Chapter One
Addison rushed around her tiny apartment in search of her phone. She would’ve bet money that she’d left it on the kitchen counter, but when she went looking, it was nowhere to be found.
She grabbed her hips and gave a slow perusal over the living room. It had to be here somewhere, and in a six hundred square foot radius, it shouldn’t have taken this long to find. “Where the hell are you?”
Like most people, Addison was attached to her phone. In the last month, she’d tried distancing herself for her own well-being. It wasn’t healthy to be this addicted to puppy videos and unsolved true crime cases. She’d made some strides limiting her time. And now it was working against her.
“Dammit!” she snapped, catching the time on the stove.
She’d overslept. In fairness and showing herself some grace, she’d gotten home late after pulling a double shift at the bar downtown.
She was scheduled again tonight for a closing shift, which left her morning and afternoon open to work on her project.
Eight months and she’d made minimal progress.
Hours upon hours of videos, manuals, and reading anything she could find on the internet, and she still had so much left to do.
I hate that damn bike!
It had become her nemesis. Every time she walked into the garage, she found herself glaring at it as though it was her mortal enemy, and she was ready to do battle.
In a sense, it was a war pitting her and the bike against each other.
Countless days of combat. The motorcycle was definitely winning.
Oh, the irony. Addison never had an interest in motorcycles.
Never ridden one and never wanted to. Sure, she could see the appeal.
Beautiful, loud, and fast. For others. For me?
Safety was a concern. Even with a helmet and leather gear, the risk of crashing was too great.
It wasn’t worth the adrenaline rush. At least not to her. But it was for him.
She pressed her finger to her temples, massaged slowly, and inhaled a deep breath. Think!
“Retrace your steps,” she muttered.
After she woke up, she’d checked her messages, made her coffee and… She snapped her fingers and rushed into the bathroom. There it was. Exactly where I left it.
“Yes!” Addison snatched the phone from the sink counter and walked into her bedroom, grabbing a change of clothes for tonight’s shift. It would buy her more time at the shop if she didn’t have to come home before work.
Once she locked up, she walked past the elevator and started down the six flights.
Unless she was hauling groceries or picking up furniture, she always opted for the stairs.
She was given a healthy heart, and she planned on making use of it.
It had become a running joke in her family, especially after her surgery. “Give that heart a rest.”
No. It was intended to be used, and she would do just that. As she made it to the lobby, she waved at Bill, the mail carrier. He’d always been friendly but became a little more intrusive last year. Not in a bad way. He’d mentioned he liked seeing her get letters.
“People don’t write anymore. Half the kids out there haven’t even heard of a pen pal. It’s a damn shame. You know, with technology we get a lot of good things. Too bad some old ones are sacrificed.”
And he was right.
“Hey, Bill.” She waved and approached him, shoving a stack of envelopes in one of the boxes.
“Hi there, sweetheart.” He sifted through the pile and grabbed a small handful with a smile playing on his lips. “You got a letter.”
Addison had been expecting one from Cleo, Knox’s sister.
They’d started writing to each other a little less than two years ago.
Once she’d gotten the contact information, it took her over a month to finally send her first letter.
She would start it, then scratch it out, crumbling the paper in her fist. Every day for a month.
There weren’t any guidelines or handbooks with advice.
How to write your first letter to your donor’s family?
It was trial and error. Lots of error. Even when she’d written a whole page, it always seemed wrong.
Too personal. Not personal enough. Too much about herself.
Or asking too much about Knox. She would only get one chance, and she didn’t want to ruin it.
Addison settled on being herself. Authentically grateful to Knox and wanting to know about him.
Addison sent the letter and obsessed over it the following week.
Seven days later, she received the first of many letters from Cleo.
His sister seemed as eager to talk about her brother as Addison was to know him.
They’d since graduated to regular texting and the occasional phone call.
They’d forged a little friendship outside of their circumstance. Still, she loved getting letters.
Addison took the letter and a few bills. “Bye, Bill.”
“Be safe, sweetheart.”
She walked outside and glanced down at her phone. It was after three. Danny’s shop was only about a mile from her apartment. Most days, she walked over, not willing to give up her street parking, but today she made an exception for the sake of time.
Addison pulled into the lot, parking near the back, closest to her garage.
Technically, it wasn’t hers. Danny, who she’d known for years, owned the garage.
He’d been her family’s mechanic since she’d started driving.
When she’d mentioned her new endeavor, he’d offered her the space.
She was renting the small slip on a monthly basis. It was set behind the main building.
Addison dug in her bag and grabbed her keys, unlocking the door. She flicked on the lights and scowled. Not because anything was out of place. It was part of her routine with the enemy.
It was a small space. Enough room for a workbench and car. She dropped her bag on the counter and circled the motorcycle. Danny had loaned her a lift, along with every tool she could think of. And even some she didn’t.
A 1969 BMW motorcycle.
It looked nothing like those she’d see on the roads today.
This was a classic. And a mess when she got it.
It took her two months searching daily, three failed attempts from men who didn’t know the correct year of the bikes they were selling, and one unsavory encounter with a man who tried to lure her into the back of his property.
But she’d finally found it. Initially, she’d thought she was getting a deal with the price.
Then she saw it. Even with her limited knowledge of motorcycles, she’d known this would be a challenge.
It was in awful condition, but at least the engine started.
“Late start?”
She glanced over at the doorway. Danny was leaning on the doorframe. He was close to her dad’s age and recently started talking about retirement. It was an ongoing joke that she could take over.
“Worked a double, overslept, and here I am.”
Danny chuckled, pushing off the door and rounding the bike. He lifted his chin, gesturing behind her. “Body looks good.”
Addison glanced over at the frame. It was the only part of the bike she’d paid to have done.
She’d considered giving it a try, but Danny and some other mechanics talked her out of it.
Between the rust and scratches it was in need of a professional.
While initially she’d resisted, they’d reassured her that almost everyone who rebuilt bikes had a professional do the body.
It was pretty standard. She’d finally relented.
“Yeah, I’m happy with it. Now, if I could make some progress on the inside.”
“Go easy on yourself, kid. You’ve done a damn good job, especially since you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. A lot of people would’ve given up already.”
Oh, trust me, the thought has crossed my mind several times.
“You finish up the brakes?” Danny asked, angling his head for a closer look.
“Yeah, last week, and it only took me four days to do it.” So far it had been the shortest repair project, which spoke volumes since it should’ve only taken a day at most according to the video she watched.
His lips twitched. “What are you working on now?”
She groaned and dropped her chin to her chest. “Transmission.”
Danny whistled. “Not an easy task.”
Addison peeked up through her lashes, and her shoulders slumped. “I know.”
Nothing had been easy, but there were certain parts that had been in decent shape.
The transmission was not one of them. Neither was the carburetor.
She’d set that aside after the second fire in the garage.
Danny had been very understanding after the first. After the last one, he’d forbidden her to try again.
It was still a sore subject. For safety measures, her space was now equipped with not one, not two, but three fire extinguishers.
Danny walked around and crouched down. She mimicked him with the bike between them.
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’ll save some money and a ton of your time if you let me and the guys work on it. Probably get it done in a month.”
It was true, and she had no doubt of what he was saying. It wasn’t the first time he’d offered. And to be honest, she’d contemplated it once or twice. Especially after the second fire. But…
“If you do the work, then you rebuilt it, right?”
The corner of his mouth curled. They’d had this conversation so many times, he knew what she was saying.
The sole purpose of the bike was that she did the work on it so she could honestly check off that box.
Addison had zero interest in rebuilding anything, much less a motorcycle. But it wasn’t about her.
“I want to do it.”
He nodded and straightened his legs to stand. “Alright, I get it. But I haven’t changed my mind about the carburetor.” He tapped his chest. “I’m doing that.”
We’ll see.
Danny gave a short wave and left the garage closing the door behind him. Addison did a quick time check at the old clock on the workbench.