,” I say.
Pan frowns. “Who are you calling we?”
I throw him a look. Are you serious, dipshit? This is almost entirely your fault.
“Just hanging out here for a bit,” I add, and then, because I can’t resist jabbing at him. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. We’ll be out of here soon.”
Blue, of course, says nothing. Just stalks over to the minifridge, extracts a can, and leaves.
I close my eyes briefly. Fuck you too, I think.
“Uh…about that.”
“Jesus Christ.” I jump in place at the voice from seemingly nowhere—but no, it’s just Fox, on the spiral stairs.
Fox? What does he want?
“Oh, my bad.” Fox takes a step back. “I didn’t mean to—”
Seeing Wendy, he frowns.
“All good,” I say quickly. God, so much for keeping this all low profile. And to think, six short hours ago I thought I might be getting a beach day.
My heart twists a little.
Because despite everything, this is just…unfair.
Fox is tilting his head to stare to the lounge, where Pan’s now stretched fully across the couch, boots on the armrest, and watching Wendy’s beautuber tutorial with either genuine or deeply feigned interest.
“What’s up, Fox?” I say, to redirect him.
“Oh, uh.” Fox frowns, shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. “Nothing. It’s just…” He grimaces. “It’s your bike,” he finishes, the same way you’d say it’s cancer.
Shit. Shit. My heart falls into my stomach. “What about it?”
“Just…come take a look.”
The garage is crowded, hot, and smells like cement walls and motor oil.
It’s Fox’s place. I don’t go in much and I don’t ask too many questions, not about where the bikes come from and not about where they go when he’s done.
Especially if they leave in pieces. Right now there’s just my bike in here—intact, anyway—and a bunch of parts.
Plus what looks like a mini dirt bike leaning in the corner—must be a new find.
Fox is still looking over his shoulder as we walk in. I’m tall, but I feel tiny next to him, just next to him, with none of the other guys around.
“Who’s the kid?” Fox asks.
“Huh?” I blink. “Oh, she’s…” Fuck. I try to think of something convincing and fake. But my imagination’s run out. I’m already keeping too many stories straight at once.
So I just tell him the truth. As quickly as I can. The house, the bodies, the cops. The ride back here and the girl drinking a Coke Zero in our tattoo parlor.
“Fucked up,” Fox says when I’m done. Seeing my face, he clarifies. “Oh, no, not you guys. I just mean, like, the situation’s fucked up. That kind of thing is end-your-childhood shit, you know?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. But I guess Fox would.
I don’t know exactly what he and Kit went through before they came here, when they were kids—just that it was bad, really bad.
Like, in-the-system-from-birth bad. I remember one time Kit made some joke about having more foster placements than birthdays, but that’s about all I’ve got.
“Yeah,” I agree. “But we’ll get her back home.”
Fox’s face unclouds a little. “She’s got family?”
I nod. “Her nana.” Maybe that’s why I want to reassure him. That we’re not just dumping the kid to end up like them. I crane my neck at my bike, both to change the subject and to find out what’s going on here. “So what’s up?”
“Right.” Fox pivots. “You want the good news, or the bad news?” Before I can even answer, he speaks again. “Actually, let’s start with good.”
Okay, then. He ushers me over to the side of my bike and gestures for me to climb on. I do, feeling kind of stupid since the bike’s up on blocks, like I’m a kid on one of those coin-op rides at the supermarket.
If they even still have those.
“Okay,” I say, after a moment. “What?”
Fox nods a few times. “Move around a little. Like you’re riding.”
Feeling even more ridiculous, I do. Lean forward, grab the handlebars, shift my weight like I’m turning.
“You feel that?” Fox asks. I frown, move back and forth again. Something is different.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s, like…”
“Lighter,” Fox finishes for me. “More responsive. The new springs aren’t as stiff, so you shouldn’t have to work so much to get it to respond.”
I nod. Because now that he mentions it—yeah, it’s not quite so hard to get the thing tilting. Less muscle work, more like touching than pushing.
It’s nice.
“Cool,” I say, and I mean it. “Thanks, man.”
I let go, and swing my leg to dismount, but the bike moves too—quicker, lighter than I’m used to, and I practically fall off the side, stumbling over my boots and about to land ass-first on concrete.
Except I don’t. Because Fox is there.
His big, broad palm presses into the small of my back. Strong. Steady.
And I jump away from him.
It’s an instinct, fast, maybe too fast, because when I do, Fox just…stares at me this little fraction of a second. Brown eyes wide and wondering.
But then he blinks, and it’s gone.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though he didn’t ask.
Fox nods.
“Yeah. Um. Anyway. The…the bad news.” He exhales long and hard, and I realize I’d forgotten entirely that there was bad news. “It’s your rear bearing.”
And now that I do remember, I really don’t have time for this. “Okay?”
Fox draws his eyebrows together a bit, like it’s not the reaction he expected. I relent, a little.
“Dude, you know I don’t know shit about mechanics.” That much is true. “You’re the brains of the operation. Just spit it out.”
At that, his face brightens.
“Yeah,” he says. “Right. Okay.” He crouches, indicates something inside the rear wheel. “See this bearing here?”
He motions for me, so I crouch, too. Trying not to get too close, though. “Mhm.” I don’t really know what I’m looking at, but fine.
“So this is why it was handling the way it was,” Fox explains. “It was seizing up sort of randomly. You weren’t feeling bumps and stuff back there?”
“I guess?” I shrug. “I thought that was just…how it handled.” I frown. “But you just put in the new shocks.”
“Right, right,” Fox nods, “and that will make it handle better, in theory, because the old shocks were too stiff for your weight. But when I opened it up to swap them, I saw how corroded this thing was, and—”
“—and that’s bad,” I finish for him.
“Well…yeah.”
I rub a hand over my face. I don’t have time for this. “Okay, like bike doesn’t go bad? You’re telling me I can’t ride it anymore?”
Fox rubs the back of his neck, wincing. “I mean, you could ride it, but…”
“What”—the door bangs open—“the hell is up with you two?”
It’s Pan. Of course. Beaming. Not angry. Just wired. Seeing us, and the bike, he pulls a frown.
“Uh oh.” He folds his arms. “Little Green’s in the bike hospital?”
Fox straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Yeah. Seized linkage. I can fix it, but I need some time. It’s not gonna be rideable for a minute.”
“For real?” Pan looks from Fox to me. “But I need you to come with,” he says, almost sulky. “Today. For the…thing.”
Fox shrugs and grabs me by the shoulder so hard my teeth almost click. “So take him on yours. A Tink backpack.” He laughs.
“He’s got a backpack already,” I say, pushing his hand away. “The kid. Wendy. Whole reason we’re going.” I glare at Pan. Then look at Fox. “What about yours?” I ask him.
Fox blinks. “Uh, I mean, you can try, but…” He looks me up and down, and it almost makes me shiver until I realize what he’s doing.
“You’re not gonna reach the footpegs,” he declares.
“Sorry, man. I’m just a giant. I built it out custom for a reason, you know?
” He looks at Pan. “Just go by yourself, dude.”
“No,” Pan and I say at the same time.
“Bad idea,” I add in a mutter.
“O…kay then.” Fox rubs his chin. “So, wait. Pan won’t go alone, and Tink doesn’t have a bike, and I do have a bike. Which means…” He frowns. “What are we doing, exactly?”