Chapter 8
Felix
The Little Trees air freshener dangles from the rearview mirror, filling the black car with an overpowering vanilla scent.
I sit in the back, looking over the children’s book I’ll be reading at the elementary school in the Patch.
Father’s re-election campaign will be ramping up soon, and, now that Mother is gone, he’s asked me to fill in on his behalf when he’s unavailable.
He’s totally available, but he hates the Patch, so naturally, he sent me. I’m happy to do it, though. I like kids and would much prefer to read to them than deal with the assholes on the wealthier side of Belmont.
The route to the school reminds me of my journey to Maggie’s, and I kind of wish that’s where I was heading right now.
At least then I could talk to people. I was instructed to say almost nothing other than to read the book.
My father’s chief of staff grilled me on how the day would unfold, as if I’d never read a book before.
Maggie put me on the afternoon shift for my second week on the job, which means I haven’t seen Torren since he nearly grabbed my throat.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t seen him in my dreams every night.
I need another morning shift, stat!
I press the button to lower the window and take in a breath of fresh air. The security detail in the front says nothing, and I don’t feel like being glued to my phone right now. The only thing I can do is look at the neighborhood to distract myself.
The car makes a left, revealing a garbage truck that’s crawling. We need to be at the school in about 10 minutes, so the driver attempts to sneak past it, but there isn’t enough room to get by. So, he reverses down the street and takes another route.
We cruise down side streets with potholes the size of moon craters.
Father’s security makes a call, letting the aides know we’ve run into traffic and might be a couple of minutes late for the reading. Then the driver turns right, and we come to a stoplight right in front of a car repair shop.
My gaze travels inside to see the goings on—someone wearing a black hoodie kneels before a vintage motorcycle.
Or at least I think it’s vintage.
They rise, and I see that it’s…
Gabe!
Then Torren walks over, rubbing his forehead with a rag.
It’s him. This is his shop!
“Where are we?” I call out to security.
“The Patch.”
No shit, Sherlock. I pull out my phone and open Google Maps to pin this location. The light turns green, and I look up once more to see Torren inspecting a hunk of metal—
Oh, my God.
It’s a carburetor. A CARBURETOR!
Goddamn, she’s good! She said it would all become clear soon, and here it is, clear as day! I knew I felt something when I saw him. This means something. It feels divine. What are the odds of our car needing to reroute only to stop right in front of his shop? And there he is, holding a carburetor!
The light changes, and I crane my neck, watching him as we drive away.
I’m literally shaking with excitement because I know how to find Torren, and I have proof that the dream wasn’t just a dream.
She’s trying to tell me something. This is real.
Torren
The most beautiful thing in the world rolled into my shop today: a 1969 Honda CB750.
The Sandcast, baby.
The world’s first true superbike, featuring a 736cc transverse inline-four engine, front disc brake, and electric start. She has 68 horsepower and a top speed exceeding 120 mph.
I’m hard right now.
Not only that, it’s one of the first 7,000 ever produced, and it’s in pristine condition. It has to be worth nearly $120,000.
When the owner rolled it in, a collector from the rich side of town, and asked if I had the parts it needed, I practically screamed yes.
I don’t, though.
I just wanted to touch it. But now I have to find a carburetor, because that’s what it needs. The only person in Belmont who might have a part this rare is Hal McGinty, who lives across from the old elementary school.
When I stop my bike in front of his place, I see a black Bentley in the school parking lot.
What in the hell is a Bentley doing here?
I walk over, examining the car, because I just can’t help myself, when I hear a commotion at the school. The double doors swing open and—
Oh no.
Felix exits with a security detail and a slew of kids surrounding him. They’re waving goodbye, and a little girl rushes over to Felix and tugs on his shirt.
Security swoops in, but Felix waves them off. He crouches to speak to the little girl, and she hands him a piece of paper folded in half. It looks like a card, maybe?
He presses the card to his chest, a warm smile stretches across his face, and then he hugs the little girl.
I’m glued to the spot, watching Felix take his time with her. He jokes, laughing and making her giggle and hop around. Other kids swoop in, and soon, Felix is making funny faces and gestures. The kids cackle and beg for more.
Felix is—
Perfect.
My chest aches as I watch him.
He’s so good with the kids. More of them approach, and he takes his time with each one.
There’s something so unique about Felix—almost nostalgic. He makes me feel like I did before—
He’s looking at me. He sees me.
Fuck!
I must have been in a daze or something because I didn’t even notice when he stopped playing with the kids. I run as fast as I can to my bike.
“Torren!” I hear him scream.
God damnit! I’m such an idiot. I leap onto my bike and speed away.
Why did I do that? I’ve been trying to push him away, and now he’s seen me creeping on him like a weirdo.
I get back to the shop and blow right past Gabriel, making a beeline to the bathroom. The cold water against my face does nothing to calm my racing heart. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t see myself. I see a 17-year-old Torren covered in blood, reeling from what he’s just done.
My eyes close, and I breathe in through my nose and out my mouth. When I reopen my eyes, I see myself. The blood is gone…
But I still hate what I see.
Because Felix Hargrove deserves better than this.