Page 6 of Wild Return (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC #15)

VIKING

R ain hammers the skylights as I sweep my flashlight beam over the wall of dead monitors. They must have shorted out with the power cut, which is no good if our thieves turn up tonight. Although I’m confident, no one will be out in this storm.

“I need to check the fermentation tanks.” Sydney sounds worried, but at least she’s still talking to me.

My lips tingle from the kiss we shared. The way she gave in to me for a few brief moments gives me hope. But right now, we need to get the generator up and running again, or we may as well drain the last few brews with the storm.

I take the lead with the flashlight as we head to the brewery floor.

Rain pounds the roof as I sweep my flashlight over the dead control panel for the fermentation tanks. The only light is the red flashing emergency light accompanied by the high-pitched screech of the alarm.

Sydney crouches next to the glycol pump and uses the light from her phone to take readings.

“The emergency battery works, so that’s good news. But it only has seven minutes left.”

She gets to her feet, and in the dim light I catch her worried expression.

“The generator’s in the dockyard cage. Come on.”

I use the flashlight to light the way as we jog across the brewery floor and slide open the heavy doors that lead to the loading bay.

Wind rattles the metal roller door that leads outside, and rain pummels the metal. The temperature is cooler in here, and there’s only the roller door between us and the storm.

In the corner is the metal dockyard cage where the generator is. I grab my key chain from around my waist and fumble as I try to remember which key it is.

“Hold this.” I hand Sydney the flashlight, and she shines it on the bunch of keys. The first one I try doesn’t work. Nor does the second.

Sydney pulls out her phone and glances at the time. “We’ve got five minutes until the battery runs out.”

The third key unlocks the cage, and I slide it open and step inside. Sydney squeezes in behind me, and I take the flashlight back while she holds up the light from her phone.

“The fuel tank shows half full.” Sydney shouts to be heard over the wind battering the metal door.

My flashlight beam sweeps over the generator until I see the problem. A tripped coolant sensor.

“Hold the light,” I shout back.

Sydney nods and takes the flashlight off me. There’s a tool kit in the corner of the cage, and I grab a wrench and a screwdriver then edge back to the faulty sensor. My back’s pressed against the metal of the cage, and there’s just enough room to maneuver.

Sydney shimmies up close to me and angles the light on the sensor. The bolt is rusty, and it takes a few turns before I get it off.

The switch is blown, and it’s not going to be a quick fix. The best I can do is bypass the switch and get the generator operational. After the storm, we’ll need to fix it properly, but for now I rewire the switch and take it offline.

“Give that a try.”

Sydney switches the main power, and the generator splutters to life. Lights in the loading bay flick on, and her face is illuminated in a smile.

“We did it!”

My grin matches her own.

With the generator working, we’ve saved the last six weeks of brewing. Sydney’s stubbornness about not going home just saved the brewery a massive loss.

Her grin turns to a frown. “If a tree came down on the power lines, then it could be a while before the main line is restored.”

“We’ll turn off everything that’s not necessary,” I finish her thought. “So the power only goes to the tanks.”

We lock the cage back up and switch off the loading bay lights as we go. Then we work through the building, turning off every light, computer, and snack machine.

The final stop is another check in on the control panel.

The flashing red light on the fermentation panel is a calm steady green, and the alarm has stopped. Sydney checks the fermentation levels and nods, satisfied.

“We’d better let Barrels know before he attempts to drive here and save the beer.”

I fire off a text to Barrels letting him know the generator is working, and the beer is saved.

“I’d better let Nate know I’m safe.”

As Sydney texts her brother, I stare at my blank phone. There’s no one waiting for me at home. No one to worry if I’m stuck in the storm.

I slide my phone back in my pocket. It’s been that way all my life. No point crying about it now.

A slice of lightning lights up the brewery floor, and the accompanying thunder shakes the building.

“Let’s get to the cellar.” I steer Sydney toward the stairs, and she doesn’t brush my hand off her shoulder. “There’s one small window. We’ll be safe down there.”

The thick stone walls block out the worst of the storm as we descend into the cellar. The rows of kegs loom in the darkness, picked up only by the beam of my flashlight.

“It’s eerie down here in the dark.”

Sydney shivers and crosses her arms over herself.

There’s a wooden pallet in the corner, and I drag it to the middle of the floor and drape a drop cloth over it. Sydney sinks into it and shivers. I slide my jacket off and drape it over her shoulders.

“Here. Take this.”

She pulls it around her shoulders, getting lost inside.

“Wait here,” I tell her. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I return a few minutes later with a lantern I found in the staff room and the last mug of coffee. “Yours was empty and this is lukewarm.”

I hold it out to her, and she takes a sip. Her shoulders drop, and for the first time the defensive expression is gone from her face.

“Thank you.”

I nod once, listening to the wind howl through the vents. A long beat goes by.

“You deserve to know what happened. Why I re-enlisted. I wrote it to you in letters, but I guess you never read them.

I turn to her in the faint glow from the lantern. I can’t see her expression. But she doesn’t stop me, so I go on.

“Did I ever tell you about Tank? The guy I was in foster care with?”

There’s a long silence. “You never told me anything about when you were in foster care.”

She’s right. Some things aren’t worth talking about, or they’re too painful.

I never wanted to come across as complaining.

Foster care sucks, but shit happens, and I got out of there and found myself a purpose in the army.

There never seemed to be any point in talking about it. But perhaps I should have.

“Tank was in the same foster home as I was. The last one I was in before I aged out of the system.”

I pause, remembering the bright-eyed kid with the wicked grin who could talk to anyone about anything while stealing their wallet from right under their noses.

“He was the closest thing I ever had to a brother. He was the smartest kid I ever knew, but he hated school. We enlisted at the same time. We did basic training together and were put in the same platoon. But we got separated on the second enlistment. It’s not surprising the army saw his potential.

He was trained in logistics; I was left in infantry. ”

I take a swig of coffee, wishing it was something stronger to dull the ache in my chest.

“Tank was killed by an IED in Iraq. It happened on my last leave.”

Sydney stiffens beside me. My last leave was when we got close.

“While we were playing happy families, some fucker was making crude bombs to end his life.”

I squeeze the coffee mug so tight my fingers hurt.

“I heard about his death on the final day of re-enlistment. He was my brother, Sydney. I had to go back to the fight. I had to honor him.

“I still wear his dog tags.” I pull the metal from around my neck, and it catches in the dim light. I carry a piece of my brother with me every day.

Sydney stirs next to me, and I continue before she has time to cut me off.

“I hated the way I did it, with a letter. I thought there would be time to see you, but because I’d left it to the last minute, I had to report straight to Fort Bragg. We were shipped out the next day.”

“I would have waited for you.”

Her words cut to my heart.

“I know. But I was cut up by his death. All I wanted was to get the fuckers who had ended his life, and I was ready to lay down my life to do it. I truly thought the only way I would be coming back was in a body bag. I didn’t want you to have that grief.

I thought it would be easier if you forgot about me. ”

There’s silence between us, and I can hear Sydney breathing.

“I couldn’t forget.” Her voice is sad and tinged with bitterness. “No matter how far I ran, I couldn’t forget you. We were supposed to do that trip together.”

“I’m sorry, Sydney. I freaked out. We had all these plans. To travel, then to get a cabin back here on the mountain and start a family. But the truth is, when we talked about those things, it frightened me. I didn’t know how I was going to provide all those things for you.

“I don’t come from money, Sydney, and a soldier’s wage can’t support a family for long. I had no skills, and the club was only just starting up. I came from poverty, and I was scared I’d drag us both down there again.”

She sighs. “You’re fucking stupid, Viking. Do you think I don’t want to work? It’s the 21 st century. You don’t have to do it all on your own. I don’t expect a man to support me.”

The words hang in the air, and while I love Sydney’s independence, there’s a big part of me that does want to support her. To take care of her and provide for her.

Her voice wavers. “You left for honor and money, and you didn’t give me a vote.”

I slide my arm around her shoulders, wanting to ease the hurt that I caused.

“I still want that cabin in the woods, Sydney, with you. I saved hard and I learned carpentry. I can build it myself with help from the guys. I don’t deserve a second chance, but if you want to give me one, it will be on your terms.”

She shuffles on the pallet, but she doesn’t move away or wiggle out from under my arm.

“Dreams change; people change.”

The generator hums through the concrete, and I keep my arm firmly around her. If she gives me a second chance, I’m never letting her go.