Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
By noon, Smoke shows up. He rides in like he owns the damn place—bike rumbling loud, boots hitting the concrete hard enough to echo. He’s grinning already, beard thicker than the last time I saw him, eyes bright with that road-worn freedom I both envy and distrust.
“Miles,” he states, spreading his arms like he expects a hug because that’s Smoke, never rattled.
I don’t give him one. I clap a hand on his shoulder instead. “You look homeless.”
He laughs. “Nomad, brother. There’s a difference.”
“Debatable.”
Smoke glances around the garage, at the bikes, the men, the familiar chaos. “Missed this,” he admits.
“That tracks.” I reply with the truth. “You just can’t ever seem to manage to stay.”
I grab the bag of food he’s got from the diner up the road and take a peak. “Thanks for thinking of me, brother,” I tease as I watch his face go hard. Turning I see, the spitfire that gets his attention always heading our way.
“Honey, I grabbed some lunch.”
“Already ate,” she states pausing beside me hands on her hips. “Kids are at school, Smoke. Come back at four.” She turns to me, “Miles, thanks for the assist today. You’re good, head out with your brother and have a good time.”
I grab my chest in mock hurt. “Honey are you dismissing me?”
She nods, “think I made that clear. Time to go, buddy.”
Tiffany “Honey” Brocato is a five feet tall stick of dynamite. She is built tough, stands up on her own, and if her fuse gets lit, there is sure to be an explosion. And no one lights her up more than Darrel “Smoke” Warren. Those two have a history tangled in love, passion, and pain all in equal parts. The love is real, the fire is scorching, and the burn is the kind that never simmers only hurts.
“Not finished with my shit. If I keep Smoke outta your way can we stay?”
She lets out an exasperated huff. “Do what you want, he certainly always does.” Her glare goes straight to Smoke, “but this is my place of business and you need to stay outta my way.”
“Your wish is my command, princess,” Smoke retorts and I reach out and smack him in the back of the head.
“Shut the fuck up, brother.”
Honey smirks that turns into a full on fuck you smile, “Smoke, you wish I could be your princess. Ship sailed.”
Smoke hangs his head. “Dammit, Honey. I wanna at least be friends. Once we were good together.”
She laughs in his face, “I’m not the one who fucked that up. Thanks for the sperm, though. The sex was great and the kids are gorgeous. I got everything I ever plan to have from you. Visit your kids, then head out like you always do.”
She doesn’t give either of us a chance to respond before she walks off into the front office.
Smoke looks at me, grabs the bag, and hands me a wrapped sandwich. Greasy burgers and fries eaten standing up, leaning against a workbench in comfortable silence. Smoke eats like he hasn’t seen a decent meal in days, which is probably true.
“You riding anywhere?” he asks between bites.
“Not right now. At least nothing on the calendar.”
Smoke arches a brow. “That’s new.”
“I’ve got responsibilities,” I remind him.
He snorts. “You’ve always had responsibilities. You just used to ignore them better.”
I don’t argue. He’s not wrong. “You still hate sleeping in the same bed too many nights in a row?” he asks.
“Depends on who is in the bed,” I reply with a wink.
He grins. “There he is.”
We talk routes, old runs, places he’s been since he left Salemburg. Montana. Nevada. A stretch in Texas he doesn’t elaborate on. Smoke moves like a rumor—never long enough anywhere to leave more than a flash of a memory.
“Country still questing you about staying put?” he asks knowing that I used to be worse than him about staying in place.
“Every chance he gets.”
“Yeah,” Smoke replies. “Presidents like knowing where their people are.”
“And nomads like forgetting,” I reply.
Smoke studies me for a moment, more serious now. “You could ride with me for a bit. Nothing official. Just miles for Miles.”
The offer sits there, tempting. “I can’t disappear,” I share. “As much as I don’t want to be tied down, call me fucking Dorothy because there is still no place like home.”
“Didn’t say forever,” he counters. “Just enough to breathe.”
“Maybe, we’ll see when it comes time for you to hit the pavement and find a new zip code” I state.
Smoke smiles and then gets serious. “I’m thinkin’ Honey isn’t gonna be keen on letting me crash on her couch. If I need a crash pad, you still got the key under the gnome by the steps?”
I nod taking a bite of my burger. “Always, brother.”
The afternoon passes with my head down over the engine of my Thunderbird filing points on the carburetor trying to tell myself this one is fine and I don’t need to swap the whole thing out for a new one.