Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “All good.”
The biker looked past me at Cian.
“Got a flat?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
I nodded. “We’ll change it. Thanks for stopping, though.”
“You know how to change a flat?” he asked dubiously.
In any other situation, I’d be offended that he thought I wasn’t capable of changing a flat tire. I mean, I didn’t have a clue how to do it, but he didn’t know that. For all he knew, I was a freaking mechanic, and I changed flat tires all day. But I wasn’t offended. I was trying too hard to act like I knew what I was doing and he and his friends could be on their way.
“Hey,” Cian called, out of breath as he hurried toward us. “Get going.”
I swallowed hard.
My little brother was trying to boss the biker, shooing him away like a thirteen-year-old boy was any kind of threat. Cian was just as afraid as I was, I could tell by the way his voice had thickened with the accent that each of us had lost in our first year of grade school.
“Go on,” he ordered as he reached me. He dropped the tire and took one step in front of me, his shoulder pushing me back.
The biker in front of us lifted his hands in surrender, taking a single step back. Meanwhile an old man in the back climbed off the motorcycle that Ronan had been so fascinated with and started toward us. One of the other men said something I couldn’t hear, but the old man just shook his head and kept coming.
“Thought you might need some help with that tire.”
“I’ve got it,” Cian ground out.
“Cian,” I murmured, putting my hand on his arm. He looked ready to take all of them on single-handedly, and I knew the first one would flatten him before I could blink.
“Alright there?” the old man called, making his way through the bikes.
Cian and I both jolted, looking over at him.
“Said they want to change the flat themselves,” the big biker said, not looking away from my brother. With good reason, Cian was still bristling, his chest puffed out.
“We’ve got it,” Cian repeated, looking at the old man.
“Ach,” the old biker said, waving his hand in dismissal. “Take the help. He’s been changin’ tires since before you were a twinkle in your da’s eye.”
My mouth went dry.
It was wrong somehow, like it was mixed with something else, but the cadence of his voice was achingly familiar. It had been so long since I’d heard an Irish accent that it was a little disorienting.
“You’re Irish?” Cian asked suspiciously. “What are you doing out here?”
The question was funny coming from a kid whose accent at the moment was decidedly Irish.
“Could ask you the same thing.” The old man grinned. “Live here now. Haven’t been home for a very long time.”
“Our dad,” Cian said, glancing at me as if for permission. “He was Irish.”
“Gone then?” the old man asked.
Neither of us answered him.
“We need to get goin’,” one of the other bikers called.
Cian shifted nervously beside me, and I made an executive decision.
“We’d appreciate the help,” I said, tightening my hand on Cian’s arm.
The old man looked at me in surprise.
“Interestin’,” he said softly.
The biker closest to us held out his hand. “I’m Will.”
“Aoife,” I replied, shaking it.
The old biker grinned happily. He looked like a rough version of Santa Claus as he lumbered toward us and shook my hand, too. “Patrick,” he said kindly, a little out of breath.
“Cian,” my brother said, reaching out to shake.
“Ronan, Aoife is going to kill you,” Saoirse screeched from inside the car as our little brother tumbled out of the driver’s door.
“Hi,” he said, smiling huge as he scrambled to his feet. His face was red and sweaty as he gave a little wave.
“Crap,” I muttered to myself.
“They should all get out,” the big biker—Will—said. “That car’s at least a hundred degrees by now, and we need to jack it up.”
“Saoirse,” I called. “You guys can get out.”
Both of my sisters were sweaty and miserable looking as they climbed out of Saoirse’s door.
“Hi, I’m Ronan,” Ronan said to Patrick, reaching out to shake his hand.
Will chuckled. “Hey, Tommy,” he called over his shoulder. “Come give me a hand.”
“Why me?” another biker called back as he pulled a leg over his motorcycle. “It’s always me.”
“Good to meet ya, Ronan,” Patrick said.
“You’re Irish!”
“I am.”
Aisling came over and wrapped her arms around my waist.
“Me too!” Ronan exclaimed happily. “Sort of.”
“Half,” I corrected. “We’re half.”
“The best half,” Patrick said conspiratorially.
“That’s my sister Saoirse,” Ronan said, pointing. “And that’s Aisling.”
Patrick nodded at both the girls, then closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sun for a moment.
“You wanna watch so you can do it next time?” Tommy asked Cian. He was much smaller than the guy named Will but still pretty scary. Aisling tightened her arms at my waist.