Page 26 of Sparrow

“Did you actually need something or did you just come over here to act like Arden is the first girl you’ve ever seen?”

The garage erupts in laughter and Rookie blushes furiously, then scowls at me.

“Watch it, Gramps. I took Orion’s bike all the way down the hill and dropped off his ‘secret cargo’–” He surrounds this phrase with exaggerated air quotes. “–All on my own last night. I’m not the kid I used to be.”

This brings a snort from me, because he’s exactly the same kid he was yesterday before the infamous secret cargo. “Did you manage to get it back without a scratch on it? Because if you damaged that bike–”

“It’ll be no worse than it was before,” Dutch mutters from under the hood of the truck.

I pause for a moment, but then nod. Valid. Orion’s bike looks like exactly what it is: a monster he put together with found parts, each of them secured to a frame he supposedly discovered in the junkyard. It runs like a top and roars louder than anything else we have in the club, but it looks like it’s been through several wars and come out the other side having taken a beating.

The embodiment of Orion himself.

“Did you actually come over for something?” I repeat.

Rookie jerks like he’s just remembered he has an actual job, and then grins. “Oh right. The shipment from that exhaust company down south is running behind so we’re gonna be a little late with the truck. The nuts and bolts are gonna be here early, though, so we can resupply our coffers. And we’re getting a new project in next week. Figured you’d like to know.”

He winks at Arden–the audacity of this kid–and then turns back to Dutch, who’s looking at me with eyebrows lifted nearly to his hair line, and suppressing his laughter.

This time I don’t laugh, because Rookie’s given me mostly good news. The kid is a youngest son and I doubt whether he can tie his shoelaces by himself sometimes, but he’s a fucking genius when it comes to inventory.

And I’ve come to depend on him more than I like.

I turn back to Arden, remembering that we were having a conversation. “You were saying?’

She eyes me up and down like she’s trying to figure out whether her fluttering eyelashes will work on me, then decides against it and lifts her chin. “I want to go home. Back to New York. Back where I have family.”

That part hits me in the chest, but I don’t let the hurt show. Instead, I ask the obvious question. “Why?”

It’s not that I don’t know the answer. I do. I figured this was coming, and she’s got her reasons, I’m sure. I don’t know when she was kidnapped or what they did with her, but she’s been through an event, and going home was always going to be her first request.

That’s where she thinks she’s safe.

I think differently. I know what her dad does and who he does it to. I know how close he is to Joseph Rossi and his brother Michael, and though I guess they’re not the worst gangsters in town, they are, nevertheless, part of the mafia.

Which puts Arden entirely too close to men who kill for a living.

I’ve also seen how her father treats her, and what it does to her confidence.

I don’t want her to go back to that.

I don’t want her to leave at all. Between picking her up last night and waking up this morning with the knowledge that she’s in my house, something has shifted, and I’ve started feeling...

Responsible for her?

No, that’s not quite right.

Attached to her?

I pause, considering it. That can’t be it. It can’t. She’s not my stepdaughter. She’s not my family. Hell, she’s not even my sister’s family. Not really. But she is my sister’s stepdaughter, and that means I can’t form any attachment to her.

At least not the way I want to.

I don’t follow that thought any further, because the town suddenly realizes that the garage is open and descends on me like a swarm of locusts. Penny from the bakery appears with a basket of muffins, saying that she still owes me for fixing her truck last week, and then one of Shane Sampson’s daughters appears with her bike, asking if I can fix the chain for her. Dutch realizes he forgot to order an important part for the truck, someone stops to report a bike that’s broken down outside of town, and Wendy from the cafe stops in to ask if I can help her brother with his new motorcycle.

I’m swept away from Arden in the midst of answering questions and solving problems, and for an hour I forget she exists. I’ve got suppliers to talk to and everyday problems to solve, and this town learned long ago that the Oaks door is always open if they need someone to handle something for them.

I grew up fixing everything my father broke.