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The man cleared the bike and removed his sunglasses. His mouth turned down into what seemed like a natural frown as he traipsed up the few steps to the door. My confusion turned to alarm, smearing my thoughts into a jumbled mess.
Wes.
I briskly straightened in my seat, facing forward, as the man made his way inside and bobbed his head at Earl.
“Mr. Ryan, so nice of you to join us. Ms. Stone just arrived, so if you want to take a seat, we’ll get started.”
My face was suddenly warm.Why was he here?
Wes made his way around the chair, and his eyes pinned me down before his body claimed the seat. The intensity of his stare was like stepping into one of those murky lakes that went too deep, too fast. His elbows nearly touched mine with how close the chairs were placed; his knee nearly grazed my foot as he folded himself into the cushioned seat.
I quickly jerked my leg back.
I heard him scoff but didn’t pay it any mind.
“Okay, let’s get things started,” Earl said cheerfully, apparently unaware of the tension between us.
My pulse quickened as two folders were placed in front of us while Earl flipped through a few pieces of paperwork.
“This is the last will and testimony of Simon Stone. Wesley Ryan and Callie Stone are the only two living beneficiaries of his estate.”
I leaned forward, feeling heat creep up my neck.
“Sorry, I think there’s been a mistake. Wes is not family, so he wouldn’t be listed as a beneficiary.”
Earl stared at me, blinking, unbothered by my outburst. I could feel Wesley’s gaze on the side of my face, but I refused to glance over. I had no idea what his relationship was to my dad, but it didn’t change the facts. He wasn’t blood.I was.
“Right, well, that may be true, but Simon Stone named Wesley in his will. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
Wes stretched in his chair, forcing his knee to take up even more of my space. I was two seconds away from standing for the rest of the meeting.
“Okay, here we go,” Earl began. “Simon’s bike was left to you, Wesley. He put here in the notes, ‘put it on your show.’” Earl looked up from his paper. “Any idea what that means?”
Wes cleared his throat and replied. “Yeah, I have a television show about restoring bikes and occasionally cars…”
His voice was still gravel deep, something that used to feel like midnight velvet against my skin. That tenor was like a rope in the middle of a raging storm. I wasn’t as unaware of his life as I wish I was, or as I really should have been. I was well aware of his accomplishments with the digital streaming show. Hell, nearly everyone on planet Earth seemed to know about his freaking series.
According to his Netflix special, he was doing custom work for Hollywood movie stars and even foreign royalty. Did it cut me deeper than a hunting knife when I saw those TV producers zoom in on his chiseled jaw or well-toned body? Fuck yes, it did.
Did I torture myself for days on end, watching all the clips where he’d taken his shirt off and the people on the internet apparently went insane, stitching, duetting, and every other type of sharing to show how drool worthy Wes was? Also yes.
I hated myself for caring. I had moved on. I remember watching that special right after a hookup. I was still pulling up my jeans when Wesley’s face popped into view on the television, and my heart nearly flung from my chest. The guy I was with had started telling me all about the famous Wes Ryan, and his garage, and how everyone wanted to have their cars worked on by him.
I remember just sitting there, feeling like I was having an out of body experience.
It was at that point I had kicked my hookup out and cried in the bathtub for an hour. I didn’t even fill it with water; I just crawled into the empty basin and begged Max to follow me in so I could lean against his massive chest. He never did, but he placed his face next to mine with a worried look in his blue eyes.
“Wes, he also left you whatever remains in his savings and checking accounts and his investments, which were mostly made to your shop from the looks of it. He had a car—older model—that’s been left to you as well.”
Suddenly a swarm of insecurity fluttered behind my chest.
What was I here for? My father didn’t want me. Of course he’d leave everything he ever owned to Wes, because apparently over the past seven years, he’d become the son he never had.
If all I got was his DVD collection or an old dish set, I was going to scream.
“Okay, that seems to be it for you, Mr. Ryan. Ms. Stone, there’s a letter here for you from your father. He asked that you read it privately. You’ve also been left the property on Belvin Drive. Looks like ten acres in total and a house registered to the Stone Riders Motorcycle Club?” Earl looked up, confused.
His beady blue eyes searched my face, and then Wesley’s.
