Page 36

Dravin

I t normally takes around six months to get a bike license in Washington State, but one happened to just materialize for me when I wanted it.

I didn’t use one of my contacts. Wizard actually did.

He had it made out under the one ID I’ve ever carried over.

Dravin isn’t my real name, but it’s the identity I’ve kept longer than most. I have a handful of them, but it’s what the guys at the club called me before they used Viking.

I kept Dravin just for Kael. It was the first name I ever gave her.

To her, that name was associated with me being an overbearing asshole, bursting into her world like a grim reaper, but that name also meant safety, security, and comfort in the smallest measures.

For her, I’d do small measures. It meant something to both of us.

It was a carryover from our last life, the way she used Calliope even though I told her not to.

The name’s safe. It hasn’t been burned. I check daily.

Even though everything’s changed, my world rearranged and scrambled, I can’t let myself slip.

I have to maintain the old me, even if I give way to a man I never thought I could be—someone who has a permanent place to call home, a solid foundation, and a group of men who could become like family, and very much already are.

I can’t give up my old life or my old habits.

Being that man keeps us alive. I can’t just stop being cautious.

Kael knows that, but she’s also frustrated with what she probably sees as slow progress.

I haven’t told the club the truth yet. I can’t just go from being Kael’s protector to being her boyfriend.

The idea is absurd. I haven’t asked for more time apart, and I’ve gone to her place a few times, but I haven’t allowed myself to abandon control again.

She’s been patient, just sitting and talking, offering me cups of tea or a meal.

I guess that we’re getting to know each other properly, though it’s hard when I can’t tell her much about my past and I have no idea how to talk about a future.

She talks. I listen. Some of the stories I already know from Marcus. Many, I’ve heard for the first time.

She didn’t ask me until last night if I’d changed my mind.

I promised her that I hadn’t, that I was just taking care of things that needed to be taken care of before I felt any semblance of my own freedom.

She nodded tightly and didn’t push, but there was no mistaking the hurt, the small amount of doubt, and the sizzling lust in her gaze.

She’s put her faith in me, but how much longer before that’s shaken?

The ground shaking beneath me as I ride near the back of a pack of chrome and leather beasts feels like a metaphor for my larger world.

The men surrounding me—untamed, bearded, sporting their leather vests with the club emblem, some of them rough as they come, men of all ages, from all corners and all backgrounds—guide those massive bikes with practiced ease.

They’re comfortable here, out on the road, under the hot sun with the wind screaming all around, in ways they’ll never be at ease anywhere else.

They find peace in the violence and calm in the chaos. They’re a group of hardened poets.

It’s an honor to be a part of this.

There’s more than a small part of me that wants to stay, to be grounded here, to belong, to carve out the true meaning of home on the walls of my empty, untethered heart, but how can I do that without Kael and how would I ever ask her to understand what she wants unless she’s given total freedom to make that decision?

My instincts are sharper than ever. I can’t relax or throw myself into the wild freedom of this when it’s my first ride, and especially not with a thousand unanswered questions and intrusive thoughts banging around in my skull constantly.

There wasn’t a single man in the club who didn’t have a hand in making this day a reality.

No matter what’s been weighing heavily on me or how far I’ve retreated into my oversaturated brain, this isn’t about me.

I want to let go of all of that just for this afternoon and enjoy it for the gift that it is.

The antique Triumph purring beneath me is nothing short of a work of art. Pieced together lovingly, it was restored so quickly because it had the full force of the club behind it.

Even if the bike had been for me, they would have helped.

The club owns a large garage and several of the guys are mechanics by trade.

Of course, everyone has a common interest in bikes.

Right from piecing together what I had into some semblance of order, to sourcing parts, then putting it all back together, finding an engine and restoring that, to the end paint job, this was a true project of love.

The bike is living proof that this club is beyond special.

I’ve traveled all over this planet and I’ve found few men as rough, but as kind at heart as the men I’ve found here.

My new family.

I said I was at the back of the pack, and I am, but behind us is Willa’s pink station wagon.

She happily agreed to come with us. Her man, Atlas, was a big part of getting this bike finished.

He works at the garage, and he not only cleared other projects to make time for it, he spent many late nights working on it.

A few of the other guys did too, and their old ladies often popped in.

It wasn’t just bringing this bike back to life that drew the club together.

It was the idea of hope that it represented.

Tyrant okayed the idea, and this ride was set into motion. The guys are even willing to take their bikes down back gravel roads to be there for it.

I told Dominic that the bike was finished and asked if I could bring it around for him to see it, and while I was doing that, would it be okay if some of the guys from the club came out and took a look at his work? He left me on read for three days, but then finally agreed.

We turn off as a unit down the grid road. It hasn’t rained for a few days, and it immediately means eating a bunch of dust. The pack fans out, though most of us have full helmets on, or some type of eye protection and bandanas.

The closer we get, the more anxious I am.

I’m no stranger to nerves. I had plenty of anxiety growing up, caring for an alcoholic father who was supposed to be raising me, taking care that no one found out it was actually the other way around, so that I didn’t get ripped away from him and put into the system.

As bad as it was that little trailer, it would have killed me to be ripped away from it.

I’m normally good at packing my emotions away, especially when it comes to doing my duty. It’s only lately that the neatly sealed vault in my chest has burst wide open and everything keeps spilling out haphazardly.

I’ve been worried for the better part of this ride that Dominic will think this was done out of pity.

What if he doesn’t want the bike, or refuses it?

I’m bringing more than a few people with me, and I was honest about that, but at the same time, I hope it doesn’t traumatize him.

Dominic doesn’t need rescuing or saving any more than I did at any time in my life.

It’s the stark loneliness in him that cried out for me to do something.

I’ve been on this earth long enough and met enough people that I’ve become a good enough judge of what’s in a person’s heart and Dominic is made up of something gentle and beautiful.

It’s carved right into his work that he sees the world in a way that other people just can’t.

The first bikes start turning off at the dome. It’s unmistakable from the road, even if it is set back down the long driveway.

By the time I pull up, Dominic is already standing outside his shop, dusty jeans, work boots, and a black hoodie pulled tight around his face to obscure most of it.

He has a hard, wary expression until all the bikes are silenced. The guys stand back and let me walk to the front and offer Dominic my hand. I shake his left again and pull him in to clap him on the back.

His keen eyes scan the small crowd. Willa and Kael are near the back of it, standing together. Tyrant headed the pack, followed by Raiden. Crow came with us, Atlas, Gunner, Bullet, and unfortunately, the two loudest mouth twins to ever walk this planet—Decay and Grave.

“That’s quite a sight. A little like Armageddon rolling up on you,” Dominic grunts.

He instinctively turns his ruined right side away and I step there, flanking him.

I blame years of training at a formative age for the fact that it’s only natural for me to do it, but in this case, I can see his appreciation mirrored in the look he shoots my way.

I make the introductions. I don’t need to state anyone’s rank. It’s there on the patches on their vests and jackets.

“And this is Willa,” Kael says, pushing her way to the front. She throws her arms around Dominic, who stands there, surprised and still as one of his carvings. “How are you doing, Dom?”

I put a hand cautiously on Kael’s arm, but Dominic’s wary expression fades, replaced with a shy smile. Kael is magical that way, where her presence hits you and does something irrevocable to you.

“I own an antique shop in Hart,” Willa explains, taking Kael’s hand when she steps back, but talking to Dominic. “Would it be okay if I looked around? There are so many treasures here that it’s impossible to ignore their sweet siren call.”

Dominic clamps his hand around the back of his neck, covered by his hoodie. “Sure,” he mumbles, mouth twitching. “Take whatever you want.”

“Oh, no. Not take! I’m happy to pay you a good price for anything that I want to give a new home to.”

Dominic flushes and scuffs the gravel with the toe of his boot. “Alright.”