Hank smiled faintly.
“He sat down.”
“That’s it?”
“First day.”
“He came back next day.”
“Then again.”
“Eventually he said Jimmy’s bike shouldn’t rot because I was afraid to ride.”
“Were you?”
“Terrified.”
Hank looked at his coffee.
“But I rode.”
“And?”
“I understood something.”
“What?”
“Grief is heavy when you sit under it.”
“Sometimes movement doesn’t make it lighter.”
“It just reminds you that you can carry it somewhere else.”
Cassie wrote the sentence carefully.
Across from her, Hank watched.
“Don’t make that sound prettier than I said it.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
Derek dropped into the seat beside Cassie.
Too close.
His shoulder crowded hers.
“Getting what you need?”
“Some.”
“For the school report.”
“Project.”
“Whatever.”
He grabbed a burger from the plate that had just arrived.
“You know what happens when outsiders write about people like us?”
Cassie kept her pen down.
“What?”
“They already know the story before they show up.”
“Criminals.”
“Drunks.”
“Old men pretending it’s still nineteen seventy-three.”
“Or the opposite.”
“They romanticize everything.”
“Brotherhood.”
“Freedom.”
“Open road.”
“They never show the arguments.”
“The divorces.”
“The guys who disappear.”
“The people we fail.”
Maria looked over.
“Derek.”
He ignored her.
Cassie asked:
“Which version do you think I’m writing?”
“You’re seventeen.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You’ll finish.”
“Get your grade.”
“Apply to college.”
“Forget us.”
Cassie looked directly at him.
“You’re right about one thing.”
Derek raised an eyebrow.
“I am an outsider.”
“Right now.”
He waited.
“My dad trusted this club with his life before he trusted himself with it.”
“That means I don’t get to treat this like entertainment.”
“If I get it wrong, I don’t just fail a class.”
“I get him wrong.”
Derek’s expression changed slightly.
Cassie continued.
“So if you think I’m missing something, tell me.”
“Don’t sit here acting like I’m too stupid to understand it.”
The table went quiet.
Derek held her gaze.
Then he looked away first.
Maria smiled into her coffee.
That night, after the ride back, Cassie sat on a battered couch in the clubhouse transcribing notes while members played pool.
Her phone buzzed.
Her mother.
Still alive?
Cassie typed:
Barely. Dad lied about motorcycles being relaxing.
Her mother replied:
Your father lies about many things involving motorcycles.
Cassie smiled.
Across the room, Graham’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Something changed in his face.
He stepped outside.
Through the window, Cassie saw him stand motionless under the parking-lot light.
His shoulders tightened.
Then he answered.
She could not hear the words.
When Graham returned, Hank intercepted him.
“That who I think?”
Graham nodded.
“Tommy.”
The name moved through nearby conversations.
Maria stopped mid-sentence.