Ride With Me

CHAPTER 2

The workshop was unusually quiet after Tyler stormed out. Not because the motorcycles had disappeared but because every member of the Iron Vipers seemed to be watching me instead but I ignored them.

People stared all the time whenever they walked into Lawson Customs and found a blonde woman running the place. Some looked confused, others looked amused and a few acted like I’d accidentally wandered into the wrong building.

Most of them changed their minds once I started talking about engines and I walked over to the first motorcycle and wheeled my tool trolley beside it.

“Who owns this one?” I asked and a broad shouldered biker with dark hair raise a hand.

“Mine.” He said.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Hunter. Most people call me Wrench.” He said and I smiled.

“Ironic.” I said.

“Why?” He frowned.

“If you’re called Wrench, your mechanic should’ve been called Disaster.” I said and a few men chuckled while Hunter laughed.

“That bad?” He asked.

I crouched beside the motorcycle and looked over the engine.

“Who worked on this last?” I asked.

“Garage two towns over.” He said.

“I’d ask for a refund.” I said and Hunter blinked.

“You haven’t even taken anything apart.” He said.

“I don’t need to.” I said.

I reached over and lightly tapped the engine casing.

“The primary chain is loose, your rear cylinder isn’t firing evenly and someone replaced your spark plugs without checking the leads.” I said and he stared at me stunned.

“You can tell all that already?” He asked.

“I can tell more if you stop distracting me.” I nodded.

That earned another laugh from the men and I grabbed a socket wrench and removed the side cover.

Less than a minute later I held up a badly worn chain tensioner.

“This should’ve been replaced months ago.” I said and Hunter scratched the back of his neck.

“So…you weren’t guessing.” He said.

“No.” I said and he grinned.

“I’m starting to like you.” He said.

“I wouldn’t get carried away.” I said and the men laughed again.

I moved to the next motorcycle and the owner was a mountain of a man with tattoos climbing up both arms.

“I’m Derek. They call me Razor.” He said.

I looked at his bike before looking back at him.

“Fitting.” I said.

“Why’s that?” He asked.

“Because whoever serviced this nearly murdered it.” I said and his eyebrows lifted.

“I serviced it.” He said and I smiled.

“My condolences.” I said and the guys snickered behind him and Derek folded his arms.

“I think you’re bluffing.” He said.

“I think you’re about to owe your motorcycle an apology.” I said so he leaned against the workbench.

“Go on then.” He said.

I crouched beside the bike and I ran my fingers over the brake rotor and spun the front wheel.

“You’ve overtightened the axle. The front rotor is warped. The rear brake pads are almost gone. And…” I said pointing to the chain as his smile disappeared.

“...you’ve adjusted that far too tight.” I finished.

“Impossible.” Derek said shaking his head so I handed him the spanner.

“Loosen it.” I said.

He hesitated before doing exactly that and the wheel spun freely and his expression changed immediately.

“Huh.” He said and I smiled.

“Huh indeed.” I said and Hunter burst out laughing.

“Told you she wasn’t bluffing.” He said and Derek looked down at his motorcycle against before slowly nodding.

“I’ll admit it. I was wrong.” Derek said.

“I’ll mark today on the calendar.” Hunter said and the men laughed again.

The atmosphere inside the garage relaxed considerably after that.

One by one, each motorcycle rolled into my work bay.

I worked steadily, explaining every issue as I found it.

I didn’t need computers, I didn’t need expensive scanners. Years of listening to engines had taught me more than any diagnostic mechanic every could.

By lunchtime every member of the Iron Vipers had gathered around while I worked.

Some asked questions and others simply watched.

“This one’s running rich.” I said pointing toward another engine.

“How can you tell?” Hunter asked.

“The exhaust note.” I said.

“You heard that?” He asked.

“I also heard your bearing complaining.” I said and he laughed.

“I didn’t know bearings could complain.” He said.

“They complain loudly. You just haven’t learned to listen.” I said.

Jace hadn’t spoken much and he stood slightly away from the others with his arms folded, quietly observing everything. And it was starting to bother me.

Most people either talked too much or not enough. He definitely belonged in the second group and eventually I looked at him.

“You’re awfully quiet.” I said.

“I prefer listening.” He said.

“Why?” I asked.

“You learn more.” He said and I narrowed my eyes.

“That’s suspicious.” I ssaid and his mouth twitched.

“So I’ve been told.” He said.

I looked away first because there was something about him that made me feel like he noticed everything.

People like that usually made me nervous so I returned my attention to the next motorcycle.

“This one had been abused worse than a supermarket shopping trolley.” I said and the workshop erupted with laughter. Hunter pointed toward another member.

“I told you to stop jumping gutters.” Hunter said.

“It wasn’t a gutter.” The guys said.

“It absolutely was.” Hunter said.

“It was a drain.” The guy said.

“It was a terrible decision.” Hunter said and I shook my head.

“I don’t even want to know.” I said and Hunter grinned.

“You probably don’t.” Hunter said.

An hour later every motorcycle had been inspected and I wiped my hands on a rag while Mia wasn’t there to complain because, of course, I hadn’t hired her yet and Jace stepped forward.

“How long?” Jace asked stepping forward.

“A week.” I said.

“A week?” Hunter groaned.

“You brought me six motorcycles.” I said.

“We were hoping for magic.” Hunter said.

“I’m a mechanic. Not a wizard.” I said.

“Fair enough.” He nodded.

Without another word Jace reached into his jacket and placed a thick envelope on the workplace.

“Half now. The rest with they’re finished.” He said.

“I haven’t even started yet.” I frowned.

“You’ve already earned it.” Jace said.

I opened the envelope and my stomach nearly dropped. There was more money inside than I’d expected. Much more. I quickly counted it before looking back at him.

“This is way more than half.” I said.

“It covers the parts.” He said.

“I haven’t ordered them yet.” I said.

“You will.” He said.

I stared at the money again and the overdue power bill sitting on the desk suddenly didn’t seem so impossible.

Neither did the insurance payment or next week’s mortgage.

For the first time in months, I could breathe.

I carefully put the envelope inside the office safe before locking it.

“Thanks.” I said and Jace gave me a small nod.

“We’ll be back in a week.” He said.

The club climbed onto their motorcycles and rode away, leaving the workshop strangely quiet again.

I stood in the middle of the garage for a long moment and then I smiled. It wasn’t a huge smile, just enough to remind myself what hope felt like.

The rest of the afternoon disappeared into work. And then I swept the floor, organized tools, placed parts orders and checked tomorrow’s bookings.

By the time the roller door came down outside the sky had already turned orange.

My shoulders ached and my hands were covered in grease.

I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

Upstairs dinner consisted of instant noddles and another mug of coffee.

It wasn’t glamorous but it filled the hole in my stomach.

After washing the bowl I opened the old wooden chest Uncle Will had kept beside the sofa.

Inside were dozens of photos.

I smiled as I picked one up where I couldn’t have been older than ten. I was sitting on the bonnet of an old pickup truck holding a wrench almost as long as my arm.

Uncle Will stood beside me, smiling proudly and another photo showed us rebuilding an old Harley together and I laughed quietly.

“You’ve got to listen. The engine tells you what’s wrong if you stop trying to talk over it.” His voice echoed in my memory as clearly as if he were sitting beside me.

“I don’t hear anything.” Twelve year old me had complained.

“You will.” He said.

“How?” I asked.

“You keep listening.” He said.

He’d been right. Eventually every rattle, every knock, every vibration and every tiny change became a language all its own.

He hadn’t just taught me to fix motorcycles, he’s taught me patience. Confidence and independence.

I carefully returned the photos to the chest before switching off the lights.

As I opened the apartment door to lock up for the night, something caught my eyes.

A paper grocery bag sat nearly outside my door and I frowned.

Slowly I kneeled down and looked inside. There was bread, milk, eggs, fresh fruit and coffee. Enough food to last nearly a week.

There wasn’t a note or a name. Someone had simply left the groceries there before disappearing.

I looked down the empty staircase but whoever had brought them was already gone.