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He shrugged. “Some are, some aren’t, but being a biker and being an ex-con gives them an excuse to be hard on you if they’re disposed to it. Being a cautious soul, for a renegade biker, that is, I play it safe. I’ll have a beer with the guys sometimes, but mostly if I want to drink, I prefer to do it at home.”
She looked at Jett. “You don’t have the same concerns?”
He shrugged. “My silver tongue has never failed to get me out of minor trouble, and I never drink enough to risk losing control. I’m a bit more reckless than Ronan, though.”
They skillfully turned the conversation to Linc’s rehab, followed by casual questions about her life outside of school. She found both easy to talk to and happily sketched out her life for them. “Rather dull, I’m afraid.”
Ronan raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Working to put yourself through school and ultimately achieving what you set out to do, become a teacher, sounds pretty persistent, dedicated, and intelligent to me.”
Jett nodded as he sipped his wine. “Some of us could benefit by your example. You established yourself in your profession and are doing something important to you—teaching children.”
“So are you.” She grinned.
Jett shrugged. “Restoring vintage bikes is a passion, but it isn’t going to change the world.”
“I will,” said Ronan proudly. “I’m teaching Kayla how to be a better mechanic than me.”
Tessa smiled. “You’re both doing amazing things with her. There’s nothing better than influencing a child, but you’re both forgetting you’re survivors. That’s monumental too.”
Ronan scowled. “So are you. We just had different things we’ve had to do to survive.” His expression changed suddenly. “And just in time to rescue us from such serious in-depth analyses of our souls, here comes our food.”
Chris served, with remarkable elegance, a delicious meal of tender steak, new potatoes, and a crisp green salad. A few customers came in, and Chris left to deal with them, then disappeared into the kitchen, looking happy.
During the meal Ronan and Jett constantly asked more questions, seemingly curious about what it had been like to grow up in North Carolina and why she’d moved to California. Her vague explanation seemed to delight them.
Jett told her about landing with Willow’s family and hanging around the club until a guy named Dozer had taken him under his wing and introduced him to restoration.
When she asked, Ronan told her about being a hot rodder as a kid, and then going into the Marines and learning proper mechanics working on helicopters until he’d been asked to leave.
“What did you do?”
“I hit an officer.”
“Isn’t that really serious?”
“Yes, but my decision to knock him cold saved a helicopter crew from serious injury. They couldn’t overlook the fact that I’d broken a big-deal rule, but they managed to let me off with a general discharge if I promised not to make the story public.”
Ronan’s work shirt was open at the collar, and as they talked, she noticed scars near his clavicle. He saw where she was looking and opened the next button on his shirt so she could see the livid streaks.
“That must’ve hurt.”
He nodded. For a moment she thought he’d clam up. The memory upset him. “It did.” She waited without asking. Finally, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It reminds me that it doesn’t pay to have disagreements with prison inmates who have big friends. I wasn’t being smart.”
“And you went to prison because you killed a man.”
“You’ve done your homework. Yes, I did.”
“What happened?” She didn’t miss the reassuring pat Jett gave his friend on the back before reaching for his wine again.
“He was hurting someone who was a friend. It was a one-sided, unfair contest, so I stepped in. I didn’t intend to kill him, but I did intend to hurt him as much as possible. He would’ve killed me if I hadn’t stopped him. When I went to trial, that didn’t count in my favor.” He watched her face for a moment. “I imagine you’ve never known a killer before.”
“No.”
“Do I frighten you?”
Jett said, “It shouldn’t. You aren’t a killer, brother.” He sent Tessa a challenging look.
She didn’t return it or let her gaze stray long from Ronan’s, wanting him to believe her. “Oddly enough, no. Logic tells me I should be afraid of you, and when I think about that I do feel a gut reaction to what you represent. But that isn’t who you are.”
