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1812 Words
STELLA'S POV
"Time starts now! Move it, move it!" Old Hank screamed over the roar of the engines on the dirt track outside.
I dropped to my knees on the hot asphalt of the pit area, grabbing the heavy air wrench. Beside me, Big Mike was already tearing the rear wheel off a racing cruiser. Training had officially begun, and the rules were brutal today. While the riders practiced their sharp turns and speed on the track, us mechanics were put under the stopwatch. We had strict time limits to change tires, swap out dirty spark plugs, and fix whatever mechanical problems Hank threw at us.
"I need that front tire changed in three minutes!" Hank shouted, pointing his greasy clipboard directly at my face. "If you take three minutes and one second, your rider loses his position on the starting grid! Go!"
"I am on it, Hank!" I yelled back over the noise.
"Don't just talk, hands move!" Big Mike barked from the next bay. "Cody is coming in hot for his second lap!"
I quickly learned that racing mechanics were under just as much pressure as the riders on the track. My hands were shaking from the heavy vibration of the tools, and sweat dripped directly into my eyes. Every single second felt like an hour. The smell of burning rubber and hot engine oil filled the garage.
"Two minutes left!" Cody called out from the seat of his bike, looking down at me nervously while his engine idled loudly. "Can you get the front axle bolt tight, Shorty? I need to get back out there before Travis beats my lap time!"
"Stop talking and let me work!" I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead with my sleeve.
In my rush to beat the clock, I grabbed the heavy torque wrench and pulled until my arm muscles burned. My instinct told me the bolt was tight enough. I had done this a hundred times before. I decided to skip using the measurement gauge to save five valuable seconds, and I slammed the wheel spin-lock down with the palm of my hand.
"Done!" I shouted, raising my wrench into the air just as Hank’s stopwatch beeped loudly. "Two minutes and fifty seconds!"
Hank did not congratulate me. He walked over with a serious face, grabbed his own test wrench from his belt, and placed it on the front axle bolt I had just finished. He pulled. The bolt gave a loud click and turned another half-inch before stopping.
"What is this supposed to be?" Hank barked, glaring down at me with hard eyes.
"I... I tightened it by feel, Hank. It felt secure to me," I stammered, standing up slowly and wiping my dirty hands on my work pants.
"By feel? This is not a tractor on a farm, kid!" Hank scolded, his voice booming loud enough for the other mechanics and riders to hear. "If Cody hit a bump at ninety miles an hour on the highway with this bolt loose, that front wheel would wobble and throw him into the guardrail! You are relying way too much on your gut instinct instead of slowing down and checking your proper numbers. I do not care if you are the President's favorite helper—out here on the track, a lazy mistake kills a rider. Do it again, and do it right!"
My face instantly turned bright red. My chest tightened, and my stomach sank straight down to my boots. I did not say a word back to him. I just nodded my head, swallowed the lump in my throat, and grabbed my wrench again. I felt so embarrassed. I wanted all these experienced men to respect me as a real, professional mechanic, not just some kid who got special treatment because the club boss liked her. I bit my lip and finished the job in silence while the other guys watched.
By four o'clock in the afternoon, training was finally over for the day. I sat alone on a pile of wooden shipping pallets behind the back door of the garage, staring down at my dusty boots. I felt completely miserable. My hands were sore, and my pride was hurt.
"Hey," a deep, familiar voice said from the doorway.
I looked up. Cole was standing there, holding two black helmets by their chin straps. His dark hair was messy from riding in the wind all afternoon, and his leather vest was covered in road dust.
"I am busy, Cole," I lied, looking back down at the dirt floor. "I have to clean my tools."
"No, you are sitting out here feeling sorry for yourself," he said easily. He walked over and tossed one of the helmets directly into my lap. "Put that on your head. We are going for a ride."
"Where are we going?" I asked, frowning at the helmet.
"Just outside of town," Cole replied, nodding toward the parking lot. "You need some fresh air to clear your head after today. Come on, get your jacket. Do not make me drag you out there."
I sighed loudly, but I knew I could never say no to him. I grabbed my leather jacket, put the heavy helmet on, and followed him out to his custom black cruiser. I climbed onto the back seat, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist as he fired up the big V-twin engine.
We rode out past the city limits, leaving the noisy garage and the smoky highway behind us. The cool late-afternoon wind hit my face, and the steady, powerful rumble of Cole's engine slowly pushed the embarrassing memories of Hank's yelling out of my mind. The American desert landscape stretched out wide on both sides of the road. After twenty minutes, Cole pulled over at a quiet dirt lookout point that faced an open, rocky canyon.
Cole turned off the bike, kicked the stand down, and leaned back against the leather seat. He looked at me with a teasing smirk on his face. "So, Old Hank gave you a hard time out there today?"
"He yelled at me in front of everybody," I grumbled, taking off my helmet and resting it on my knee. "I just wanted to be fast, Cole. I did not want to let the race team down."
"Hank yells at everybody in the club," Cole laughed, pulling a pack of chewing gum from his jacket pocket and offering me a piece. "He yelled at me this morning because my drive chain was too dry. Do not let an old grumpy guy ruin your whole day."
"It is different for you," I said, taking the gum and chewing it slowly. "You are the road captain. Everybody already respects you. I am still trying to prove that I actually belong in that garage."
"You do belong here," Cole said firmly, bumping his shoulder against mine. "You have been here forever. Remember when you were twelve years old? You tried to prove you were a tough biker by stealing my old dirt bike from the back shed."
My eyes went wide with surprise. "Oh God, please do not remind me of that."
"You made it about fifty yards down the dirt road before you drove straight into Mr. Henderson's wooden chicken coop!" Cole burst out laughing, throwing his head back. "I spent three hours helping you catch those damn chickens in the dark before the President found out what you did!"
"You laughed at me the entire time!" I shouted, pushing his broad shoulder playfully with my hand. "I was covered in chicken feathers and wet mud, and you just stood there by the fence laughing your head off!"
"Because it was the funniest thing I have ever seen!" he said, his dark eyes smiling warmly at me. "You were so mad!"
I could not help it anymore. I started laughing too. The heavy knot in my chest finally melted away. My heart felt light, and the warm evening sun felt good on my skin. For the first time since he had come back from his cross-state trip, I was genuinely laughing out loud. I was not worrying about the other women surrounding him, and I was not stressing over my painful secret crush. I was just happy being right here with him, sharing our old memories.
We stayed out by the canyon until the sky turned orange and purple. By the time we rode back into the Iron Blade MC parking lot, the evening air was getting cold. The big garage doors were wide open, and several club members were sitting outside on folding lawn chairs, drinking cold sodas and beers after a long day of wrenching.
Big Mike saw us pull in and immediately pointed a greasy finger at us.
"Well, well, look at this!" Mike yelled out, grinning from ear to ear. "Cole took our little mechanic out for a romantic evening ride! What is the matter, Cole? Could you not find a date down at the local bar, so you had to take our shop girl out for a spin?"
"Yeah, Cole!" Dex chimed in from his chair, laughing loudly and raising his soda can. "Are you two courting now? Should we go tell the President to get his shotgun ready for a wedding?"
My face instantly grew hot. I knew I was blushing deeply, and I quickly looked down at the motorcycle handlebars so the older guys would not see my bright red cheeks. My heart beat fast against my ribs. Part of me secretly wished Cole would say something bold back to them—something that meant we really were dates, or that we were becoming more than just friends.
Cole just chuckled easily and shook his head, stepping off the machine.
"Shut your mouths, you idiots," Cole laughed, waving his hand at them like they were annoying flies. "Stop making up stories. You know damn well we have grown up together since we were kids. I was just making sure she did not cry about Hank yelling at her today."
The guys laughed again, clapping each other on the back, and went right back to their talking and drinking. Cole gave me a quick, easy wink and walked up the steps into the clubhouse to grab himself a cold drink.
I stood completely alone by his motorcycle in the fading light, the heat slowly leaving my cheeks. My shoulders dropped, and the familiar ache returned to my chest. His casual response reminded me that nothing had changed between us, even if my own feelings had.
I watched him disappear through the clubhouse doors, his laugh still hanging in the air behind him.
If he really saw me as just some kid he grew up with, then why did his hand always find my waist first when we hit a sharp turn on that bike?
- Writer
