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I know he’s right, but I’m so sick of how everyone treats me around here. I’ve worked hard the last few years to leave this place, and my life here, in the past. I decide, here and now, that I will work my hardest to fulfill Darlene’s request the best I can. If Robin wants to see me as an asshole, then let her.

Full of newfound determination, I text the host of my rental to ask to extend my stay while ignoring the stares from Mr. Navy Blue across the bar.

Chapter 8

Hayden

“Nothing has changed here.” I look around Jon’s repair shop, which we lovingly refer to as a “garage,” and I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia.

“Why change what’s perfect?” Jon smiles.

I stopped by after lunch, and he was thrilled to show me some of the motorcycles he’s working on. Jon can fix anything and everything with a motor, but his real passion is bikes from the 1970s. He’s been working on a Kawasaki Triple for a few weeks now, and he can’t stop gushing about it.

Memories of my youth flood back to me. I used to stay at this shop for hours, watching Jon work, and he’d teach me anything I wanted to know. He always had a very calm presence about him, and he provided the steadiness in my life I so desperately craved. But he did not tolerate any bad behavior.

My passion for motorcycles, and my desire to be away from home and at Jon’s garage, were the only reasons I eventually stopped acting out. I didn’t dare risk my place here.

The hours spent in this shop, surrounded by the smell of gasoline and the steady sound of rhythmic ratcheting, are some of my favorite memories of my youth. Nobody in the garage cared about my father. As long as I came in, stayed quiet, and helped where they needed me, I had a spot here.

Eventually, I was allowed to work on some bikes myself, under the strict supervision of Jon, of course. I never felt more at home or a bigger sense of pride than when Jon would clap me on the back and say, “Good job.”

When I got my motorcycle license at seventeen, he brought in a Honda CB750 Nighthawk and told me if I fixed it up myself, it would be mine. I had to make countless promises about safe driving and road etiquette before he let me on the road with it.

To this day, every ride reminds me of the freedom and peace Jon gave me.

“Stayin’ for a bit?”

“Yeah, for the summer.” I look longingly at the bike again.

“Well, come by anytime. I can always use the extra help.”

“Thanks. I missed this place.”

It’s true. I haven’t found a place like this in New Mexico. Not that I’ve been looking for one. But now that I’m standing here, I wonder why I haven’t.

Jon bids me goodbye, and I stop by the grocery store before returning to my soulless rental. I’d much rather sleep in Jon’s garage, if I’m being honest.

When I walk up the stairs, heavy grocery bag in my hand, my steps falter as a strong whiff of cologne hits my nostrils, the overbearing scent telling me who’s waiting for me.

My suspicions are confirmed as I turn the corner and see my older brother, Christopher, leaning against the wall next to my front door. He lifts his gaze when he hears me approach, an annoyingly smug expression on his face. Anger boils inside of me, but I try to look nonchalant as I drop the bag of groceries on the floor next to him with a heavy thump.

Of course he figured out where I’m staying.

I cross my arms and stare him down. “’Sup?”

“Hayden, perfect timing. I was just about to leave because I thought you weren’t home,” he responds, and I take small pleasure in the fact that I’m a couple of inches taller than my older brother.

“Nice cologne. Do you know you don’t have to bathe in it though?”

He looks unimpressed. “Do you know that you can bathe? That pungent motor oil smell is repulsive, Hayden. Still hiding out in Jon’s garage?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

My family never approved of the time I spent working at Jon’s. To them it was a waste of time, and they considered it a rebellion, just like my drinking and partying back then. The fact that Jon put me in line and made me stop acting out didn’t matter to them. Me hanging out in garages, smelling of industrial chemicals, and coming home with stained clothing was a big disappointment to them. My dad doesn’t care about anything besides his status and reputation. My brother and I were brought up with the expectation that we’d follow into his footsteps and join the family business. He got his wish with Chris, but to this day, it’s not enough for him. He wanted me to work for him as well. And I know my brother despises me for it.

“Are you going to invite me in?” Christoper asks.

“No.”