Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(102)

“Chevy.” Cyrus’s voice cracks, and when he clears his throat, my heart throbs in pain. “I don’t fucking care if you become a member of this club. You are my grandson and I love you. This is your home, this will always be your home and I will take this vest off my back and set fire to it if that means you’ll believe me.”

I don’t need that. I’ve never needed that. I just needed to hear him say I’ll always have a home. I swallow to keep my throat from closing and stand because my mind’s a mess. “I’m not James. You’re not going to lose me.”

Cyrus climbs to his feet and hugs me. Hands high in a show of respect as if I was wearing a patch. In the club, men hug. It’s a show of affection, a show of brotherhood, but it’s hard and it’s fast. As my grandfather hugs me and I hug him back, we hold on longer because we’re making a promise...we’re never letting go.





Violet

I’M NOT SURE how Chevy’s able to stay awake when my eyelids close of their own volition every few seconds. Each drop into darkness is like a piece of heaven, but then when my body begins to drift toward the car door so I can sleep, I jerk and force my eyes back open. Chevy needs me and I need to stay awake so he’ll stay awake and then we won’t die in a fiery car crash.

“I don’t feel like this is our brightest idea,” I say. “We’ve already missed a ton of school and our mothers will be pissed. We’ve already got the club mad at us. Do you think it’s wise to anger the moms, too? We’ve had plenty of awful ideas lately, so shouldn’t we pull back on the bad ones for a bit?”

“We’ve also had some good ones.” Chevy switches hands on the steering wheel. “Besides, I can’t wait for answers anymore. I need to start fresh, and to do that, I need the truth.”

James. He’s talking about James and my heart aches for him. Chevy shook me awake at six this morning. I at least have had a few hours of sleep. I’m betting Chevy has had none, but he’s awake due to freebasing caffeine.

Chevy was determined to meet Isaiah by just showing at his Monday through Friday job, but I was able to convince Rachel via text to push a meetup between Chevy and Isaiah this morning. I promised that Chevy would buy him breakfast. Pretty sure neither of them care about that.

The donut shop Isaiah picked is up on the right and I point it out to Chevy even though the GPS is giving instructions at the same time. Except for a Mustang and another car around the back, the parking lot is empty, and when we walk into the place, we find the same.

It’s a quaint little place. Only one table with two chairs near the windows, but other than that there’s a glass case holding lots and lots of frosted and not frosted donuts. The sight of baked goodness and the scent of delicious sweetness cause my mouth to water, but then I notice Isaiah talking in a low voice to a woman behind the counter and my appetite dies.

The woman looks over at us, and when she spots Chevy, she places a hand on her stomach like she was kicked. “You look like him. Not as much as Isaiah does, but you look like James.”

Isaiah folds his arms over his chest and stays silent as the woman crosses the room to Chevy. She’s not what I would have expected for Isaiah’s mom, but then again, that’s not fair. My mother wouldn’t be the definition of a biker chick. Looks are often deceiving.

This woman is young—obviously old enough to have a son out of high school, but still young enough that I don’t consider her old. Her long hair is blond with a slight curl and she wears a cotton dress with cowboy boots. Her earrings dangle and she has a soft country twang as she speaks. “I’m Isaiah’s mom, Ruth. He told me you want to talk about James.”

Chevy glances over at me and the anguish written on his face slays me. He wants to talk about James, but he doesn’t. He needs this and he needs me. I link my fingers with his, he locks them tight and we follow Ruth as she leads us away from the front of the store to a breakroom in the back.





CHEVY

“I DON’T OWN the place.” Ruth is a rambler. Hasn’t stopped talking since we walked through the door. “I just work here, but the owner feels like I do a good enough job that he lets me take care of the place after nine on my own. We get real quiet after nine, but I don’t mind.”

Ruth peeks over at Isaiah as if she’s searching for his approval and she twists her hands together. Odd how she’s the mom and he’s the son, but he’s definitely the more mature of the two. Isaiah leans against the wall as Violet and I sit at the breakroom table.

“Are you going to get into trouble for having us here?” Violet asks.

“No. I called and told my boss and he was fine with it as long as I don’t make a habit of inviting people in. I told him that my son needed to speak to me and he knows that Isaiah and I don’t meet often.”

Isaiah’s lips thin out. “Why don’t you tell them about James, so I can get to work.”

“Okay, but it doesn’t feel right. James never wanted anyone else to know and I promised him I wouldn’t tell. I broke way too many promises with James and I wanted to be able to keep one.”

“You told me,” Isaiah says with strained patience.

“Because you’re my son and I’ve made mistakes with you and...”

The bell at the front rings and the expression of relief on her face makes me feel worse for her and for me. I just want the truth, but I don’t want it if it causes her a mental breakdown.