to make sacrifices, as well. Not that living in a mansion with maids and a kitchen staff is a sacrifice, but I am hungry for independence. My mom and dad, even though I love them and we have come to awesome understandings with each other, often forget I’m in my twenties and not twelve. At least once a month I feel so smothered that I scream into my pillow at night.
My parents are financially well-off and have offered to buy the land and build the shop for us, even telling us to consider it a loan if the idea of taking the money from them bothers us. But Isaiah and I both know that if Dad is involved, even though he means well, he’ll feel entitled to have a say in our business—and that’s not what we want. This road is a lot longer and harder than I thought it would be, but I keep reminding myself it will be worth it in the end.
Nina rearranges flowers in a vase at the counter and the sunlight catches her diamond ring again. Isaiah and I are practically engaged, but there’s no ring on my finger, nor has he dropped down on one knee. Getting married is part of The Plan, once we have enough money to build the garage, but I often consider asking for a renegotiation on.
Isaiah and I see each other often, but I’d love to see him more. I’d love to wake up in his arms every morning, instead of a couple of times a week. Instead of having a routine for me and a routine for him, we would have a routine for us. I’m ready for more, but how do I tell Isaiah?
Nina keeps fidgeting with the flowers, even ones she’s messed with several times before. I’m not best friends with Nina, but we’ve spent enough time together since Isaiah discovered the McKinleys are his blood family that I know when she’s nervous.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She sighs heavily as she quits her assault on the poor plants. “Eli won’t be happy, but I think we need your advice on something.”
I frown. None of that sounds good. “What could I help with?”
“Follow me.”
Nina crosses the kitchen and opens the door to the garage. I follow her into it and pause in awe at the motorcycle in front of me. It’s not one I’ve seen around the club before, and I have an idea of where this is headed. “Whose is it?”
“You have three good guesses and the first two don’t count.”
Isaiah—the motorcycle is for Isaiah. Wow.
“Do you think Isaiah will like it?” Nina asks me. She’s a mixture of worry, excitement and hesitation. “We know he’s into cars, but he’s a McKinley so bikes have to be in his blood somewhere. Plus, Eli and Cyrus really want Isaiah to have his father’s bike.”
“I thought Chevy had their father’s motorcycle,” I say.
“He does. James had two motorcycles. Chevy has the one his father rode, and Eli had the other. James found this one in a junk yard and was fixing it up before he died. Eli finished the job, and now Eli wants Isaiah to have it.”
Chevy and Isaiah are half-brothers, though neither knew the other existed until relatively recently. Since then, Isaiah has been slowly—slowly as in snails move faster than him—allowing them to be a part of his life.
On the other hand, whenever Isaiah’s in town, the McKinleys and the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club follow him around like cats waiting on their food bowl. If they had their way, even though he was nineteen when they met, they would have packed him up and moved him into one of the rooms at the clubhouse or Cyrus’s house in a heartbeat.
But besides a relationship with me, Isaiah doesn’t jump headfirst into things. Especially with people who say they’re family. Because of Isaiah’s past, he doesn’t love or trust easily. His weariness, though, hasn’t shut out the McKinleys. They’re patient—admirably so.
I round the Harley-Davidson while playing with the ends of my blond hair. Having been around the Reign of Terror, I’ve learned some about bikes. “This is a FLSTF Fat Boy. V2 engine, 5-speed gearbox.” It’s silver, with a shine like it has been well loved, and I have no idea how Isaiah is going to react.
“Spoken like a true member of the club.”
I smile at the compliment. The club would love for Isaiah to become a member, but he’s not interested. It’s nothing against them,