To Have It All(43)

Helen met me at the door and cringed when she saw me. “You okay?”

“No,” I spat back. “I need to get out for a while.”

“We have to talk about what the doctors said this morning,” she murmured as she leaned toward me.

“I know,” I grumbled, running a hand through my hair, struggling to keep my cool. Waverly staying here was already stressful enough, what with her hating the man whose body I inhabited and all. Then add in the surprise visit from the skeeze patrol on top of the bad news from the hospital, I felt like I was about to blow my top. Apparently, my liver enzymes had skyrocketed, which was a sign of organ failure, and the doctors felt strongly that it was time to pull the plug. Helen argued with them, and in the end, they all agreed they’d give it a week. Which meant our two weeks had dwindled down to less than one. Time was running out. My imminent demise was in sight. I felt like I was watching a train rolling high-speed toward me, intent to plow me down, but I could only move in slow motion as I tried to get away.

“I know,” I sighed loudly. “We will, but I need some time to cool off. Can you hang for a bit?”

“Yeah, I got them.”

Grabbing the keys, I left without saying another word. Waverly would probably be pissed about that, too. God knows Max can do no right now, and there would likely be hell to pay later, but I couldn’t speak with her. I was afraid if she pushed or said something smart ass, I’d snap, and I didn’t want to do that to her. She might’ve been a smartass, but she had a right to be when it came to Max.

I spent the morning hours walking around the city, looking for Pearl. I needed to see she was okay. It took some time, but I found her perched on a park bench, the little stuffed cat I’d asked Mary to give her on her lap, her hand absentmindedly petting it. Her clothes were clean, and her hair was tied back. She was no Elizabeth Taylor, but she looked good. That gave me some relief.

An hour later, I made my way down to the shop I used to work at before I fell down the stairs injuring myself. Eight years I’d worked at that shop. Rob, the owner, had inherited the business from his father two years before, and was barely managing to keep the place afloat. The truth was he didn’t know shit about bikes. With business income dwindling, my unfortunate injury gave him just the excuse he needed to reduce his labor while maintaining his salary without looking like a total asshole. Needless to say, he wasn’t my favorite person, but he was the least of my concerns right now.

When I heard the buzz of drills and loud rock music playing from two blocks away my shitty mood and negative thoughts began to dissipate. Damn, I missed this place. I loved mechanics. There was something to be said about knowing something so intricately and trying to figure out what might be wrong with a machine when it wouldn’t work right.

When I was a few hundred feet away, I saw it.

My bike.

Even though it wasn’t mine anymore—it was Lenny’s technically—in my heart it would always be mine. My chest tightened as I approached, a feeling of nostalgia washing over me as I remembered the years I had with that bike. I know to some people it was just a bike; a death trap on wheels my Grams used to call it. But to me it was freedom; history, hard work and fun rolled into one. Damn, I missed riding; the feel of the wind and roar of the engine, the way the machine vibrated beneath me the faster I went. I even missed the feel of a woman behind me, her arms wrapped around me, her chest pressed to my back. As I stopped beside it, I snorted to myself as I imagined Waverly riding with me, probably yapping in my ear the entire time about how I was going too fast. Of course for her to even yap I’d have to get her on the back of my bike first, and call me skeptical, but I doubted that would ever happen. Then it occurred to me—I was daydreaming about Waverly riding on the back of my bike. What in the hell was that about?

“Can I help you?” My head snapped up, and I found Lenny, staring at me, his forehead creased in suspicion as he wiped at his grease stained hands with a rag.

“Just walking by and saw this Bobber here.” I motioned to the bike then crossed my arms. “Is it yours?”

Lenny shook his head as he took a few steps toward me, still wiping his hands. “No, it’s not.”

My stomach dropped. He sold it. Damn. He said he wouldn’t. Even if he did, I couldn’t blame him. He paid for it fair and square, but I’d hoped to buy it back from him some day. Of course . . . there may not be a someday for me.

“It’s my buddies. I’m just . . . holding it for a while.”

I nodded, feeling like an asshole for doubting him. Relief flooded through me. Lenny was a good guy. I should have never doubted him.

“It’s a nice bobber,” I noted, wanting to engage him in conversation. He may not know it was me, his best friend Liam, but I missed my friend. I didn’t have many, and Max certainly had none. “Heritage Softail?” I inquired about the model. Any real motorcycle enthusiast would know it was a Heritage, but like I said, I just wanted to keep the conversation going.

Lenny smiled as he shoved the rag in his back pocket. “My buddy built the motor himself and cut the frame to lower the stance.” He nodded, his mouth curved down in a frown as he scratched at his red beard. “He had it a long time.” As he stared at the bike, I wanted to go over and give him a pat on the back. He was thinking about me and my bad luck. I wondered if he knew about the accident. I’m sure Helen called to tell him. With everything going on, I hadn’t thought to ask her if she had.