Page 1

Chapter 1

Levon

“Okay, Mr. Richardson. Just a few more signatures.”

The attorney, whose name I can’t seem to remember, slides me another stack of papers with little red stickers that say Sign Here. I put the pen down and run a hand through my hair before picking the pen up again. It feels like I’ve signed my name about a hundred times already. It’s hot in the small, unventilated conference room 2, and I can smell the stale air as it sits, unmoving and thick. Dust mites swirl around over the attorney's head, and I wonder if he notices them.

I clear my throat and move my chair closer to the table, my eyes shifting to find the first place I’m supposed to sign on the page. Not for the first time, a whirlwind of questions and uncertainties hit me. What am I doing here? Do I really have it in me to run a business? Why did I come back “home” to Glenrock, the small town in New York where I grew up, to take on a whole slew of heavy responsibilities when I had such a nice little life going for myself back in Sheltonville?

I glance at my uncle, who’s sitting just to my right, and he gives me a gentle smile with a reassuring nod. Then I scribble my name on the papers, flipping through and making sure I sign and date each page, as instructed. My signature doesn’t really even look like mine by the time we’re done. I drop the pen on the table and lean back in my chair, pushing it onto its two back legs as I rub my sweaty palms on my denim-clad thighs. My eyes meet the attorney’s, and he puts his glasses back on, resting them halfway down his nose. Then he takes his time, flipping through the stack of papers and checking that all the signatures are where they need to be.

After the final page, he looks up at my uncle with a decisive nod. “Everything is set, Mr. Davis,” he says as he taps the stack of papers on the table to line them up neatly. He turns to me. “Congratulations, Mr. Richardson.” The attorney stands and extends his hand. “You are now the owner of Glenrock Chrome and Tire.”

I rise with him, my stomach feeling like it’s twisting inside out. My uncle slaps me on the back with a hearty “Congratulations” as I take the attorney’s hand in a firm handshake.

“Thank you, sir,” I tell the attorney, and he gives me another nod.

And it’s official and done.

I turn toward the door to exit the conference room, needing to get out of this stuffy space as quickly as possible. I feel my uncle behind me, so I keep moving, desperate to get out to my bike and get some fresh air into my lungs. I know my nerves will settle once I’m riding, the power of the bike underneath me. Nothing beats that feeling, really. It’s been my escape since I was seventeen, when my parents finally gave in and let me get my first bike—a Honda Rebel 300. They weren’t so keen on me riding because they were worried about safety, but seeing as how I grew up in a family that worked on, owned, rode, and sold motorcycles, it was an eventuality that they couldn’t really fight.

Today in particular, I need to get on and ride to help me alleviate the jittery feeling that’s been brewing in my chest since I entered the building. I just inherited my uncle’s motorcycle shop; I’ll be running the shop, the store, and the building, and this place that I grew up in, this place that means so much to me, will now be my responsibility. I always knew it was going to happen, but the fact that it’s now mine is surreal. Just because it’s a good thing doesn’t mean I’m not scared.

When we get outside of the stifling building and into fresh air, my uncle catches up to me. “Well, Lev. It’s yours.” He smiles at me warmly and claps me on the shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” I admit as I pull my keys out of my pocket and give him a tight smile.

We make our way to my motorcycle, which is parked right in front of his car, and he continues. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve come so far and done well for yourself. You’re stronger than you think, and this is just another step forward for you. And I don’t want you to worry,” he adds, giving me a stern but knowing look. “You know I’ll be around to help. I can’t stay home with Aunt Tracy every day. She’ll likely kick me out if I do that.” The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes show when he smiles. “Besides, bum knee or not, you know I can’t really stay away.”

We both chuckle. “Thank you, Uncle John. I’m—”

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” He squeezes as I stare at my feet. “I’m completely confident in you or I wouldn’t have left my baby in your hands. And like I said, I’ll be around to help. I’m sure you’ll find your footing quickly.”

“I appreciate it. I just don’t want to disappoint—”

“You won’t,” he cuts in. “Now, go enjoy your weekend, and I’ll see you bright and early on Monday to make sure you have everything you need and know what’s going on with our customers. You’re not getting rid of me so quickly. See you then, kid.”

He turns and unlocks his car, then opens the driver’s side door and climbs in as I grab my helmet and throw my leg over the seat of my bike. I start the engine, letting the deep vibration calm my anxieties. Then I rev it and wave to my uncle as I leave the parking lot.

I cruise down the road on autopilot, quickly losing myself and letting my mind float back to the events of the last few hours. I just signed the papers and got the deed to my uncle’s motorcycle shop. I now officially own a business, and despite my uncle’s reassurances a few minutes ago, I’m scared as hell.

It’s not that I don’t have the experience or don’t know what I’m doing. But I know how important the shop is—to my uncle, to my family, and to the community—and that responsibility is heavy.

This has always been Uncle John’s plan, for me to take over. He’s been preparing me for it since I was old enough to walk. At first, it was simple things, like letting me hand him the tools or polishing the chrome on the bikes he was working on. Then, as I got older, he taught me how to do more complicated things, like repairs and maintenance, and it just called to me. I started finding every opportunity I could to tinker with motors and mess around with broken parts on cars and lawn mowers and small machines to try and get them running again. But motorcycles were always what called to me the most.

Even the whole last six years I spent working as a mechanic in Sheltonville, I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d come back and take over. I just can’t believe that time has actually come.

My mind starts to race as the thoughts flash through it, my inner monologue questioning what the future will be like and whether I’m ready to carry the legacy forward. Uncle John is a well-respected member of the community, and everyone in Glenrock knows that he’ll treat them fairly and take good care of their motorcycles. It’s my job now to make sure that reputation he’s built continues with me in charge.

Before I work myself into a panic, I force myself to focus back to the power of my motorcycle beneath me. It’s like a drug. My breathing slows, and my body relaxes, soothed by the comforting hum and vibration of the engine. The power the motorcycle holds and the fact that I’m the one in control of that power are exhilarating. It’s so different from driving a car. It makes me feel alive.

I turn onto the tree-lined street that leads toward the neighborhood where I grew up, and nostalgia instantly sets in as I notice all the little things that I probably never really noticed before. Like how well-kept the houses are, and how, even in the midsized town that Glenrock is, home to probably less than ten thousand people, everything feels close-knit, like a real, true community.

I’ve been back a few times since I left. But it’s been a while—months or a year, maybe. And it’s different when it’s just a visit.

Now, it’s like I’m really coming home.

I remember all the moments that meant so much to me growing up. Riding my bike and skateboard down these streets, playing with the neighborhood kids and feeling safe and secure. I didn’t have concerns or worries. My parents helped to support me no matter what I was doing or how I was getting to the endpoint. I always felt welcome and loved in their home, and I’m so grateful for that.