We’re headed toward the interstate, several miles from town, and I wonder how far he’s planning to go to get food. Or if that was just a ploy to get me to go with him. The next town down the interstate is at least ten miles. As we approach the overpass, I expect him to make the turn onto one of the ramps, but he takes neither. Instead, he slows the bike as we approach the truck stop on the other side of the overpass and makes the turn. At first, I think maybe he just needs gas, but he veers off toward the restaurant side and parks.
“The truck stop? Really?” I ask with a smile as we climb off and stow the helmets.
“They have great burgers and awesome fries. Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He guides me with a hand at the small of my back and holds the door for me. I can’t help but wonder if we’re meeting one of his club brothers.
Sly leads me to an empty booth.
A moment later, a waitress approaches with a pot of coffee. She turns our cups right side up in the saucers and begins filling his without asking.
“You want coffee, honey?” she asks me.
I nod and she fills my cup, then lingers a moment, studying me. I look over at Sly, who’s grinning, which make me frown, not sure of what’s going on.
“Ma, this is Michaela Mooney. Michaela, this is my mom.”
I’m sure my eyes get as big as saucers and my mouth falls open. “Your mother?”
“Mooney’s daughter?” the woman asks, turning to peer down at Sly with as much surprise as me.
He nods his head, still grinning like a fool, then crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. “She sure is, Ma.”
“She’s pretty.”
“Beautiful,” he agrees.
“I’m sorry about your father, dear. Everyone in town loved him.”
“Thank you.”
“How long have you known my boy?”
“Not long. A month, maybe.”
“How’d you two meet?”
I can see he’s worried about what I’ll say. It seems his mother’s opinion is important to him. “He … came in to pay his respects one day.”
She nods, and suddenly the wall she has up drops, and her face lights with a smile. “You two hungry? We got some chicken fried steak tonight.”
Sly nods. “Bring us both a plate, Ma.”
“Nice meeting you, Michaela.” She gives Sly a smile like they’re sharing some secret, and then moves off to place our food order.
I lean forward. “You brought me to meet your mother?” I’ve never been introduced to a man’s family before, but I’m pretty sure it’s kind of a big deal.
“Yeah, why?”
I sit back, confused by his reaction. I look around the place. “So, she’s a waitress at a truck stop.”
“Something wrong with that?” he snaps, lifting his mug.
I shake my head. “No, not at all, just … unexpected. What does your father do for a living?”
“He was a long-haul trucker.”
“Was? What does he do now?”
“Nothing. He’s dead. He was murdered when I was twelve.”
“Oh, Sly, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“Picked up a hitchhiker. Guy robbed him and killed him. All for forty-four bucks and an old watch.”
“That must have been very hard on you, to lose your father so young.”
“Ma and I got by.”
I study him. The memory affects him, whether he wants it to or not. I can relate. The pain of losing a father must linger for a lifetime, no matter how hard you try to get beyond it. In Sly’s face, I see my future. Years from now, I’ll be just as affected by my da’s death as he still is by his father’s murder.
We were having fun, and now I feel like I’ve somehow ruined it. I look out the window, hoping to change the subject. “I like your bike.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up and he leans forward. “Yeah?”
I nod. “I think I’m addicted. I want one.”
He chuckles. “Oh, you do, do you? I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a ride on the back of mine anytime you want, kitten.”
I take a sip of my coffee, smiling behind the rim. “Watch out. I may take you up on that.”
“Hoping you do.”
“You’re serious?”
“Don’t say shit I don’t mean, doll.”
I study his face. I know he means every word of that statement. “That’s what scares me.”
“Why?” He searches my face. “Don’t want you scared of me, Michaela. That’s the last thing I want you to feel about me.”
“So you’ll be straight with me? Always?”
He sets his coffee down and takes one of my hands in his, stroking his thumb over the back. “I’ll be as straight with you as I can be, barring club business. Got my word.”
I decide to test him. “All right. So who’s the chick you carry that helmet around for? It’s obviously sized for a girl.”
“Did it fit you good?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up. “You. Been carrying it around for you.”
“What?”
“Bought it two weeks ago. Glad I guessed the size right.”
“You bought it for me? Why?”
“’Cause I knew eventually I’d put you on the back of my bike.”
My heart skips a beat and I forget to breathe. “What do you want from me, Sly?”
“More than you think.”
“How much more?”
“Everything. As much as you’ll give me, and I ain’t talkin’ about sex. I’m talkin’ about you.”
I can feel my heart start again, and now it’s racing. My skin flushes. I was so not ready for that answer. He reads my reaction.
“You asked for it straight. I’m givin’ it to you.”
I’m saved from responding by his mother returning with our food. She sets the plates before us. The helpings are huge.
“Oh, my, that smells delicious.” I make polite conversation, but on the inside, my mind is reeling from his admission. He’s way more interested in me than I thought he was. This is all more than I expected.
“Enjoy.” She smiles, winks at Sly, and leaves us alone.
I pick up my napkin-wrapped silverware and unroll it with shaking hands. By the time I’ve smoothed my napkin on my lap, Sly’s already digging into his food.
“You eat up here a lot?” I change the subject to something benign, something safer as I cut a small bite and slip it into my mouth.
His eyes follow my actions, lingering on my lips before lifting to my eyes. “Some. When I get a chance, which isn’t all that often. Besides”—he jerks his head toward his mother behind the counter, pouring coffee for a truck driver—“every time she lays eyes on this cut”—he jams his thumb toward his leather vest—“she gets all worked up. Brings up bad memories for her. Sometimes I stay gone just so I’m not a reminder to her.”
I frown. “A reminder of what?”
He stares at his plate and moves the food around with his fork. Once again I feel like I’ve stumbled into uncertain territory. Sly told me he’d be truthful; maybe he’s already regretting that promise. Just when I think he’s not going to answer me, he starts talking, softly and with a distance in his voice.