ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(24)

I used the throw blanket on the back of the couch to brush the dust off the cushion, which was thankfully covered in plastic.

Nolan rolled around in the kitchen rustling through the refrigerator before joining me. He rolled over and set one of two beers on the coffee table. He took a large bag of popcorn from his lap and tossed it onto the couch. The other beer, he opened by banging against the corner of the coffee table, adding new marks to the hundreds of other identical ones in the same spot. He handed the open one to me and did the same with the other. When I wrapped my hand around the neck of the cold bottle, his grip lingered and he even tugged back slightly. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before he released it.

A shiver ran down my spine.

It must have been the beginnings of a fever caused by one of the numbers of infections I probably had. I made a mental note to delete the encyclopedia app from my phone as well although since I’d had a virtual hot flash earlier, I was pretty sure the end was near.

“You know a lot about bikes?” Nolan asked.

“Uh, a little,” I said, biting my bottom lip. It was only a small lie. The whole truth thing was all well and good, but a few of the MCs were my biggest clients and were therefore off limits and not allowed anywhere near truthville. “But I grew up in a town with a Harley dealership. You know, one of those big ones with a diner in it. Bikers rode through almost every weekend. My friend Cody and I would sit on top of the picnic tables at the truck stop on the side of the highway and watch them drive off the ramp in pairs. We would go to the dealership and learn the names of all the bikes and shout them out as they passed us by.”

Nolan’s beer was paused at his lips. He looked at me as though he could see right through me even though he shouldn’t have been because what I was telling him was the truth. Well, all except not knowing much about bikes. “What you just said sounds a lot like me as a kid.”

“You grow up around a lot of bikes?” I asked.

Nolan nodded. “Bikes. Bikers. Hard to avoid them in this town,” he said. “I don’t know if you’re aware but we’ve got two of the biggest MCs in the state right across the causeway in Logan’s Beach.”

I nodded and took a sip of my beer, afraid that if I didn’t do something with my mouth the truth about how I not only knew that already, but had been to both the Wolf Warriors and Beach Bastards MCs, would spill out from between my lips.

Nolan clicked something on the side of his wheelchair that released the armrest so he could slide it down. The muscles in his forearms flexed and strained as he lifted himself up and shifted onto the couch, landing with a grunt against the cushions.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, pointing to his leg.

His face was scrunched up in the center. “Nah, thanks for helping, though,” Nolan said sarcastically through gritted teeth. Oh yeah, the boy was most definitely in pain.

“You did just fine on your own,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, I usually do, but I saw the doctor this morning and he changed out my old cast for this smaller one so it’s sore as f*ck from repositioning it. I’m supposed to start using the crutches but haven’t gotten around to it yet,” he said, positioning his foot so his injured leg could rest on top of the coffee table.

“How did you do it?” I asked out of curiosity. “Hockey, right? Was it in practice or a game?”

“How did you know that?” Nolan asked, leaning away from me.

“ ’Cause I can read your mind,” I said waving my hands around in the air like a mystic. I dropped my hands when he continued to stare at me blankly. “You told me. Your introduction. Remember? You’re Nolan something about injuring yourself in hockey?”

“Oh yeah,” Nolan said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“They got you hopped up on a lot of drugs or something?” I asked, wondering why he was so suddenly distrusting of me when earlier he agreed to let me stay at his house when he didn’t even know me.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” He offered me a small smile. “It wasn’t in a game.”

“What?”

“You asked how I injured my leg. It wasn’t in a game. It wasn’t even in practice. Truth is I got in a fight.”

“I take it you lost?”

Nolan looked at me as if I’d just knocked on his door and asked him if he’s accepted our lord and savior Jesus Christ into his life. “Fuck no,” Nolan spat, rolling his eyes.

“All right then, brawler, is the other guy in a neck brace?”

“No, smart ass. At least I don’t think he is. I was out with friends. This guy I knew from way back, who I didn’t even remember I had beef with but apparently he did, spotted me at the bar and started shit with me. We took it outside. Before I got my punch in he pulled out a blade and sliced my f*cking leg open. Hurt like a motherf*cker but I didn’t even feel it, not until after I knocked the son of a bitch out.” Nolan sighed and looked to the ceiling.

I didn’t know if I should say something so I stayed quiet while he finished his story. “He’s lucky I didn’t f*cking kill him.” Nolan’s knuckles turned white around the neck of his beer, which he then finished in a few long swigs.

He took a deep breath and waved off the memory. “Enough of that bullshit,” Nolan said. “Here.” He reached behind his head and grabbed something before settling back into the couch. He tossed me a remote. “Ladies’ choice.”