Chapter 5
1098 Words
Sam
The party's been going for hours now, and most of my friends left around eleven. It's just the crew now—Dad's guys, the ones who've been around forever. The music's lower, conversations quieter, and there's this shift in the energy that I can't quite name.
I'm sitting at the bar nursing a Coke, watching.
Knox is over by the workbench again. He's been there most of the night, I realize. Not in the center of things, but positioned where he can see everything. See me. Every time I've moved—to the bathroom, to grab another drink, to say goodbye to my friends—I've caught him tracking my movement. Not in a creepy way. More like... a guardian. Like he's making sure I'm okay.
It's weird. Knox has always been around, always been friendly, but tonight there's something different about the way he's watching. Protective. Careful.
I take another sip of my Coke and glance at my dad. He's talking to Bobbie near the office door, but his eyes keep flicking to the clock on the wall. He's done it at least five times in the last ten minutes. His jaw's tight, and there's this tension in his shoulders that wasn't there earlier.
"You good, Dad?" I call over.
He looks at me and his face softens immediately. "Yeah, princess. Just keeping track of time. You getting tired?"
"Not really." I shrug. "I'm good."
He nods, but the tension doesn't leave. He says something low to Bobbie, and Bobbie glances at the clock too before nodding.
That's when I notice it.
The way the guys are positioned. The way some of them keep looking toward the back office. The way the conversation near me
drops to a murmur when I walk past, then picks back up once I'm out of earshot.
I've been to the shop a million times. Done homework here, hung out after school, helped clean up after parties just like this one. But tonight, I'm seeing things I didn't notice before.
There's a duffel bag near the corner by the tool cabinets—black, worn, with a patch I don't recognize. Another one by the couch in the break room. Sleeping bags rolled up and stacked against the wall. A coffee maker that's clearly been used recently, mugs in the sink that weren't there this morning.
Some of the guys are staying here. Living here, maybe.
Why?
I watch as Bobbie checks his watch, then nods to my dad. My dad straightens, says something to the group near him, and suddenly three guys—Bobbie, Ricky, and another one I don't know as well—head toward the back office. The door closes behind them with a quiet click.
A meeting. At midnight. On my graduation night.
I glance around the room. Knox is still at his post, but now he's watching the office door too. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in the set of his jaw that tells me he knows exactly what's happening back there.
My dad stays out here with me, leaning against the bar, smiling like everything's normal. But his eyes keep drifting to that closed door.
"Dad," I say, keeping my voice light. "What's the meeting about?"
He doesn't miss a beat. "Just some shop stuff. Boring business talk. Nothing you need to worry about."
"On a Saturday night? After my graduation party?"
"Business doesn't stop for parties, Sam. You know that." He ruffles my hair like I'm still a kid, and I let him, but my brain is working overtime now.
I've heard that line before. "Business doesn't stop." He's said it a hundred times—early mornings, late nights, weekends when he's
had to leave suddenly or take a call in another room. I never questioned it because he always came back. Always made time for me.
Always showed up.
But now I'm wondering what kind of business requires meetings at midnight. What kind of business has guys sleeping at the shop with go-bags packed and ready.
I think about this morning. The ride on the bike. The way all the guys showed up at the traffic light, perfectly timed, like they'd planned it. The way they moved together, this tight unit that's always been there but I never really saw.
The confetti blasters at graduation. The way my dad had one hidden in his sleeve, the way my father can make a call and have any situation handled. No mater the time or day. They are all coordinated and organized.
I look at Knox again. He's cleaning up bottles, but his posture is too alert. Too aware. He's not just a guy who works at the shop. He's part of something.
They all are.
And I'm not.
The realization settles over me like a weight. Not scary. Not threatening. Just... there. My dad and his crew—the men who've been my family my whole life—they're part of something I don't know about. Something they've kept from me deliberately.
The office door opens, and Bobbie steps out first, followed by Ricky and the other guy. They look serious, focused, but when Bobbie sees me watching, his face shifts into that familiar grin.
"Hey, princess. You still awake?"
"Yeah," I say. "Just enjoying the party."
"Good. It's your night." He claps my dad on the shoulder as he passes, and there's this look between them—quick, silent, understood.
My dad relaxes slightly. Whatever was discussed in that office, it's handled.
For now.
I finish my Coke and set the can down on the bar. My dad's talking to someone else now, laughing at a joke I didn't hear. Knox is still in his corner, still watching. The shop smells like oil and beer and years of history I'm only just starting to see.
I've spent my whole life in this world—riding on the back of my dad's bike, hanging out with these guys, being part of this family.
But I've been seeing the surface. The version they wanted me to see.
I'm seventeen now. Graduated. Not a kid anymore.
And I'm done pretending I don't notice.
I don't know what they're hiding. I don't know what the meetings are about, or why some of the guys are living here, or what kind of business my dad is really running. But I know it's something. Something bigger than a motorcycle shop and a group of friends who like to ride together.
I'm not scared. I'm not angry.
But I need answers.
And I'm going to get them.
- Writer
