I think, he said slowly, that no matter what happens out there, nothing is ever going to be the same. Behind them on the TV's dark screen, their reflections stared back— two kids in a biker club house, caught in a story that had started long before they were born and was nowhere near finished. Engines faded into the distance, but the tension they left behind stayed thick in the air, like smoke after a fire. The clubhouse felt too quiet, too still, like the building itself was holding its breath. Marcus stood at the window for a long time after the last headlight vanished. Staring at the empty lot. Snowflakes drifted lazily now instead of sideways, but the storm in his chest hadn't slowed at all. They're really gone, Lily whispered beside him, her breath fogging the glass.
Yeah, Marcus said. They're gone. The words tasted wrong, like he'd just admitted to something he couldn't take back. Behind them, the wrench paced the length of the den, its boots thudding against the worn wooden floor in a restless rhythm. Two younger bikers, prospects they called them, stood guard at the door, trying to look calm and failing badly every time a board creaked, they flinched. Lily hugged her bear tighter. What if Colt comes back? She asked. He won't. One of the prospects said too quickly. Wrench shot him a look. If he does, he won't get past us, he corrected. That's what you meant. The kid swallowed and nodded. Marcus forced himself to turn away from the window. Why would Cole keep coming after her? He asked. He already tried in the blizzard.
Why risk coming here? Wrench rubbed a hand over his jaw. That's what Reaper's trying to figure out, he said. That's what he went to the yard for. To corner him. Force him to talk. And if he doesn't? Marcus pressed. Then we make sure he never gets close again. It was meant to sound reassuring, but it landed like a threat aimed at the wrong person. Marcus looked at the map still spread out on the coffee table. The rail yard sat at the center of that triangle of red marks, a forgotten patch of land most people in Denver drove past without seeing. To Marcus, it felt like the center of something else too, a place where his old life and this new one were about to collide.
Lily tugged on his sleeve. 'Can you sit with me?' She asked. I don't like how the room sounds now. He glanced around. 'How does it sound?' She said simply. He couldn't argue with that. They sat on the couch again, side by side. Lily leaned into him, small and solid, like an anchor he hadn't realized he needed. The TV remained off. The only sounds were wrenches pacing. The faint hum of the refrigerator down the hall, and the distant echo of pipes clanking somewhere in the walls. Tell me a story, Lily said suddenly. A story? Marcus repeated. Daddy always said stories make waiting easier, she said. He used to tell me ones about when he was younger. Before the bikes. Before the club.
Marcus tried to picture Reaper without the leather, without the beard and the scars and the weight of an entire chapter of bikers behind him. The image wouldn't come. I don't know his stories, Marcus said. I only know mine. Then tell me yours, Lily said. All of it. Not just the sad parts. He hesitated. Nobody had ever asked for his whole story before. People wanted the headlines. Homeless kid. Dead mom. Runaway. They didn't ask about the spaces in between. The moments that made a person more than a tragedy. If I tell you mine, he said slowly, you have to tell me yours too. Deal. Lily thought about it, then nodded. Deal. So he started. He told her about the tiny apartment he'd shared with his mom near Union Station, the way the train's distant horns had become part of their lullaby at night.
He told her about sneaking into Rocky's games when the gates opened, watching from the very last row and pretending they belonged in the good seats. He told her about the day a social worker came to the hospital room and said, 'We're going to find a good place for you. Like good places were easy to come by.' He skipped the worst parts. The knights in alleys. The hands that reached too slowly with help or too quickly with harm. Some events he'd never say out loud. Not to a seven-year-old. Maybe not. To anyone. Lily listened like the story was a rope she was holding onto. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment. Then she whispered, 'You should have had more people.' Marcus frowned. What do you mean?
She said. 'More people who stayed, like my dad and the bikers. Like Wrench. People who come back after they leave.' The observation struck deeper than she knew. He cleared his throat. Okay, your turn. She shrugged, staring at the floor. My story's not as big. It doesn't have to be big, Marcus said. Just true. She took a breath. I was born in California, she said. Daddy says I came out screaming so loud the dog almost dropped me. He took me for little rides when I was a baby. Not on the bike. In the car. But he'd make motorcycle noises so I'd stop crying. Marcus smiled despite everything. We moved to Colorado when I was four, Lily continued. Mom wanted me to go to a normal school and not grow up in a clubhouse.
That's what she said. face twisted. They fought a lot. Not like hitting. Just yelling. Then one day, Mom said we were leaving. She said Daddy's world wasn't safe. He said he could make it safe. She didn't believe him. Her fingers picked at a loose thread on the bear's ear. She told me Daddy chose the club over us, Lily said. But Daddy said he was building the club so he could protect us. I didn't know who to believe. I just knew I missed one of them, no matter which house I was in. That feeling, Marcus knew— too well, the wrong kind of choice.
Don't wait until it's too late to stay. Asterisk. Lily swallowed hard. When the blizzard came, mom was mad at daddy on the phone, she said. She said he'd sent someone to get me without asking. Daddy said he didn't. Then there was a knock on the door. Colt, Marcus said quietly. I didn't know his name, she replied. He smiled at me. Said he'd take me to daddy. I wanted that so bad. Mom said no. He got mad. His eyes changed. He said, 'You can't keep her from him forever.' Then, her voice trembled. Then everything went too fast. A bag. The car. The snow. And then he was gone, and I was alone. Marcus's jaw clenched. He lied to both of you, he said. That's what people like that do.
They use the truth just enough to make the lie. Lie stick. Lily looked up at him. Do you think Daddy could ever lie like that? The question cut through him. He thought about the DNA test, the unanswered questions about Sarah and Nina, and who had protected him and who had left him exposed. He thought about Reaper's face in the maintenance room when their eyes first met. That flash of recognition and something like guilt. I think, Marcus said carefully, that your dad lies to keep people safe. That doesn't make it okay. But it's not the same kind of like Colt tells. Colt lies to hurt people. Your dad lies because he thinks the truth will hurt more. Lily considered this, then nodded slowly. I don't want him to lie to me anymore, she said.
Then you tell him that when he gets back, Marcus said, 'You make him promise, out loud, so he can't pretend he didn't know.' The word went hung between them. fragile.