Chapter 19
Moe
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Jillian drove with both hands on the steering wheel. Moe kept glancing at her, thinking about how easily he could reach out and touch her.
He wasn't used to that. He wasn't used to any of this.
The world he remembered and the one outside her car window looked familiar in shape but wrong in detail. New buildings where old ones should've been. Roads widened. Signs changed. People dressed differently. Cars were quieter, smaller, and bulkier.
Twenty-nine years away from all that he'd known. He still couldn't wrap his head around it.
Jillian pointed out the window as they passed a strip mall. "That used to be a GameStop when I was a kid. Now it's a gym."
He nodded, though he hadn't recognized the area. In almost three decades, everything had changed. "Wasn't here before."
"Most of this wasn't," she said gently. "You're not imagining it. In the last ten years, the city has grown enough that even I don't recognize it most days. It's all housing developments. There is no farmland left."
They drove another few miles, and she pointed again. "That bakery has the best cinnamon rolls. I'll take you there sometime."
He didn't care about cinnamon rolls, but he cared about her wanting to take him somewhere. He grunted an acknowledgment, staring out the window as the landscape shifted again. Stuck inside the vehicle made him anxious. He preferred the wind in his hair.
When she finally slowed and turned into an asphalted lot, Moe leaned forward, squinting at the building ahead.
A motorcycle shop. Open bay doors. A few workers moved back and forth, slipping out of view.
Above it all—a sign he never thought he'd see again.
"What the fuck," he mumbled.
Jillian parked, turned off the engine, and reached for his hand without hesitation, her fingers curling around his. "What's wrong?"
His gaze locked on the patch painted on the sign. It was the same colors, the same emblem, the same shape that was burned into his memory.
"I used to ride with the Columbia Brotherhood Motorcycle Club," he said, voice low, rough. "That's their patch on the sign. The same patch that's tattooed on the back of my shoulder."
Jillian followed his gaze, her grip tightening. "Do you think they'll know you?"
He shook his head slowly, still staring. "Twenty-nine years is a long time. The life we led... most of the ones I knew are probably dead or locked up for life."
But even as he said it, his chest tightened.
Because patches didn't change, brotherhoods didn't forget. And the past had a way of finding you, even when you didn't know what year it was anymore.
Jillian squeezed his hand again. "We don't have to go in if you don't want to. I can find somewhere else to get your battery."
He finally tore his eyes from the sign and looked at her. Really looked at her. The worry in her eyes. The steadiness. The way she stayed close, ready to shield him from a world he didn't recognize anymore.
He exhaled slowly. "No. I need the battery."
Jillian pushed open the car door first, still holding his hand until the last possible second. Moe stepped out more slowly, eyes locked on the sign above the open bay.
He crossed the lot. Jillian stayed close, brushing his arm with hers like she could feel the storm brewing under his skin.
One thing he hadn't counted on was running into his past.
Inside, the shop smelled like oil, rubber, and old memories. Tools clattered somewhere in the back. A compressor kicked on. A radio played low. It was familiar enough to make his chest tighten.
Jillian approached the counter with the confidence of someone who'd already decided she was getting what she came for. "Hi, I called earlier about the battery for the '98—"
"Yeah," the guy behind the counter said, wiping his hands on a rag. "Got it right here."
Moe stayed a step behind her, scanning the shop. The layout was different, but the energy was the same. Brotherhood shops always had a certain feel, like the real business went on behind the walls where nobody could see.
Jillian nudged him gently. "This is the right one, right?"
He checked the battery, nodded once. "Yeah."
She smiled. "Perfect. We'll take it."
While she pulled out her card, Moe drifted a few steps to the side, eyes catching on a man walking out from the back bay. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair streaked with gray. A familiar heavy, almost deliberate gait.
Moe's breath caught.
No fucking way.
The man turned, wiping grease off his hands, and met Moe's gaze.
Finn.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The shop noise faded. The world narrowed to the space between them.
Jillian's voice broke through the static. "Babe... are you okay?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
Finn blinked once, slowly, like he wasn't sure if he was seeing a ghost. "Moe?"
Jillian turned sharply, eyes darting between them. "You... know him?"
"Yeah." Moe swallowed hard, voice rough. "I know him."
Finn took a step forward, eyes wide with something between shock and recognition. "Jesus Christ. It really is you."
Jillian moved closer to Moe instinctively, her hand brushing his arm. "I think we should go. We got the battery."
"No." Moe didn't look away from his friend. "That's Finn."
She grabbed onto his hand and held on. He approached Finn, taking in the changes. He looked older. More gray in his hair, a few more wrinkles. Even with the differences, he would've recognized him anywhere.
He'd been hunting this man—chasing him, really—ever since he'd seen Finn and Kallie slip through the veil. He'd followed them because Finn was the only link he had to the world he'd lost, the only person who might understand what the hell had happened to him.
And now here he was, standing in a motorcycle shop like it was any normal day.
Moe stepped forward. "Where the hell have you been? I followed you through the veil and looked for you for weeks. It was like you disappeared." He glanced at Jillian. "I went back to Everstill and returned here to find you."
"Moe." Finn lifted a hand, palm out. "Slow down."
"Slow down?" Moe barked. "I've been stuck in a world that ain't mine for twenty-nine years, and you want me to slow down?"
Finn grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. "I get it. I do. But we can't talk about that here. I'm working. I'll meet you somewhere after I get off, where we can talk in private."
Moe opened his mouth to argue, but Jillian's hand slid around his arm, quieting him. Her touch didn't calm him, not exactly, but it kept him from exploding.
"You can have your friend come to the house," said Jillian.
Finn glanced at her, then back at Moe. "I'm off at six. I'll need to go home first to get Kallie."
Jillian gave Finn the address. Then his friend looked at him one last time as if he had a thousand things to say. "Seven o'clock."
Then he turned and disappeared back into the bay.
Jillian tugged gently on Moe's arm. "Come on. Let's get your battery."
He let her pull him to the counter, though his mind was still spinning. She paid quickly, sliding her card across the counter while Moe stood gripping the battery like it might vanish if he blinked.
Finn was alive. He was here, working in a shop with the Columbia Brotherhood patch hanging over the damn door. How was that even possible?
Jillian guided him toward the exit, her hand warm on his back. "We'll go home," she said softly. "You can breathe. And then you can talk to him tonight."
He couldn't reply because he had too many questions.