Distinctive.
An approaching Harley-Davidson.
Several heads turned automatically.
The laughter disappeared.
Cassie knew that engine better than she knew her father’s footsteps.
It had a slight uneven rhythm at idle, the result of modifications Graham refused to let anyone change because he claimed the bike sounded “honest.”
The motorcycle rolled into the lot.
Stopped.
Engine cut.
Silence returned.
A moment later, the door opened.
Graham Mercer stepped inside.
He was fifty-eight, broad across the shoulders but leaner than he had been when Cassie was younger. Silver threaded heavily through his beard. Years outdoors had carved deep lines around his eyes.
His leather cut was faded almost gray along the seams.
Patches covered the front.
Military service.
Memorial rides.
Old rallies.
Charity runs.
On the back, the Iron Wolves emblem filled most of the leather.
Beneath it sat a smaller rectangular patch.
FOUNDING MEMBER.
The room changed.
Hank slowly set down his beer.
Maria straightened.
Derek’s smirk vanished.
Graham removed his gloves.
His eyes went first to Cassie.
Then around the room.
Finally, he looked at Derek.
“Everything going all right?”
Nobody answered.
Cassie gave a small, nervous smile.
“Dad.”
The single word landed harder than anything she had said.
Hank exhaled.
“Well, hell.”
Someone near the pool table muttered:
“Graham’s kid?”
Derek looked at Cassie again as though she had transformed while standing there.
Graham walked across the room.
He stopped beside her.
He did not put an arm around her.
Did not announce that she belonged.
He simply stood there.
Cassie caught the familiar scent of leather, cold air, and motor oil.
It was enough.
Graham looked at the notebook.
“You tell them yet?”
“Trying.”
He glanced at the room.
“You want me to?”
Cassie shook her head.
“No.”
That answer seemed to please him.
Graham stepped back half a pace.
“Go ahead.”
Cassie looked around the clubhouse.
The same men who had laughed minutes before were listening now.
That somehow made speaking harder.
“My project isn’t really about motorcycles.”
Derek folded his arms.
Cassie continued.
“It started that way.”
“I thought I was going to write about biker culture.”
“The clothes.”
“The rides.”
“The symbols.”
“The way clubs organize.”
“But then I started reading about when this chapter began.”
She looked toward the Iron Wolves emblem.
“1971.”
Several older members watched her differently now.
“My father came home from Vietnam that year.”
Graham’s jaw tightened.
Cassie had asked his permission to say what came next.
That did not make it easy.
“He almost never talks about the war.”
“He doesn’t tell me what happened there.”
“He doesn’t tell me what happened during the first months after he came home either.”
“But my mom has.”
Graham looked at the floor.
Cassie continued.
“She told me he barely slept.”
“He had nightmares.”
“He couldn’t hold a job for long.”
“He got angry over things that didn’t make sense.”
“He stopped seeing friends.”
“He would leave the house and disappear for hours because driving around was easier than sitting still.”
The room had become completely quiet.
A few veterans lowered their eyes.
Cassie’s voice softened.
“Then the Iron Wolves happened.”
She looked toward her father.
“Or maybe the Iron Wolves were happening at the same time.”
“I’m still figuring that part out.”
A few men smiled.
Cassie opened her notebook.
“The first photograph I found shows seven riders outside an old gas station.”