food I’d ordered for him sat untouched in the fridge, so I grabbed two bottles of beer and headed back to the garage to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep in a pan of motor oil or something.
I found him hunched over one of the vintage Harleys he was fixing up, there were another seven lined up along the wall covered in dust. According to Torch, he’d taken on as many runs as he could and pretty much abandoned his side business while I was away. Why was he all of a sudden back at it?
I walked up from behind and handed him a beer over his shoulder. “How’s it coming out here?” I asked.
“Pretty good,” he mumbled as he tightened a bolt. “I just need to get a new muffler and give her a paint job now.”
“What color are you thinking?”
He scooted back in his little rolling stool, took a sip of his beer, and wrapped an arm around my hip. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know… Maybe a dark, army green? Something with a little sparkle but still masculine.”
“Yeah, I think that would look really great. Good eye.”
I combed my nails through his hair. “Are you about done? I thought we could watch a movie or something since you said you had a long day.”
“What time is it?”
“Quarter after ten.”
“Shit, the hours kinda got away from me.” He stood up and walked over to the sink. “Let me just clean up and I’ll be in.”
I smiled and went to walk back inside, but thought twice. “Torch?”
He glanced over at me as he rinsed off his soapy hands. “Yeah?”
“You know, I have this habit of isolating myself and staying busy when I’m dealing with something I don’t really wanna deal with. And I’m not saying or assuming that’s what you’re doing, but on the off-chance you are, I get it and I’m here. You can tell me as little or as much as you want, okay?”
When he acknowledged what I’d said with a simple nod, I headed back for the door again.
“Buddha’s got cancer,” I heard him mutter right as I reached for the knob.
I stopped in my tracks as the words hit and turned back around. “Shit.”
He sat back down in the stool and stared at his hands. “That’s the word that’s been going through my head all day too.”
Leaning back on the door, I closed my eyes momentarily to let everything sink in. “Fuck... Baby, I’m sorry.”
He rubbed his beard and looked up. “Yeah, me too.”
I walked back over and crouched down in front of him. “Hey, look at me,” I said, cupping my hand under his chin. “Buddha’s a strong son of a bitch, I wouldn’t count him out yet. If he’s getting treatment, that means he hasn’t given up. You can’t either.”
“I know,” he replied. “It would just be a hell of a lot easier if this was one of those situations I could fix with fists or a bullet. I’m good with that shit. But cancer? I don’t know anything about fucking cancer. The man saved me from the streets, he’s the reason I’ve got the life I do, and now all I can do is sit back and hope for the best? You’re the smart one, baby, tell me how to fix it.”
My heart broke as I stared into his eyes; those beautiful, dark eyes clouding over with sadness and silently pleading for answers. But what could I possibly say? How could I possibly relate? I didn’t exactly have a basis for comparison when it came to father figures, Buddha was about as close as it got for me too.
I couldn’t even pretend to understand how twisted up this was making him feel inside. Torch was a fixer, he didn’t do well with feeling helpless. Then again, neither did I, so maybe in some sense I could relate on an basic level. I thought back to the gamut of emotions I’d gone through while sitting at his bedside a year earlier, watching the man I loved—the man who’d saved me—lying comatose and not being able to do jack shit to help either. Had I done the right thing in that particular situation? It was probably still up for debate from Torch’s standpoint, but I certainly didn’t have a single regret. Either way, it was the only logical angle I knew how to come at this from.