Page 30

Chapter thirty

Sawyer

The Timberline was alive with its usual hum—the clatter of plates from the kitchen, the low buzz of conversation, and the steady rhythm of Malik showing him the ropes. Sawyer had to admit, the work wasn’t half bad. It felt good to keep busy, to have something to focus on other than the storm that always seemed to brew in the back of his mind. Malik was patient, showing him how to juggle orders, clean up spills, and not snap at the more demanding customers. Sawyer was used to impatient customers and cleaning up, but things were different here.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Malik said with a grin as Sawyer wiped down a table. “By next week, you’ll be running this place.”

Sawyer laughed, shaking his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m still figuring out how to carry three plates without dropping one.”

Malik gave him a playful nudge before heading off to the kitchen. Sawyer took a moment to catch his breath, leaning against the bar and letting the familiar smells of wood polish and fried food fill his senses. It was near closing time. That was when the door swung open, and Brody and James strolled in, bringing a gust of cool night air with them.

“Hey,” Brody called out, his voice carrying across the room. “We come bearing gifts.”

James was holding something small in his hand, and it wasn’t until he walked closer that Sawyer realized what it was—keys. Sawyer frowned in confusion as James placed them in his hand with a wide grin.

“Congrats, man,” James said. “It’s all yours.”

Sawyer stared at the keys, then at James. “Wait, what? What’s all mine?”

Brody gestured toward the parking lot. “Go take a look.”

Curiosity got the better of him. He couldn’t believe they had brought the motorcycle to him. Sawyer pushed open the door and stepped outside, his eyes immediately landing on the bike. Parked under the glow of the streetlights was a shiny red motorcycle. It looked brand new, the chrome gleaming and the paint so vibrant it practically glowed. His breath hitched. He walked over slowly, his hand hovering above the handlebars before he finally let himself touch it. It felt solid, powerful—like freedom on two wheels.

“It looks brand new,” he said, turning to James and Brody, who had followed him out. “This new motorcycle is mine?”

James nodded. “It’s all yours. Not brand new, but I rebuilt it from ground up.” He handed Sawyer a folder with the motorcycle’s paperwork.

Sawyer didn’t know what to say, finding himself at a loss for words. “Thank you,” he managed, his voice quieter than usual. “This…this means a lot.”

James clapped him on the back, and Brody gave him a knowing smile. Sawyer hugged James.

“Saturday, we’re all going riding. Hope to see you too,” Brody said.

“Sure thing.”

They didn’t stick around long after that, heading back inside to grab a drink before closing. Sawyer stayed for a moment longer, running his hands over the bike, soaking it in. He hadn’t felt this kind of excitement, this kind of freedom, in…well, maybe ever.

When closing time rolled around, Clayton found him still out there, staring at the motorcycle like it might disappear if he looked away. “You coming?” Clayton asked, jingling his own keys. “You can follow me home. Let’s see what that thing’s got.”

“I had no idea it would look so shiny and brand new.”

“Brody and James can take a scrap motorcycle and make it brand new like this one.”

Sawyer nodded, grinning as he swung a leg over the seat. The engine roared to life, and the sound sent a thrill through him. It was like the bike had a pulse, a heartbeat that matched his own. Clayton revved his own motorcycle and pulled out of the lot, Sawyer following close behind.

The ride home was nothing short of magical. The night air was cool against his skin, the wind rushing past him as he leaned into every curve of the road. The red paint of the motorcycle gleamed under the moonlight, and for the first time in a long time, Sawyer felt truly free. No past weighing him down, no shadows lurking at the edges. Just the open road and the hum of the engine beneath him.

He couldn’t stop smiling, even though he knew no one could see him. This was what he had always wanted—a way to feel alive, to feel untethered. To ride a motorcycle meant everything. It was speed and power, and freedom all rolled into one, and he didn’t want the ride to end.

When they finally arrived home, Sawyer carefully eased the bike into the garage, already feeling possessive of the sleek machine. He swung his leg off, his muscles still trembling from the ride, but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. The rumble of the engine was still vibrating in his ears, and his heart was thundering with the exhilaration of it all. This was new—a good new.

Clayton was standing nearby, casually smirking in that effortlessly confident way he had. “You’re an excellent rider, Sawyer, but tomorrow you need to get your license. I’d forgotten about that.”

Sawyer snorted, rolling his eyes even though his pulse was still high from the adrenaline. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should’ve thought of that,” he shot back, a teasing edge to his tone.

Clayton laughed, a rich sound that filled the quiet garage. He put his hand on Sawyer’s shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding him. “I’ll take you there in the morning. Don’t worry—won’t be too early.”

The two of them moved inside, settling onto the couch. Sawyer sank into the cushions with a sigh, the reality of the ride still buzzing under his skin. The wind against his face, the way the world had blurred at the edges—it had felt…freeing. For the first time in what felt like forever, he’d felt like he belonged. Like there was a place for him in this chaotic, unpredictable world.

“You want to take a break from work and ride tomorrow?” Clayton asked, his casual tone breaking into Sawyer’s reverie.

“No way,” Sawyer replied firmly, leaning forward a little. “I want to ride when you do—or with the guys—but I’m not a slacker. I want to work, pay my share of rent. Nobody needs to support me.”

Clayton raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into that familiar half-smile. “Figured as much, but I own this house, so no rent.”

That caught Sawyer off guard. He blinked, taken aback, but refused to let it show. “I’ll pay for food and utilities then,” he countered, crossing his arms.

“How about you help me fix up some things around here instead?”

Sawyer considered it for a few seconds before nodding. “Sounds good.”

The mood shifted. Clayton leaned back, his expression suddenly serious. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Sawyer felt a pang of unease, his heart skipping a beat. “What? You look really serious. Are we over already?”

Clayton’s eyes softened. “No, my love. But I want to ask you to talk to the police…about your farm and the people who raised you.”

Sawyer froze. A wave of dread washed over him, suffocating and sharp. “Why would I do that? I want to forget that part of my life.”

Clayton hesitated for a moment, then whispered. “Someone from Oregon…they heard your story at camp. They came up to me at the pub. They know your family, and he says they’ve got someone looking for you.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. “Why? They don’t want me.”

“They want to quiet you for good. Are you understanding what I’m saying?” Clayton’s voice was steady but heavy, each word laced with worry.

Sawyer’s throat tightened. “They want me dead?” His voice cracked, fear clawing at his chest. “They didn’t ruin my life enough?”

Clayton moved closer, wrapping him in powerful arms. Sawyer felt his determination cracking, the weight of it all pressing down on him.

“I want you to live a free, full life with me,” Clayton murmured. “I don’t want these threats interfering with you.”

“What would I even tell the officers?” Sawyer whispered, his voice small. “Why would they believe me?”

“This man has already talked to the Lodi Police Department. His words won’t be enough. They’ll need to hear it from you.”

Sawyer’s head swam with a thousand thoughts, all of them colored with fear. “What should I do?”

“Tell the truth,” Clayton said softly. “Write everything down. Sign it. We’ll drop it off after you get your driver’s license. Okay?”

Sawyer nodded weakly, his hands trembling. “What would I do without you? I mean…they would have murdered me—and they still could.”

His voice wavered, his fears spilling out into the quiet of the room. He let himself lean into Clayton’s strength, the weight of everything momentarily too much to bear.