“He thinks if he stops being angry at you, he betrays Bull.”
Tommy stared toward the door.
Graham continued.
“Give him time.”
The gathering fractured into smaller conversations.
People surrounded Tommy.
Questions.
Memories.
Updates.
Names of people who had died.
Marriages.
Divorces.
Children.
Surgeries.
Jobs.
Everything fifteen years had carried forward without him.
Cassie sat beside Maria.
Maria wiped beneath one eye.
“This your fault.”
Cassie looked alarmed.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly.”
Maria smiled.
“You asked.”
Late that evening, Cassie walked toward the garage bay behind Rusty’s.
A light remained on.
Inside, Graham and Tommy stood over an old Sportster that had been sitting partially disassembled for months.
Neither seemed to have consciously chosen to work on it.
It was simply what their hands knew how to do together.
Tommy held a wrench out without looking.
Graham took it.
Graham reached for another tool.
Tommy passed it before he asked.
Fifteen years disappeared from their movements.
Cassie stayed in the doorway.
She heard Graham say something too soft to understand.
Tommy stopped.
Then laughed.
A genuine laugh.
Graham laughed too.
Then Graham’s laughter broke.
His shoulders shook.
Tommy reached behind Graham’s neck and pulled him forward.
The two men stood beside the unfinished motorcycle holding each other.
No grand speech.
No witness except Cassie.
She quietly stepped backward.
She did not write it down.
Outside, Derek sat astride his motorcycle.
Helmet in his lap.
He noticed Cassie.
“You stalking everybody now?”
“No.”
She sat on the edge of the curb several feet away.
Neither spoke for a while.
Finally Cassie said:
“He’s not the villain you need him to be.”
Derek’s mouth tightened.
“You don’t know what I need.”
“No.”
“But I know what grief looks like when people turn it into a job.”
He looked at her.
“My dad spent his last year angry.”
Cassie said nothing.
“At Tommy.”
“At getting old.”
“At his heart.”
“At doctors.”
“At everything changing.”
Derek rubbed one hand across his helmet.
“When he died, being angry felt like the only part of him I still knew how to carry.”
Cassie thought about Maria.
Showing up.
Again and again.
“What happens if you put it down?”
Derek stared into the parking lot.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re holding it.”
He looked at her.
For a long moment, she thought she had gone too far.
Then Derek gave a short laugh.
“You’re tougher than you look.”
“So I’m told.”
He placed the helmet on his head.
“Your project.”
“What about it?”
“When you finish it…”
He started the motorcycle.
“I want to read it.”
Cassie smiled.
“Okay.”
Derek lowered the visor.
“Someone should get the whole thing right.”
Then he rode away.
Behind Cassie, the Sportster coughed.
Once.
Twice.
Then the engine caught.
A rough mechanical roar filled the night.
Cassie turned.
Through the open garage door, Graham and Tommy stood beside the motorcycle.
Both were smiling.
The memorial ride had taken place on the last Sunday of May for thirty years.
Dates changed around it.
Jobs changed.
People moved.
Members aged.
But the ride remained.
Riverside Veterans Cemetery.
Same destination.