together, and the first time Rachel wrapped her arms around me. It feels like home.
The crowd parts as I edge the motorcycle forward and soon others are mounting their bikes, starting their engines. Then there’s Eli on his bike beside me, grinning, as if the paint on his motorcycle is exactly the way he intended for it to be. He tilts his head for me to take the lead, and with my new family behind me, I do.
Chapter 43
Rachel
“Rachel,” Isaiah says softly. His fingers gently touch my face. I suck in a cleansing breath as I turn my head toward him and open my eyes.
I’m in the passenger seat of his Mustang. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the ride home from the McKinleys, but it had been a fun and exhausting evening. First Emily and Oz’s engagement, then the motorcycle ride with the club, dinner with the club, then hours talking with friends and family.
Eli and Cyrus invited us to stay with either of them. Usually, we do stay, but Isaiah insisted that we head home, even though dawn was going to be breaking soon. As I was hugging and saying goodbye to people, I saw Isaiah deep in conversation with Eli and Cyrus. Whatever it was Isaiah was saying, they were intent on listening and even seemed to be offering advice. The only thing I heard was that they understood why he wanted to head home.
I was curious as to what they were talking about—I’m still curious—but Isaiah will tell me when he’s ready.
I blink away my exhaustion to find the morning sun reflecting against the windows of Tom’s garage. The place is old and more than a little rundown, but it’s well loved, and I’m one of the people who adores it. Still, I frown, confused about why we’re here. I was half expecting him to take me to his apartment or my parents’ house, but Tom’s garage wasn’t on my list.
Combing a hand through my hair, I feel the thoughts start to connect. “Did the Mustang start acting up on the way here?” I told him that the radiator hose was wearing thin, but he was all insistent that it could last a bit longer.
“No, I want to show you something.”
I make a point of looking at my watch then slowly raise an eyebrow. It’s seven in the morning and besides my short nap, we’ve both been up for over twenty-four hours. “Show me what?”
He cracks open his door. “It’s inside.”
Stretching my stiff and lazy muscles, I also open my door, get out then shut it. I take a step and my leg gives. My hand slams downward, toward the car to steady myself, but I come in contact with Isaiah’s hand. He places his other hand on my hip to help until I find my balance.
Since the car accident when I was a teen, when I’m exhausted, the muscles in my legs sometimes decide not to work right. Isaiah knows this, and I shouldn’t be surprised to find him by my side.
“I can carry you,” he says.
He would, too. I test my leg and it’s strong enough to hold my weight, so I shake my head. I keep his hand though, and we walk at my slow pace for the garage. Inside, I glance around, wondering if there’s some car he’s taken on he wanted to show me, but there’s nothing parked in or around the garage and there’s nothing on the lift.
In fact, besides some of Isaiah’s tools and all of Mack and Tom’s tools, there’s nothing here. After Tom’s death, Mack and Isaiah cleaned out the place so the realtor could show it.
There’re no filing cabinets full of papers, no desk scattered with notes. Tom’s coffee mug is gone, and so is Mack’s whiskey bottle. The trash can that was typically filled with old take-out containers is no longer in the corner, and the tiny bathroom no longer has the single, ancient plug-in.
What I do see are memories. So many of them. The first time I walked in to find Isaiah with his shirt off, sweating over the open hood of his Mustang. The hours we’ve spent laughing and talking and working on cars together. Then the kissing—oh, the many kisses that have happened here. Then there was the night that Isaiah pulled the blanket out of the trunk of his car and we—
“You okay?” Isaiah asks.
“Tired, but I’m okay. I’m going to miss this place.”