Because despite everything, this is just…unfair.
Fox is tilting his head to stare to the lounge, where Pan’s now stretched fully across the couch, boots on the armrest, and watching Wendy’s beautuber tutorial with either genuine or deeply feigned interest.
“What’s up, Fox?” I say, to redirect him.
“Oh, uh.” Fox frowns, shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. “Nothing. It’s just…” He grimaces. “It’s your bike,” he finishes, the same way you’d sayit’s cancer.
Shit.Shit.My heart falls into my stomach. “What about it?”
“Just…come take a look.”
The garage is crowded,hot, and smells like cement walls and motor oil. It’s Fox’s place. I don’t go in much and I don’t ask too many questions, not about where the bikes come from and not about where they go when he’s done. Especially if they leave in pieces. Right now there’s just my bike in here—intact, anyway—and a bunch of parts. Plus what looks like a mini dirt bike leaning in the corner—must be a new find.
Fox is still looking over his shoulder as we walk in. I’m tall, but I feel tiny next to him,justnext to him, with none of the other guys around.
“Who’s the kid?” Fox asks.
“Huh?” I blink. “Oh, she’s…” Fuck. I try to think of something convincing and fake. But my imagination’s run out. I’m already keeping too many stories straight at once.
So I just tell him the truth. As quickly as I can. The house, the bodies, the cops. The ride back here and the girl drinking a Coke Zero in our tattoo parlor.
“Fucked up,” Fox says when I’m done. Seeing my face, he clarifies. “Oh, no, not you guys. I just mean, like, the situation’s fucked up. That kind of thing is end-your-childhood shit, you know?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. But I guess Fox would. I don’t know exactly what he and Kit went through before they came here, when they were kids—just that it was bad, really bad. Like, in-the-system-from-birth bad. I remember one time Kit made some joke about having more foster placements than birthdays, but that’s about all I’ve got.
“Yeah,” I agree. “But we’ll get her back home.”
Fox’s face unclouds a little. “She’s got family?”
I nod. “Her nana.” Maybe that’s why I want to reassure him. That we’re not just dumping the kid to end up like them. I crane my neck at my bike, both to change the subject and to find out what’s going on here. “So what’s up?”
“Right.” Fox pivots. “You want the good news, or the bad news?” Before I can even answer, he speaks again. “Actually, let’s start with good.”
Okay, then. He ushers me over to the side of my bike and gestures for me to climb on. I do, feeling kind of stupid since the bike’s up on blocks, like I’m a kid on one of those coin-op rides at the supermarket.
If they even still have those.
“Okay,” I say, after a moment. “What?”
Fox nods a few times. “Move around a little. Like you’re riding.”
Feeling even more ridiculous, I do. Lean forward, grab the handlebars, shift my weight like I’m turning.
“You feel that?” Fox asks. I frown, move back and forth again. Somethingisdifferent.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s, like…”
“Lighter,” Fox finishes for me. “More responsive. The new springs aren’t as stiff, so you shouldn’t have to work so much to get it to respond.”
I nod. Because now that he mentions it—yeah, it’s not quite so hard to get the thing tilting. Less muscle work, more like touching than pushing.
It’s nice.
“Cool,” I say, and I mean it. “Thanks, man.”
I let go, and swing my leg to dismount, but the bike moves too—quicker, lighter than I’m used to, and I practically fall off the side, stumbling over my boots and about to land ass-first on concrete.
Except I don’t. Because Fox is there.
