30. Gage
Gage
N ovember in Willowbrook meant early sunsets and the kind of crisp air that made you want to curl up somewhere warm with someone you loved.
Which was exactly what I was doing, settled into the cottage that had somehow become ours.
Billie had moved in gradually over the past two weeks, bringing her coffee mugs and books and the little succulent plants she insisted would thrive on the kitchen windowsill.
It was a kind of domestic bliss that I still had to pinch myself to make sure it was true.
I was reading construction plans for the house renovation while she updated some patient notes at the kitchen table, both of us comfortable in the kind of companionable silence that felt like the most natural thing in the world.
This was what I'd imagined when I'd dreamed of having a home.
Not just a place to sleep, but a space filled with the quiet rhythm of shared life.
"Hand me that red pen?" Billie asked without looking up from her stack of patient files.
I reached across the small table to grab it for her, letting my fingers linger on hers as I passed it over. She smiled without lifting her head, the kind of automatic response that came from two weeks of learning each other's domestic habits.
A knock on the door interrupted our peaceful evening. Billie glanced up, and I caught something in her expression, a flicker of anticipation that made me suspicious.
"I'll get it," I said, but she was already pushing back from the table.
"No, I will..." she started, then caught herself. "I mean, you should get it. It's probably for you."
"Billie, what's going on?"
"Nothing's going on." She was a terrible liar, especially when she was trying to look innocent. "Just answer the door, Gage."
The knock came again, more insistent this time. I opened the door to find Dex standing on the porch, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, that tired look still lingering around his eyes.
"Hey," he said. "Can you come outside for a minute? I need to show you something."
"Now?" I glanced back at Billie, who was making a shooing motion with her hands. "What's this about?"
"Just come outside, man. Trust me."
I grabbed my jacket, more confused than concerned. "This better not be about me helping you move furniture or something. It's almost eight o'clock."
"It's not about furniture," Dex said, and there was something in his voice I couldn't quite read. "Come on."
I followed him outside, expecting to see his truck or maybe some piece of ranch equipment he needed help with.
Instead, I saw my entire family standing in a semicircle around something large covered by a tarp.
Booker, Trace, Xander, even Jasper was there.
Cade was practically bouncing on his toes with excitement.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked, looking between all of them.
"Language," Trace said automatically, but he was grinning.
"Uncle Gage," Cade said, unable to contain himself any longer, "we have a surprise for you!"
"A surprise?" I looked at Booker, who was trying to keep a straight face. "What kind of surprise?"
"The kind that took three months and a lot of favors to pull off," Booker said. "Dex, you want to do the honors?"
Dex stepped forward, and for the first time since he'd knocked on my door, he was really smiling. "Remember after the accident, you asked about your grandfather's motorcycle?"
My heart stopped. "Dex, don't..."
"We told you it was totaled in the accident," he continued. "That it wasn't salvageable."
"Because it wasn't," I said quickly, not wanting to go down this road.
The loss of the bike had been almost as devastating as the physical injuries.
It was the last real connection I'd had to him, the thing that had gotten me through the worst years of my life.
The only piece of home I'd allowed myself to take with me.
"We may have bent the truth a little," Trace said, his grin getting wider.
"What?"
"It was in bad shape," Booker admitted. "Really bad shape. But Dex here thought it might be worth saving."
I looked at Dex, who shrugged. "Your brothers contacted me the day after your accident. Asked if there was any way to recover it, any way to fix it. I told them I'd try."
"But you said..."
"I said it might not be possible," Dex corrected. "I never said it wasn't worth trying."
Cade couldn't wait any longer. He grabbed the corner of the tarp and yanked it off with a theatrical flourish.
Underneath was my grandfather's 1967 Triumph Bonneville, restored to absolute perfection.
The black paint gleamed in the porch light, every chrome detail polished to mirror brightness.
It looked exactly the way I remembered it from my childhood, when Grandpa would take me for rides around the ranch on Sunday afternoons.
Better than it had looked before that SUV had collided with me on that fateful morning.
I couldn't breathe.
"Surprise!" Cade shouted, but his voice sounded far away.
I walked toward the bike on unsteady legs, my hands shaking as I reached out to touch the fuel tank. The metal was warm and real under my fingers. This wasn't a dream or some cruel joke. This was actually Grandpa's bike, restored and perfect and here.
"How?" I whispered.
"Dex spent every weekend for three months tracking down parts," Xander said. "Original everything—engine, transmission, even the seat leather."
"Some of it had to be rebuilt from scratch," Dex added. "The front fork was completely destroyed, and the engine needed a full rebuild. But the frame was solid, and I had most of your grandfather's original tools to work with."
I ran my hands over the handlebars, remembering the first time I felt them under my ten-year-old grip. "I can't believe you did this."
"We wanted you to have it back," Booker said simply. "We know what it meant to you."
That's when the tears started. Not just a few that I could blink away, but the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deep and broken, the kind that had been building up for months. I leaned against the bike and let it come, not caring that my whole family was watching.
"Hey," Trace said, moving to put a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay."
"I thought it was gone," I managed between sobs. "I thought I'd lost the last piece of him."
"You didn't lose anything," Jasper said, his voice rough with emotion. "We just had to put it back together."
I straightened up, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "This isn't just about the bike."
"No," Booker agreed quietly. "It's not."
"This is about wanting me here. Really wanting me here, as part of this family.
" I looked around at all of them, seeing nothing but love and acceptance in their faces.
"There's been this part of me, this tiny part, that kept wondering if you all just felt obligated to forgive me.
If you were just going through the motions because I'm your brother. "
"Gage..." Xander started.
"But this," I said, gesturing at the motorcycle, "this is proof. You didn't have to do this. You spent months and probably a fortune bringing back something to me just because it was important to me."
"Of course we did," Trace said. "You're our brother."
"You're family," Booker added. "This is what family does."
I pulled each of them into fierce hugs, not caring that I was still crying or that this was probably the most emotional I'd been in front of all of them at once. Cade hugged my legs, chattering excitedly about how cool the bike looked and asking when I could take him for a ride.
"Next spring," I promised him. "When the weather's better and your mom says it's okay."
"And you'll teach me to ride when I'm older?"
"If your parents say it's okay, absolutely."
As the group started to break up, everyone heading back to their cars with promises to get together soon, I caught Dex lingering by the bike. He was running his hands over the engine with the kind of pride that came from rebuilding something with your own two hands.
"Dex," I said, walking over to him. "I don't know how to thank you."
"You don't need to thank me." He straightened up, but something in his expression wasn't quite right. His smile looked forced, like he was working harder than usual to appear happy.
"This must have taken hundreds of hours."
"Worth every minute," he said, but there was something hollow in his voice.
I studied his face, seeing the exhaustion that went deeper than just physical tiredness. "Are you okay, man? You've seemed... off lately."
"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Just tired from all the late nights working on this project."
"Dex..."
"I should get going," he said, already moving toward his truck. "Early morning tomorrow."
I watched him drive away, that uneasy feeling settling in my stomach again.
Something was going on with Dex, something he wasn't telling any of us.
And despite the joy of getting Grandpa's bike back, despite the overwhelming proof of my family's love, I couldn't shake the feeling that one of the people I cared about most was struggling with something he was too proud or too scared to share.
As I rolled the motorcycle into the small garage behind the cottage, I made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Dex.
He'd done so much for all of us over the years, had been there through every crisis and celebration.
If he was going through something difficult, it was our turn to be there for him.
But for now, I had a motorcycle to admire and a woman inside who'd kept this secret for who knows how long. I had questions for Billie about how long she'd known, and I had a feeling her answers were going to involve a lot of that innocent expression that never fooled me for a second.
Some problems would have to wait until tomorrow.
Tonight, I just wanted to appreciate everything I'd been given.
A family who loved me enough to spend months rebuilding something precious to me, a woman who'd become my partner in every way that mattered, and a piece of my grandfather that I'd thought was lost forever.
Tonight, I just wanted to be grateful.