Page 2 of Tangled Threats on the Nomad Highway
His shaking hand hovered over it, muscles inhis arm shuddering and cramping. In a flash, his fingers clenched,and his elbow bent until he smashed knuckles against the side ofhis head. Once, twice, a third time before he bent over thecountertop, breathing hard through the blooming ache.
“Einstein…Dancer.Brother.” The painin Retro’s voice was real, bleeding straight through from his soul,and it shattered Einstein’s control to hear it. “You gotta let mehelp you.”
Hands to the edge of the counter, Einsteinsquatted and sucked in great huge breaths, forehead pressingagainst the smooth wood of the cabinet doors. “I don’t know what todo, Jerry.” He rocked in place, lightly battering his head againstthe hard surface. “I can’t get past it. Can’t do it. Not at all.She’s right here—” He smashed knuckles against his temple again.“All the time, man. All the time, and I can’t get past it.”
“You’re not supposed to get past it,brother.” A hand landed on his to deflect the next blow; then anarm wrapped around his waist and lifted. “You’re never gonna getpast it. But I promise you, it’ll get easier.” Still a dead weightin Retro’s hold, Einstein let himself be guided to his feet. At thelast instant, he scrambled for the jar, knocking it into the sinkbefore his fingers landed on Lauren’s toothbrush. Plucking it fromthe shards of glass, he cradled it to his chest as he stood moreupright but still leaned against Retro. He felt his brother’sshoulders lift in a pained sigh. “Come on, brother. Past time forme to get your ass outta here.”
It took an hour, but eventually, he wasdressed and standing in the living room. He stared at the couch,remembering the visible terror on Lauren’s face over the gag shovedinto her mouth. Einstein’s nail raked against the bristles of hertoothbrush before he tucked it into the inside pocket of his vest,fastening the button closed with a forceful push of his thumb.
“Come on, man.” Retro’s hand landed in themiddle of his back, discharging heat through the leather and intoEinstein’s spine. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“Fuck, man. Don’t know if the bike’ll eventurn over after this long.” He stepped into the kitchen, surprisedat the sudden order that had been restored. The table sat in thecorner near a bench he’d built specifically for Makayla, the fewunbroken chairs lined up on the other sides, pushed underneath asif ready for a hand to claim them. Smashed dishes and pieces ofshattered wood had been swept to the side, dented pots and pansplaced in the sinks. “You didn’t have to do this, Jerry.”
“Bike’ll start.” Retro kept up an insistentpressure, pushing him towards the outside door. “And you know Idon’t do anything I don’t want to, brother. Now come on.”
The door closed behind him, and he wasstartled at the heat and humidity rolling through the air. Helooked around, shocked how nothing seemed familiar. His bike was inthe right place, but instead of bright chrome and dark paint, itwas a lump of fabric.
Following Retro over, he watched as the mantook off the cover, using edges of the fabric to slap at dust thathad settled on the seat. A battery-minder was plugged into apigtail that hadn’t been there before, and the idea of needing abattery charger in Alabama nearly made him laugh. He was familiarwith them, sure, because East Coast winters were no joke.Philly, sure, but’Bama?
“You been busy.”
Retro tilted his head and cut over a look sofilled with anger Einstein took a step back. “You wouldn’t let medo anything else, brother. So I took it upon myself to do what youwouldn’t see and couldn’t complain about.” Retro straightened,shoulders going back as he turned to face Einstein. “And the onlything you need to take out of this little sass session is yourbike’ll fuckin’ start, so get your ass in the saddle, man.”
Stalking past Einstein, Retro reached outand clasped his forearm, fingers tight around muscle and bone.There and gone, but piled onto the contact from before, it was themost he’d been touched in—No, I’m not going there.
The familiar blat of Retro’s old-fashionedstraight pipes filled the air, and Einstein hustled towards hisride, fumbling with the pigtail as he unplugged and set the cordfrom the charger aside. Then he slung a leg over the seat in a movethat felt as natural as breathing, straightened the bike betweenhis legs, and clicked the knob on the tank to activate theelectronics.
Everything looked good.
Tank was full of fuel, neutral was lit up ingreen, and the whine of the injectors told him the bike was inworking order. He strapped on his helmet and bouncedexperimentally, then leaned over to double-check the tires. Just ashe was about to climb off and give them a kick, Retro’s pipesblatted again, and he looked up to see his president and friendstaring at him, helmeted head shaking back and forth slowly.
“Trust me,” Retro mouthed, and Einsteincould only nod in response.
He pressed his thumb to the button and thebike turned over as if he’d ridden it earlier that same day, as ifthere’d been no time between then and now. Einstein shoved thatvicious blade deep inside him, holding on to the tiny bit ofhappiness that nothing would get between him and the windtoday.
He’d been doing things the other way formonths. Anything that brought him pleasure also carried pain, andup till now, it had been the bloody ribbons of self-hatred he clungto hardest.
He rolled past the two vehicles in thedriveway, steadfastly ignoring them, disregarding their dustycondition, more proof that he’d been sucked into a time vortex andhadn’t been able to escape. Retro waited patiently at the edge ofthe road, and Einstein pulled up as if to T-bone the man’s bike,leaning far over his handlebars to shout, “Where are weheaded?”
Retro stared at him, then shrugged, thesomber expression not leaving his face. “No destination,” he calledback. “Just…forward.”
Einstein kicked his bike back a few inchesand nodded, rolling onto the pavement behind Retro as they rode upthe street.
This? No decisions, no reminders of whathe’d lost, just paying attention to his brother’s signals androlling free. He could do this.
I’ve had worse days.
***
Hand slackening on the throttle, Einsteinallowed a gap to develop between Retro’s bike and his, having onlynow realized where this section of the road would take them.
It had been a good day. They’d run two tanksof fuel through the bikes, gone nearly state to state in theirwest-to-east and back-to-west trek, and played for hours on thesmall, curving roads through the national forests surroundingBirmingham. Lunch had been cold beer and hot burgers at a roadsidediner where the matronly waitress served up the food along with aside of jokes and good humor.
And now, they were two minutes from roundinga curve after which the clubhouse would be on the right-hand sideof the road.
Einstein had no doubts the route wasintentional. Oh, not during the ride. That had been pure chance,flipping coins occasionally to pick a left- or right-hand turn. Butnow Retro was going to demand something from Einstein he didn’tknow if he could pay.
You can and will,he imagined himselfsaying to someone else.Brothers don’t stop being brothersbecause of a loss.Einstein knew if he walked into theclubhouse, there’d be no dancing around him on eggshells. Hisbrothers would take his presence at face value and assume itsignaled a willingness to resume his former life. They wouldn’tsquawk over feelings, or how shitty it was to lose loved ones.They’d be as supportive as he allowed, their love as good asgold.
