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Proud that someone as great as Bridges knows that I’m capable of making decisions on my own. There was no way that I’d ever let him down, regardless of how hard any of the trip turned out to be.
My arm was a mild hurdle that I’d overcome. Making sure my mother was taken care of for the rest of her life would prove to her that I understood my responsibilities and took them seriously. Giving back to my community was my goal.
Chapter Twenty-two
Bridges
February
Winter in New York could be a really fickle bitch. It was the end of February, and for unknown reasons, Mother Nature decided it should be eight degrees on Valentine’s Day when I took Weston out for dinner to a fancy French restaurant in Chelsea and we had to wait outside for a rideshare car after we ate. We froze our asses off.
Then, the next week when that stupid groundhog was set to see his shadow or not, she turned up the thermostat to the mid-seventies. I hauled West’s stationary recumbent bike outside so he could ride behind the shop in the warm sunshine. It did wonders for his mood because he’d been down of late.
Weston had been fired from his courier job a week after he started physical therapy, and it pissed me off. Don’t pay him if he can’t work, but don’t fucking kick a guy while he’s down and fire him. I’d almost tried to buy the fucking company and give it to him to run—after he fired that Andi chick, who obviously had no fucking soul.
I ran the idea by Alexis, who asked if I could be any pettier. I said, “Yeah, I could fire you for the spicy attitude.” She laughed, flipped me off, and then went home after lunch to make a nice dinner for Stephanie because she’d worked a double shift at the hospital on Valentine’s Day. Sadly, Alexis’s comment made sense.
I’d turned over the administrative tasks to West so he had something to do to lighten his mood. Additionally, he could take care of the boring details without straining his healing shoulder. The guy was whip smart and was able to negotiate a new contract with our hauler that saved us thirty percent on shipping our bikes around the world. I was elated.
“Bridges?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Weston standing in the doorway of the shop. We’d created office space for him in the room where we housed inventory because sometimes he had to make calls and I wasn’t always quiet when I was working on something. I turned the music up loud.
“Yeah, babe. What can I help you with?”
He walked over to the drafting table where I was working out changes I wanted to make to the bike he’d be using for the road trip. We were planning to leave on Saturday, May 1, having decided to take the shorter, northern route, despite still having to tackle the Rocky Mountains.
Kian and Eric Batterman were meeting us in San Francisco for the presentation of the funds collected from West’s sponsors to the Director of Rainbow Equality Alliance at a small ceremony that would be broadcast on YouTube. The donation West wanted to make to the Rainbow Equality Alliance would be done privately, without fanfare or publicity. It was West’s choice, and I respected the hell out of it.
With the new bike I was building, Weston would be able to tackle the mountains more easily. We’d mapped the route to be around three-thousand miles, but we’d agreed to avoid bike trails where I couldn’t follow him in the RV. I couldn’t ask Alexis and Steph to come with us on the trip because it was a long time for them to be away from their lives, so West was going to ride on the roadway with me driving my SUV as his support and gear vehicle.
We’d built in extra days to the schedule to allow him to do interviews along the way and stop at LGBTQIA centers across the country to bring publicity to the organizations, including the ten sponsors he’d managed to sign.
Proud wasn’t a big enough word for how I felt about all his progress. I believed his family had underestimated him for years. I’d never do that.
West leaned against the wall next to my drafting board. “I think it’s time for me to take the temperature of the Board of Directors of Aames Investments. As the executor, do you know if they’ve filled my dad’s seat yet?”
Now, this was tough for me because I hadn’t told him I’d be the fifth vote on the Board of Directors when it came time for the Board to decide if West had fulfilled the requirements of Claude’s will. I was lucky to get to witness all the hard work West was doing, and obviously, I’d vote for him. I hoped it didn’t come to a tie—hell, I wasn’t sure how my father would vote. Maybe I should feel him out first?
“I haven’t been told anything by Edmond, one way or the other. Maybe you should consider how they feel about you now could be far different than how they feel about you in July after the ride. I’d say make a film to document some of the things you’ve been doing and maybe send it to Edmond to show at the next board meeting.”
West nodded. “Good idea. I need to call the owner of Fairytails in Andersonville, one of the neighborhoods in Chicago, to tell him what day we can be there for the bachelor auction they’re planning.
“The guys who own it are a triad, and one’s a former football player for the Chicago Breeze. The man running the place is Kincaid Hayes. He’s really nice and was very excited when I reached out to him about an opportunity for an interview about what they do in Andersonville to support the community. He sounds like a really nice guy. The third partner is a stay-at-home dad raising their twins who are just starting school Kincaid said. I can’t wait to meet them.” His bright smile had me grinning as well.
“They sound great, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to meeting them as well. So, what are you doing now?” I glanced at the clock to see it was nearly time to call it a day.
“I just finished balancing the books for January. I emailed them to you for approval.”
“Okay, let’s call it a day.” I stood from my chair and put my arm around Weston’s shoulders, leading him from the shop and up the stairs to our home.
“What would you like for dinner?” I asked as I let us inside.
West looked at me with a grin. “How about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Maybe some potato chips? Something simple?”
“Sure, baby boy. Peanut butter, it is. Do you need to call Kincaid Hayes? I’ll fix us dinner if you want to do that now.”
Chicago was an hour behind us in time, so it was only four in the afternoon for Mr. Hayes. If the club was like anything in New York, they hadn’t opened yet, so maybe he and West could iron out the details before they opened the doors.
