Chapter Four
Bridges
Oh, Weston needed a team all right. He didn’t know why or how much, but he needed a team.
I walked to my workbench and returned to my task. “What do you expect this team to do for you? This team you have yet to assemble?”
My tone was flat as the words tumbled out of my mouth. If Weston seriously wanted to make a cross-country trek for charity, he needed a reality check.
I’d done something similar more than once, but I could tell Weston wasn’t completely committed to his journey yet. What he was proposing wasn’t simple at all. It was a major endeavor, but it wasn’t anything I wasn’t willing to do.
Weston stared at me before he looked away. “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this, and I hoped maybe you could help me figure it out, Bridges.”
I stopped sanding the carbon fiber bicycle frame I’d created, turning to stare at the gorgeous guy wringing his hands as he sat on a stool by my drafting table. I had no idea why he was so nervous.
“So, your goal is?”
“I want to show people I’m not as much of a spoiled brat as they might think. The plan I put together in my head was that maybe I could make donations to charities in cities along the way as I bike to San Francisco, and then I could make a sizeable donation when I arrive in San Francisco.
“I need a temporary backer to front me the money, but as soon as I finish the ride and prove to the board of Aames Investments that I’m responsible, I’ll regain access to my trust. I can pay the money back then.”
I nodded, hearing him not so clearly asking me to front him the money. I’d do it. “Okay, let’s start with when you’re planning to do all this?”
“Well, the optimal time would be in June. Pride month.”
No way could I hold my laugh. “So, wait. You’re going to ride a bicycle from Manhattan to San Francisco in two weeks?”
“How far is it?” Weston asked. Shouldn’t he have known that answer?
I hadn’t done the forensics on his request, but I quickly checked the mileage on my phone.
“It’s more than thirty-seven hundred miles if you take the southern route which has less mountains to climb.
Thirty-two hundred if you go north, but that’s a tougher trek.
How many miles are you riding every day right now? ”
West swallowed, his throat moving in a very stimulating way. “Uh, I’ve been riding from my parents’ home on the Upper East side to Battery Park and back for exercise every day.”
I did a quick calculation and laughed. “Up and back? That’s twelve miles. How many days do you want the trip to San Francisco to take?”
Weston’s face paled. “I mean, a couple of weeks, right?”
His gullibility—or foolhardiness—made me speechless. Nobody could ever ride a bike across the country in two weeks. His innocence was stunning. I tried not to be critical, but come the fuck on?
The pity I felt for Weston Aames was palpable, and I hated it. He needed guidance years ago, and as much as Claude had helped me, he’d completely failed with his own son.
“If you rode a hundred miles a day, it would take thirty-two or thirty-seven days to make that ride, depending on which way you traveled. Can you ride a hundred miles a day? You’d need to add rest days into the timeline, which means you’d need to ride more than a hundred miles a day.
“You’re riding twelve miles a day right now? How will you work up to more than that?”
I didn’t mean to sound like a prick. My words were a cold, hard reality. It would take him months to get ready for the ride, not weeks. How could he not know it?
“I— I mean, I could work up to those miles if I tried harder.”
There were so many things wrong with the kid’s logic. I almost didn’t know where to start with the guy, but I wasn’t about to disparage him.
I was quiet for a few minutes as I returned to sanding the frame. Weston sat on the stool, his mind likely running a million miles an hour.
My mind was racing as well, considering possibilities and contingencies.
I’d done consults for other riders over the years, but with the business model I was aspiring to create, going back in time to offer those services to a young man I hadn’t seen in years didn’t seem like a productive idea for my future.
“Honestly, Weston, it will take you at least eight months to work up to the mileage you’ll need to get to San Francisco.
Rushing the training isn’t smart, okay? It would only cause you physical injury and possible long-term damage that you don’t need, and that’s not taking into consideration the mental toll it would take. ”
West stared at me for a long moment. “What’s a better timeline, then? I only have a year, and the clock is already ticking. My mom is looking for a job, and we’re about to become homeless.”
The knot in my stomach seemed to fold in on itself. I knew the thoughts running through my head were ridiculous and not helpful at all. I had no time for Weston’s bullshit, but I couldn’t just turn him away. An assignment seemed to be in order.
I stopped sanding. “If you want me to help you with this ride, you’re going to have to give up this idea of doing your ride this year. It’s going to be next year, and you’re going to do everything I tell you to do without question.”
I turned toward Weston, staring into his eyes. “Are you willing to do what I say?”
He swallowed, returning my gaze through his long lashes. My heart was in my throat. God, he was beautiful.
“Sure. What do you want me to do?”
Far too many things went through my head that had no relation to the matter at hand. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to go down on me. I wanted to pick him up and hold him in my arms, protecting him from all of the bad things in the world.
But, I said none of those things. “First, if you want me to help you with this—and it will take a year at least—for every hour I’ll have to be on the road with you, you’ll have to work an hour for me.
There will be a list of gear and necessities you’ll need for the trip, along with a place to sleep every night.
That’s all going to cost a lot of money. ..money you need to come up with.
“You said you don’t have access to your trust fund, so you’ll need to find a job, and you’ll need to train for the ride. I can help with the training, but you’ll need to figure out how to fund your ride. I’m not a charity.”
His face fell. “I’d never ask you to pay for anything, Bridges. And I’ll pay you for your time and expertise. I don’t give a shit about myself. It’s my mother. My father has taken care of her since before they got married, and then he died and left her with nothing. I have to make sure she’s okay.”
It was surprising that Weston Aames could be so vulnerable when it came to his mother. It was touching, really. He loved his mother, and I’d witnessed the mess his mother was in after Claude’s death. He was a fucker for what he’d done to May. Weston, however, was old enough to take care of himself.
“Yeah, I get it. Here’s what I’m willing to do, Weston.
I’ll make sure your mother is taken care of.
You, though, need to find a job to accrue cash for this endeavor.
You also need to figure out when you can give me hours to help with my business so I can give you my expertise.
You’ve got some long days ahead of you.”
Weston turned to me. “You’ll take care of my mother? I’m in.”
“Write a proposal for me outlining each leg of the trip, including projected costs, places to sleep at night, repair shops because we’ll likely need to pick up supplies along the way. I’ll need it to determine how we tackle the obstacles we’ll face.”
Weston nodded before he hopped off the stool and left the workshop. I was sorry he left without another word. I honestly enjoyed his company.
Alexis returned to the workshop after showing Weston out. She greeted me with a hard stare as I continued to work on the frame.
“What?”
She smirked. “You’re getting in over your head, boss. That’s going to be a year out of your life that you can’t get back.”
I turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “When did you start listening at the door?”
“Well, you don’t tell me things because you believe I’ll judge you and point out your possible mistakes.” She smirked, and I knew she was spot on.
I stared at her for a moment, finally deciding to acknowledge some things I wouldn’t admit to anyone.
“Back when I was Weston’s age, I was as much of a hot mess as he is right now. My father was a real bastard when it came to my sexuality. He’s only just accepting the fact he has a queer son, and he still doesn’t like it. We just don’t talk about it. Mom’s fine with it, but Dad doesn’t get it.”
Alexis nodded. “I have issues with my father, too. He’s firmly convinced I just haven’t met the right guy. I have no desire to meet any guy, much less the right one.”
When I met Alexis at a LGBTQIA+ charity event, we were seated next to each other and hit it off immediately. We were both passionate about equality, diversity, and safety for those in the rainbow community, and we became very good friends because of that passion.
We’d co-chaired a fundraiser for a healthcare center geared toward our community but welcoming everyone in the underserved neighborhood. We got to know each other, and when she left her previous job, it was a no-brainer to bring her to Eaton Cycles. I was also happy to make a dear friend.
I chuckled at her comment about meeting the right man. “Hey, if you have any ideas about how I can find the right man, please speak up.”
“Seems like that cutie who just walked out has a lot of potential, don’t you think?” Alexis smirked to emphasize the point.
Yeah, that was no lie. I shrugged. “Weston’s father was a good friend of my dad’s, and he became a go-between when it came to me and Dad.
Claude was a biking enthusiast, and we used to go on rides together.
He talked to me about the problems I had with my father and gave me things to think about, along with suggestions for diffusing the blow-ups between us.
“Claude also listened to my ideas for creating bikes I’d like to ride, and he pushed me to pursue my dreams, even backing me with the startup money for this place.” I held my hands up to emphasize the building where we were standing.
My heart seized at the memories as they flashed through my mind like an old nine-millimeter film. My eyes stung with unshed tears. Claude was a dear friend to me who I’d never forget.
I owed it to Claude to take care of his son—the same way he’d taken care of me when I needed him.