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Since the show isn’t over yet, we’re able to slip out of the park faster than we came in. No line of cars block our exit.
We meet up with the rest of the club, although I don’t know exactly how many came up and if we’re all leaving at the same time. We remain at the front of the pack with Murphy and Heidi on our left.
We take the first exit onto the main highway and increase speed. Acutely aware of the wind in my face and pavement under the wheels, I squeeze Rooster tighter. He and Murphy seem to be in tune with each other, easily passing slower vehicles and adjusting to the traffic. After a while, I lose track of the exits and roads they take, leading us farther away from my tour. The chains of responsibility tug at me, guilt for ditching my band. But I deserve a little fun. Haven’t taken a day “off” yet. Rooster won’t let me miss my show. He understands how important this is to me. I trust him.
When he slows the bike to a crawl and finally stops, I open my eyes. Red light. We’re idling in front of a shopping center in a well-to-do suburban area.
The light changes and the guys hit the throttle. Murphy moves ahead, leading us over slower, one-lane roads.
After a few miles, suburbia gives way to country. The houses are farther and farther apart. We climb higher into the mountains. Thick walls of pine trees line the sides of the road. Every now and then there’s a break in the trees and a driveway or mailbox whizzes by.
We’re so far out in the woods, I start to question where the heck Rooster’s taking me. Ahead of us, Murphy signals to the left and the bikes slow. It’s bumpy and choppy for a minute but after we clear a high gate, the tires roll onto smooth blacktop.
Rooster guides the bike near a garage and shuts it down. Murphy backs in next to us. I jump off the bike first, stopping to stretch and rubbing my hands over my slightly numb legs.
Once Rooster’s taken my helmet, he slips my backpack off my shoulders and slings it over his.
Swoony-swoon-swoon. My mama always told me it’s the little gestures that count the most. And tonight, Rooster’s made so many little gestures, they’ve added up to big, big feelings.
The irregular thump of music, distant chatter, and light all pour out of the clubhouse windows and front door into the gravel lot where we’re standing.
“Welcome to upstate.” Heidi spreads her arms wide and tips her head back, breathing deeply while staring up at the inky night sky.
I glance between Murphy and Rooster, remembering the bottom rockers on the back of their leather cuts. “Upstate. This is your home club, Murphy, right?”
“Yup.” He slaps Rooster on the back. “We let him visit once in a while.”
I tilt my head back, staring at the stars. “It’s so pretty up here.”
Heidi points to the woods beyond the parking lot. Through the trees, there’s a clear path lined with tiny dots of bright, white light. “Our house is out that way. I can show you tomorrow.”
“I’d like that.”
Rooster clasps Murphy’s shoulder. “You at least coming in for a minute or do you need to run home?”
“Yeah, I want to say hi to whoever’s here.”
The four of us clomp over the gravel to the front steps. Murphy opens the screen door and waves us inside.
The scents of weed and sweat hang heavy in the air. The cloud of smoke hits me so hard at first, I hold my breath rather than risk inhaling. This amount of smoke is liable to do a number on my throat.
Bikers and girls are everywhere. Rooster tugs on my hand, drawing me deeper into the room. No wonder he says he doesn’t go out to bars and stuff often. Who needs to go barhopping when he has unfettered access to his own decadent nightclub whenever he wants? The women gracing every square foot are beautiful, and for the most part, barely dressed. I glance down at my sweatshirt, jeans, and boots, then over at Heidi. Except for her tight-fitting leather jacket, Heidi’s dressed similarly to me, helping me feel less out of place.
Tucked in the corner, two long couches form an L-shape and that’s where Murphy heads.
“Look who showed up!” Murphy leans over and slaps the outstretched hand of the dark-haired man I remember from Texas. Z—the president of Rooster’s charter.
Z jumps up and the two men bear-hug each other while trading some good-natured insults.
Rooster butts in and slaps his president’s hand, pulling him in close. “Didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow, Prez.”
“Thought it would be weird to let myself into Murphy’s house while he was out.”
“As if that would stop you,” another man I remember meeting in Texas says in a wry tone. Upstate’s president.
