Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(84)

Oz and Razor walk in behind him followed by Pigpen, Man O’ War, Rebecca, Dust, and then I lose track. Our waitress walks up and places a huge stack of blueberry pancakes in front of me and on top of it is a lit candle.

“Chevy reminded me that we forgot something special,” Eli says, “and I want you to know I’m sorry. For a lot of things, I’m sorry. But regardless, happy belated birthday, kid.”

Chevy squeezes into the booth beside me, kissing my cheek, and I barely have the attention span to kiss him back as I crazily try to take in what’s going on.

“How did you know we’d work things out in time?” I ask Eli.

He relaxes back into the booth, a cocky smile on his face. “I didn’t. I assumed we’d be fighting and told the guys to show so I wouldn’t ruin one more meeting between us.”

I don’t know who started it first, but soon the diner is filled with a chorus of voices, most of them singing off-key, but singing loudly and they are singing “Happy Birthday” to me.





CHEVY

“DON’T YOU THINK we’re going to be tight on time?” Violet asks as she plays with the radio of her father’s Chevelle. It’s the original radio—the type that requires turning a knob to find a station. I’m driving, she’s on the passenger side and I’m not as worried about time as I am about breaking down on our way to Louisville. No way I want to explain why Violet and I aren’t doing homework in Snowflake.

“Scared you’re going to miss your party?” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye to gauge her reaction.

Tonight, the clubhouse is going to be full and the entire night is in honor of her turning eighteen. We’re a few weeks late, but at least the club is owning their mistake. I expect Violet to frown, to go into an eloquent rant that includes curse words that would cause a sailor to blush, but instead she looks like she’s contemplating the possibility of being okay with it.

“I want to hang out with you, Oz and Razor,” she says. “Like we used to.”

A prick of pain in my chest. Like we used to before her dad died. I reach over and take Violet’s hand. The squeeze is meant to show the way I want to love her through all that hurts her. The twining of our fingers is to keep me from turning the car around and sticking my head back in the sand. It’s time to find out the truth about my dad. It’s time for me to make some informed choices.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Last I checked, when I’m the guest of honor, we don’t have to sneak beer anymore or watch the party from branches in trees.”

“You know you want to play hide-n-go-seek in the woods.”

She laughs and the sound warms my soul. “What if I do?”

“Then we’ll do that, too. We’ll make Razor be it.”

“He hated being it.”

“That’s why he’s going to be it.”

GPS tells me to take a left and that our destination is on the right. We fall silent as we creep past the decrepit and decaying car garage. The place isn’t much, but it’s on par with the rest of the area. Gray, broken and on the verge of collapse. My instincts flare. Bringing Violet was a mistake.

Instead of making a U-turn, I flick the turn signal to head back to the expressway, but Violet gently squeezes my knee. “It’s just a garage.”

“What if it’s a garage for the Riot?”

“Then we’ll tell them we found the account numbers and we’ll get a jump on that meeting time the detective wants so badly.”

“I’m serious. They hurt you once. I can’t let them hurt you again.”

“It’s not a Riot garage. The bay doors were open and there wasn’t a motorcycle in sight. A few cars and two people inside working on them.”

With a grunt, I make the U-turn. And I’m supposed to be the observant one. “I didn’t see any of that.”

“No, you were too busy seeing the basement to notice what was right in front of you.”

Her words ring so true that I can’t acknowledge them. I pull into the parking lot of the garage and a girl with blond hair tied back into a braid straightens from over the hood of a red nineteen fifty-something Chevy. It’s a beautiful piece of machinery and the girl lets her fingers slide over the car as if she’s in love.

“I can see how you find this place intimidating,” Violet mocks. “She screams badass.”

She’s about our age, in a T-shirt, but wears designer jeans and has the presence and face of a beauty queen instead of a greased-up mechanic. “Looks can be deceiving. No one would have guessed Emily’s half Terror, half Riot.”

“That’s because Emily grew up normal and away from this madness.”

Before I have a chance to edge into a parking spot, the girl waves us forward into the empty bay next to the car she’s working on. I enter at a snail’s pace, scanning the garage for any threat.

There’s a one-room office to the side, but other than that the place is bare except for the car, the girl, workbenches and the tools. “I thought you said there were two people.”

“There were, but one could have gone in the back. People do that you, you know? Normally leave one room for another. Plus you’re here to see a guy, remember? Isaiah Walker. We want him to be here, or have you forgotten?”