Page 16 of Property of Quake

He sits at one of the smaller tables that the children often use to do homework or play cards, and when I don’t immediately sit as well, he smirks.

“Nervous, Sister?”

I whip my gaze in his direction. “What? Why would I be nervous?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Words fail me, so I simply stare as he continues. “Look, it’s clear that neither of us wants to work together, but this isn’t about us. It’s about the kids.”

“The kids,” I repeat as if doing so will bolster me somehow.

“Jesus, just sit the hell down,” he barks, and I stiffen. “Fuck, sorry.”

“If we’re going to work together, I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from that kind of language,” I say as I sit across from him.

“I’m not going to change who I am just because of what you are,” he scoffs.

“What I am?”

“A nun,” he clarifies. “I’m a biker, and you’re a nun. Those are just facts. I don’t expect you to change who you are, so don’t expect it of me.”

The vehemence in his tone is like a physical push, forcing me to fall back against the chair. I stare at him, my heart pounding against my ribs, and my brain conjures up an image of the only other person who spoke exactly what was on his mind.

“You remind me of someone,” I finally say.

He huffs out a laugh. “Oh yeah? I’m guessing it’s not God.”

The corners of my mouth tip into a grin, and I shake my head. “No, not God. A… He was a good friend.” Thoughts of Ryan always bring on a wave of sadness, and right now is no different. “He, um… he’s no longer with us.”

Quake’s gaze bores into mine. “You loved him.”

It’s not a question, but rather a statement that holds an incredible amount of certainty and… understanding?

“I did.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What happened to him?”

For a brief moment, I consider telling him. It’s not like Ryan is some secret I can’t share. The problem is, I don’t know this man, and telling him somehow feels like a betrayal.

I open the binder in front of me and flip to the most recent fundraiser. “We should really get to work. I’ve got a lot to do, and I’m sure you do as well.”

Quake chuckles. “Okay, Sister. We can get to work.”

We spend the next hour reviewing previous efforts to raise money and donations, and we even compile a list of ideas for events that we could host annually. I’m about to suggest we wrap it up for the day and schedule another time to continue working on things when the door bursts open, and several boys come running in.

Quake bolts to his feet at the intrusion, his body tense, but as soon as he sees the kids, he visibly relaxes.

“Where’s the fire, boys?” he asks.

Jason, Ben, and Josh skid to a halt in front of Quake, looking up at him with awe in their eyes.

“Who are you?” Ben asks with all the curiosity of a six-year-old.

Quake kneels down to their level. “I’m Quake. Who’re you?”

Ben scrunches up his nose. “What kinda name is Quake?”

“Ben,” I scold, rushing over to stand behind the boys. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s okay,” Quake says, keeping his attention on Ben. “Quake is my road name. I’m in a motorcycle club, and every brother is given a road name.”