Rafe—
“How much more you got to do on this old car?” I ask my father.
“This is the last thing. I’m fixing the passenger side window. It went down and won’t go back up. It’s a common problem on these old corvettes.”
“You’ve been working on this thing for weeks, Dad. I told you… Fiona said all Mom really wants is for you to spend time with her. She doesn’t care about this shit.”
He pauses and looks up at me. “This shit? You don’t know about this car, do you?”
“What’s so important about this old car?”
“Your mother got rid of it before you were born, so I guess you wouldn’t know. But your mother loved this car. Goddamn, son, if you could have seen her back then, flying into the lot in this thing. She was amazing. I’ve always felt guilty she had to sell it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the reason she did. She needed money to leave town, so she sold her most prized possession. This black corvette. It was one of the classics, even back then, but she took good care of it, because it was her baby.
“Son, I was the reason she felt she had to leave town. For decades I’ve tried to track it down, and four months ago, I finally found it.”
“How come I didn’t know about this?”
“Because you’ve got a life, and it doesn’t revolve around your mother and me.”
“Do the guys all know?”
“Cole and the older guys do.”
“You should have said something. I would have helped you.”
“You can help me now. I want to surprise her for our anniversary.”
We work for almost an hour.
My phone dings with a text. I pull it out to check it. I’ve stopped hoping it’ll be Tori. It never is.
MOM: Have you seen your sister? I can’t get a hold of her.
ME: Nope.
MOM: When’s the last time you saw or heard from her?
ME: She stopped by yesterday. Said she was going on a date. She didn’t tell you?
MOM: No. With who?
ME: I don’t know. Some guy who rides a sport bike. She met him at a gas station.
MOM: You mean one of those Ninja bikes that go a hundred miles an hour down the freeway? The ones that are always doing wheelies?
ME: They aren’t all bad, Ma. They don’t all drive reckless.
MOM: I was worried. Now I’m really worried.
ME: Ma, she’s 21. She’ll probably come home later today.
MOM: Why isn’t she answering her phone?
ME: Ma, do you really want me to answer that?
She texts me back an angry face emoji.
My father sits back on his heels. “What’s going on?”
“Mom can’t find Fiona.” I roll my eyes. “She had a date last night. I’m sure she’s still with the guy.”
“Oh.”
My father’s expression hardens, but I can see he’s trying to control it. I’m sure it's hard realizing your little girl is a grown woman and can fuck whoever she wants. Not that I’d ever say that to the man.
“Give me a hand with this, will ya?”
“Sure.”
We end up having to stop and wait for a parts delivery to finish the job. At almost five, the back door of the clubhouse that leads out to where the cage sits flies open, and my mother is marching across the polished concrete.
Red Dog is behind her. “Sorry, Wolf. I tried to stop her.”
My father has the corvette pulled up at one of the old loading bays.
He stands and wipes his hands on a rag, and I quickly grab a blue tarp and throw it over the car.
“Baby, what’s up?”
“Don’t what’s up me. Where have you been all day? I’ve texted you a million times.”
My father looks sheepish and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “Sorry, my phone’s dead. I guess I didn’t realize.”
She folds her arms and thrusts a hip out. “Oh, you didn’t realize, huh?”
That’s not a good sign. Anytime a chick gives that body language, it means a fight’s about to start.
“I’ll let you two have some privacy,” I say, backing away.
“Don’t you dare,” my mother snaps, pointing at the floor. “You stay right there.”
I know better than to disobey, so I freeze.
Then she swings her attention to my father. “You need to find Fiona. She isn’t answering her phone.”
“I told you, Ma. She had a date.” When she glares at me, I pull out my phone and call her. It rings, but never goes to voicemail. I frown.
My mother has now noticed the car and steps around my father. “What are you doing? Is this what’s kept you all day?” She picks up the corner of the tarp and flings it back, then frowns.
“Crystal. Stop,” my father snaps, trying to grab the tarp out of her hands, but she’s having none of it. She bats his hands away, and I think I see recognition dawning in her eyes.
“Is this my…” She pulls the tarp all the way off and her eyes widen, then swing to my father.
He lifts his hands, then drops them. “Well, now you’ve ruined the surprise.”
“Is this my car?”
“Yes.”
She frowns suspiciously at him, then can’t help running her eyes all over the corvette. “My car? You’re sure? How is it here? How did you find it?”
“I’ve been trying to track it down for a long time, babe. I know how much you loved that car. I was fixing it up for our anniversary.”
Her hands fly to her mouth, and her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Wolf. You did all this for me?”
He grabs her waist and tugs her against him. “Of course, I did. You loved that car. I hate that I was part of the reason you had to sell it.”
“Where did you find it?”
“San Diego. She was passed around to about four different owners. But now she’s home, honey. And here she’s gonna stay.”
My mother hugs my father tight, and then they kiss. I finally clear my throat, and they both turn to me.
“Beat it, kid. I might bend your mother over the hood of this car.”
I slap my hand over my ears and start humming, walking away.
“Wait. Don’t go, Rafe,” my mother calls out, then turns to my father. “I love that you did this for me. Really, baby. But right now, I need you to find our daughter.”
“All right, honey. Let me charge my phone, and I’ll track where her phone is.” He takes her hand, and we all walk inside the clubhouse.
He finds a charger behind the bar, and ten minutes later, it's juiced. He scrolls over the screen. “Looks like she’s in the parking lot of a Sonic in Los Gatos. See, she’s fine.”
“Then why isn’t she answering her phone? Go get her. Please?”
My father sighs and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Fine. Come on, Rafe. Let’s go find your sister.”
“Yay,” I say, but follow him out to our bikes.
Los Gatos is about ten miles southeast, and the ride takes about fifteen minutes.
My father turns into the lot, and I follow. It’s mostly empty, and I don’t see her in any of the cars parked there.
We park and dismount, and my father again uses his locator app, then lifts his eyes to the back corner of the lot where a dumpster sits.
He meets my eyes, and my stomach drops. We both jog over, and for a terrifying moment, I’m afraid I’m going to find her body in the dumpster.
“There,” I say, pointing to a cell phone covered in sparkly pink rhinestones lying face-down on the pavement.
My father squats and picks it up, turning it over to expose the shattered screen.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He whirls in a circle, dragging a hand over his mouth. Then his eyes connect with mine. “Call Cole. Now.”
Ten minutes later, the club descends. But we’ve got nothing to go on but her phone in a parking lot in Los Gatos. Dad keeps asking me who she was meeting, but I don’t know much other than he was some kid on a Ninja bike.
We break off in pairs, scouring the area, but have no luck. I see a few sport bike riders parked at a gas station, and I motion TJ. He nods, and we turn in the lot.
We roll right up on them, freaking them out a little. I climb from my bike, and I know they see our patches.
“Hey, guys. Have any of you seen this girl?” I hold up my phone with a picture of Fiona. “She’s my sister. She supposedly went out on a first date with a guy on a Ninja last night, and she’s disappeared. Found her phone in a Sonic parking lot in Los Gatos just now.”
“A Kawasaki Ninja?” one of them asks. “What color?”
“I don’t know, man. You know any guys who ride one?”
“Lot of guys ride them.”
I nod and look down the road. “Okay, well, can I give you my number in case you see her?”
“Sure, man. No problem. We’ll keep an eye out. Pass the word around to everyone we ride with.”
“Hey, let me get a shot of that picture,” one of them says. “I’ll post it on my social media page. I’ve got a lot of followers.”
“Followers?” I tilt my head.
He points to the camera on his helmet, another on his gas tank, and another on a pole off the back of his bike. “We film a lot of content.”
“I see.” I hold up the photo of Fiona, and he tilts his head to get a video of it, then he gives me a thumbs up.
“Got it.”
“I appreciate it.” I clasp hands with each one of them, then walk to my bike and TJ.
“What was that about?” he asks.
“TikTok bikers. Gonna spead the word.” I swing my leg over and we pull out, roaring off down the road.