Kansas (Ruthless Kings MC Atlantic City #2) - K.L. Savage Page 0,2
that. My bike isn’t new like Nigel’s.
“Seven,” I reply, swinging my leg over my bicycle.
He glances at his watch and nods. “Okay, that gives us a few hours. You go home and do what you need to do. I’ll tell my parents I’m spending the night with you. You tell yours you’re spending the night with me. We both pack a bag because we have no idea where we will end up being when we follow him.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, sounds good.” We slap our palms together, then our fists, and then point finger guns at each other. It’s our secret handshake. He pushes off the ground and begins to pedal when I call out for him, “Hey, Nigel?”
He hits his breaks so hard the tires skid. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He grins. “Brothers, remember?” Nigel pushes off the road, and his bike sways from left to right with every circle of the pedals to make the bike go faster.
I slide my bat into my bag and hook it around my shoulders, then take off on my bike in the opposite direction Nigel went. We live a ten-minute bike ride from one another, but the baseball field is right between us, so it never takes long to get home.
Thinking about what we are going to do has me nervous. What if my dad catches us? What do we do then? And what if I’m wrong? What if I learn he isn’t the problem, but I am?
I jump over the curb and land on both wheels, zooming by a stray cat that’s staring me down as if I’m its breakfast.
The familiar song of an ice cream truck almost has me turning around to go get an ice cream sandwich, but I decide against it, since we don’t have that much time between now and when my dad leaves.
The sun beams down against the top of my shoulders, warming my skin, but as soon as I take the next right down the street, the heat is blocked by trees. The chain against my bike spins as I coast down the road, passing green garbage bins at the end of every driveway.
Until we get to where I live, of course.
I’m the only one who takes out the trash, does the laundry, dishes, mows the lawn, pays the bills and whatever else. Mom is incapable right now, and my dad works late and leaves on the weekends. So it’s up to me to be the man of the house because my dad does not count.
“Damn it, I missed trash day,” I grumble to myself.
I sigh when I see the overflowing trashcan while everyone else’s is empty. Dropping my bike in the middle of the yard, I step over the dead bushes and onto the walkway. Every step gets heavier the closer I get to the front door. My mom’s favorite garden gnome, Jack she named him, is looking a bit grungy with dirt.
I pick him up and stare at the faded green door. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” I say to him, knowing I’m insane for talking to a gnome. I turn the gold knob, and the door creaks open as if I’m entering a haunted house. The living room is dark, the TV isn’t on, but I know they are home because both cars are in the driveway.
Pops’ briefcase is on the coffee table, the latches undone, and I’m tempted to open it and look inside, but I hear footsteps coming down the hall.
I beeline to the kitchen and pass the stack of dishes I need to go through, then bite the inside of my cheek as that rage inside me begins to build. I place Jack in the sink, flip the faucet on, and douse him in soap. I scrub him, grinding my teeth together when I remember Jack only exists because Pops got it for her.
She loves the damn thing.
“Amos, hey. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight. Lucky me,” Pops says from behind me, messing up my hair from behind with his hand. “How was practice with Nigel?”
“Good.” I breathe in and out, wanting nothing more than to turn around and smash Jack against the side of my Pops’ head. “We always make the team, so I’m not worried.”
“I’m just proud of you for going out there and practicing like you do. Takes dedication. I can’t wait to go to your games. They are my favorite part of my week.”
He talks like that, and I feel guilty. My Pops isn’t