by B. N. Toler
Darting his gaze to mine, he frowned. “I don’t understand.” I couldn’t explain to him I was Liam. I couldn’t explain he’d bought my bike, my most prized possession, just so I’d have money to keep a roof over my head, and held it for me even though it didn’t seem likely I’d be buying it back anytime soon. And had my foolish pride not been in the way, he would’ve let me crash on his couch if I’d needed to. He was a true friend, through and through. I’d been damn lucky to have a friend like him.
“Good deeds render good luck. Today is your lucky day. Open your own shop, man.” Reaching my hand out, he took it and we shook, his face was void of any expression. He didn’t know what to say—he was in shock. I know it was Max’s money I was giving to him, and maybe that was wrong, but Lenny, in a way, saved my life at some point. I needed a roof over my head, and he gave me one, which led to me saving Max’s life. Swinging my leg over the bike, I sat. “Thank you, Lenny.” The words meant more than he could have known. He thought I was thanking him for the work he’d done on the bike; it was so much more for me.
“I’ll repay you,” he offered.
“No. You don’t owe me a thing.”
There was a knot in my throat when I fired up the bike as I realized this might be the last time I ever saw him—that this might be my goodbye. When my body came off life support, I had no idea what would happen. I didn’t look back, though. I couldn’t. I drove away knowing I’d given my friend a chance to do more; be more. No matter what happened, I could rest easy knowing he had a chance to make our dream come true.
When I opened my eyes, I was in bed. Max’s bed. It wasn’t where I’d fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning, but I guessed Max must’ve carried me to bed.
“Liam,” I reminded myself. When I committed to giving him this last day, he made me promise to call him Liam which would be difficult considering he was Max. At least, physically. “Ugh . . . I’m insane,” I groaned into my pillow. Was I really doing this?
Yes. Yes, I was.
I’d agreed to it with hesitation, but in the hours that followed, I was more accepting. Liam and I had stayed up all night talking. He told me a million stories about his childhood and Helen. He listened to everything I spoke about from school, to Pim, to my dreams. It was one of the best nights of my life.
Sitting up, I looked over at Pim’s travel crib, and she was gone. I smiled. Liam must’ve gotten her so I could sleep. Climbing out of bed, I hurried into the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair before heading out to the living room.
I found the living room empty and made my way to the kitchen where I found Helen feeding a pancake to Pim that she’d just cut up.
Pim gurgled in excitement when she caught sight of me causing Helen to turn.
“Good morning,” she stated quietly. “Did you sleep well?”
She seemed . . . awkward. Or I felt awkward. Or, it was just really awkward. I’d agreed to go along with all this for one more day, but that didn’t mean there weren’t reservations. Maybe I was insane for wanting to believe Liam, and maybe Helen was, too. Or maybe I was insane and Helen was smart playing on a mentally ill man to have him pay her brother’s hospital bills.
“Yeah, I slept good,” I finally answered. “Hi, baby,” I cooed to Pim as I bent down and ate a piece of pancake out of her hand, making her giggle.
“There’s coffee.” Opening a cabinet, she pulled out a mug and handed it to me.
“Thanks. Where’s Ma . . .” I paused. Did I have to call him Liam with her, too? I blinked a few times, embarrassed. “Where is he?”
“He left about an hour ago. Said he’d be back soon.”
I frowned wondering where he could have gone. Helen busied herself washing dishes while I made my coffee. The silence between us was awful. There was so much I wanted to say to her; ask her, but I had no idea where to start.
Helen let out a loud sigh as she turned off the faucet. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“Yes,” I practically groaned, thankful she brought it up and I didn’t have to. She chuckled a little. “I’m sure you can understand my skepticism here.”
“Definitely,” she agreed as she pulled her hair tie out, letting her red hair billow down before gathering her locks to tie up again. “When he first came to me as Max and told me this story . . . I didn’t know what to think. Liam had been lying in a bed, half dead for days and this man shows up and tells me he’s my brother.”
“How did you end up believing him?”
“I didn’t believe him. At least, not right away. Then, I don’t know. He knew everything about me, things only Liam would know,” she explained as she wiped the counter. “I was scared,” she admitted. “Was I crazy to believe it? I knew I was devastated. My brother was dying. Was I just so desperate for him to live that I’d buy into this crazy story just to have him back, no matter what form he was in?”
I bobbed my head once in understanding.
“But it wasn’t just the stories. There were other signs. He moves like Liam. He even quirks his mouth on one side and smirks just like my brother. The mannerisms, the humor . . .” she shook her head. “It was all Liam.”
“You know how this looks, though, right?”
“How’s that?” she questioned with a speculative brow.
“I mean . . .” I twisted my mouth while I tried to decide how to word what I wanted to say. There was no way to put it delicately. “Like you’re using a mentally ill man to pay your brother’s medical bills.”
Her brow lifted slightly as her head reared back. I’d offended her. Slowly her features relaxed as I watched her absorb what I’d said. “I hadn’t thought about that, but I guess it might look like that to someone who didn’t believe him.” Then, she fixed her intent gaze on mine. “I guess that’s why he’s lucky that we do.”
Her expression went stoic as she stared at me. It was a challenge. She wanted me to confirm it. She wanted me to voice I’d picked a side in the Max is insane versus Liam is Max war.
That was fair, I guessed, but there was a problem. It was hard to say it, and I realized I couldn’t. Not until I believed it wholeheartedly. I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud. I would stay and spend this day with him. I’d stay until they took Liam’s body off life support. But saying I believe? To make my tongue curl around the words as they poured out of my mouth? I wasn’t ready for that.
Since I couldn’t say what she wanted me to, I said something else, something honest. “I’m scared.”
It was the most honest thing I could say. Before I knew it, Helen had her arms wrapped around me, her body wracking gently with quiet sobs. “If it makes you feel better,” she wept. “I’m scared, too.”
And for a moment, I let my suspicions about Helen slip away as I put my arms around her. What if she wasn’t a scammer? What if she was just like me; incredibly doubtful but tremendously hopeful. Was it that impossible to believe we were two women wanting to believe in Liam—to believe in the impossible? Even though I doubted her—hell, I doubted myself—it was nice to believe that whatever happened we were in it together.
When she pulled away, she wiped at her face. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re his sister,” I noted before taking my mug from the counter and sipping. “I know this must be awful for you.”
“He’s my best friend,” she agreed.
My chest tightened with her words. I couldn’t imagine losing Matt. I opened my mouth to say something, comfort her, but the front door opened, and Liam announced in his best imitation of Ricky Ricardo, “Honey . . . I’m home!”
Helen and I both chuckled as she rushed to finish cleaning up her face before he made his way into the kitchen. By the time he entered, she’d done a decent job of pulling herself together, but as soon as he saw her, his smile dropped. She smiled brightly, a little too brightly to hide she’d just been in tears as he glanced from her to me, then back to her.
“Oh, Waverly,” she preened as she grabbed both my hands. “I have somet
hing to show you.”
“Helen,” he groaned.
“What? The woman you love deserves to see your photos.”
My brows rose with her words. Love? Did he love me? How did I feel about that? Flicking my gaze to his, I noticed his cheeks were slightly tinted with red. She’d embarrassed him. As scary as those words had been, I couldn’t help smiling as Helen drug me through the kitchen into the dining room. Pulling a chair out for me, she plunked me down in it before sitting beside me.
“Liam, can you clean Pim up please?” Helen called.
“I got her,” he muttered, clearly not excited about her showing me the photos, “but make it quick, Helen; Waverly and I have plans.” Twisting my neck, I looked over my shoulder and found him in the doorway staring at me. My core clenched as heat washed over me. Max was a handsome man, but it wasn’t how he looked that stirred things in me. This was different. I felt him; I could feel his want in his stare. And there it was. I realized I was staring at Max, but it wasn’t Max staring back at me.
It was Liam.
I believed him.
After an hour and a half, I had to rescue Waverly. My sister had shown her every photo she possessed of me and proceeded to tell her eight thousand stories about me, all of which made me sound like a doofus. I’m not a modest man; I knew I wasn’t that good looking, or that interesting for that matter, so there was no doubt in my mind Waverly had probably had enough and was ready to flee the apartment from sheer boredom.
Thirty minutes later, Waverly emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a tank top and a pair of jeans, her hair sleek and billowing over her shoulders. She’d done her makeup, her eyes lined dark like a pin-up girl, and her perfect lips were glossed. Taking note of her attire, I fought the growl of frustration I wanted to let out. How did she look that sexy in something as simple as jeans and a tank? Every asshole we passed would probably be gawking at her. It was going to be a long afternoon.
“What the hell is that?” Waverly asked as she pointed, jerking me from my thoughts as I stared at her, stupefied.
It took me a moment to make my tongue work again. “Your helmet,” I informed her as I held it out to her.
She stared at it blankly. “That’s for me?”
“Well, as nice as hot pink would look on Max, I don’t think it’s really his color,” I snarked. I was pretty proud of myself. I’d managed to get her a helmet that matched the one I’d gotten for Pimberly.
Glancing at Helen, Waverly bit her lip, her expression uncertain.
“He’s a great rider,” Helen assured her as she followed Pim around on her Power Wheels trike. Pim had gotten the hang of it and was now driving her tiny bike like a pro. If the thing went over .5 miles per hour, I had no doubt she’d be trying to pop wheelies.
“Our father taught him,” Helen continued.
Her lip was still caught between her teeth before she inhaled and released a hesitant breath. “Promise you’ll go slow.”
Holding my right hand up like I was swearing in for testimony I said, “We’re in New York,” I pointed out. “There’s not a lot of wide open road to speed down. But yes, I promise. Now come on.” Reaching my hand out, I waited for her to take it. She glanced at it reluctantly before flicking her eyes to me. Settling her hand in mine, she revealed a breathtaking smile that nearly knocked the wind out of me.
“You two have fun,” Helen chuckled.
Once we were outside, I tugged my helmet on and tightened the strap while Waverly stared at me, uncertainty riddled in her eyes. With a gentle smile, I pried her helmet from her grip and put it on her head.
“I probably look ridiculous,” she griped, her lip curled up in distaste.
I chuckled as I adjusted her strap. “You look fine,” I assured her. “Now, here for your riding pleasure,” I twisted around, facing the bike, lifting my hands in presentation of the tremendous machine before us, “is the Panhead.”
“Is it safe?”
I cast her a look that asked, Are you serious? “Do you think I’d put you on it if it weren’t safe?”
She ignored my question, nodding a few times. “It looks . . . pretty.” She gave a small shrug.
“Pretty?” I gasped as I looked at her as if she were mad. “Pretty?”
“Yes, Liam,” she muttered as she adjusted her helmet. “It’s pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Ethereal.”
Shaking my head, I stepped off the sidewalk and rounded the bike, feigning disappointment in her basic description. “This isn’t just pretty,” I scolded. “Here before you, beautiful woman, you see a rare moving piece of history.”
“I know,” she groaned, clearly not impressed.
“You know?” I laughed like she was ridiculous. “Woman, you know nothing.”
Quirking a brow, she stepped off the sidewalk and ran her fingers delicately over the handlebars of the bike. “This is a 1948 Panhead,” she announced, her voice sultry. “Harley only made this bike between 1948 and 1965, modifying it to the Knucklehead, then the Shovelhead. Though the three have few differences, their motors were redesigned and built with each version; their model names describing the shape of the engines themselves. This Panhead,” she continued as she ran one teasing finger over the seat and then the back fender, cutting me a sassy glance, “happens to be uber unique because in 1949, Harley changed the front end to a hydro-glide.”
When she reached me, she walked her two fingers up my stomach to my chest, before tapping my nose. “Like I said,” she whispered, “it’s pretty.”
I stared at her, stunned as she spun around and leaped back on the sidewalk. When she glanced back at me, she gave a little shrug. “I did some research.”
“I see that,” I rasped.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just . . .” I blinked a few times. “I’m turned on.” That was an understatement. The information she divulged was basic, she’d probably just looked it up on the internet, but the fact she even took the time to do it . . . and that sexy as hell voice she used as she spoke had my blood pumping. Sexy woman talking about a sexy bike equaled a worked up Liam.
She must’ve noted my excitement because she groaned in mock annoyance. “Okay, Liam. Are we going to ride this thing or not?”
Throwing my leg over the bike, I steadied it. “These aren’t usually two-seater bikes, so I had to put a sticky pad on the finder for you to sit on.”
“Swell,” she said dryly as she climbed on behind me. “Sounds super safe.”
“If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to, ya know?” There was nothing I wanted more than to ride with her, but I knew she was anxious about it. I didn’t want her to feel like she was being forced.
“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t,” she quipped back. That I didn’t doubt. “Besides,” she sighed, “Today seems like a perfect day to do all kinds of crazy. Ya know,” she pondered, “Believe another man is inhabiting my ex’s body. Ride a motorcycle with said inhabiter.”
I chuckled even though her words caused me some alarm. I knew what I asked her to believe sounded insane and she hadn’t had a long time to process it. Her words made me wonder if she was still having doubts that I was telling the truth. Having her trust and faith was important to me. Brushing off the worries, at least for the time being, I decided to give it the day. I wanted her to spend a day with me, all secrets exposed, and give her a chance to decide. I knew there was a difference between her wanting to believe me and actually believing me.
Before starting the bike, I gave her a few instructions on what to do with her feet and how not to lean in turns and so on. Reaching behind me, I grabbed her arms and wrapped them around me, pressing them to my chest. “Just hold on tight,” I instructed her. “You’ll be fine.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To see a friend,” I answered.
Walking the bike out a little, I hit the kick start, and it roared to life, vibrating beneath us. Waverly squeezed herself to me, and I couldn’t he
lp grinning. I wasn’t sure life could be any better than this; this moment. This was it. This was a moment I would never forget—a beautiful day to ride my bike with my woman.
Okay.
Neither were mine, technically, but for today I would pretend they were. It was quite possibly the last day of my life, and I would squeeze every drop out of it. As we sped off, my heart thundered in my chest because for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt happy.
If someone had asked me before climbing on the Panhead if I thought I would enjoy the ride, I would have said no. Like I said, it was a control issue. Putting my life in someone else’s hands, especially on a speeding motorcycle—hell no. It took a few minutes for my body to stop tensing and relax, but Liam wasn’t lying—he was a great driver. He didn’t speed or do any kind of crazy turns. He took it easy on me and for that, I was grateful. We rode for an hour, weaving in and out of the congested streets. When I’d agreed to ride with him, I’d imagined us flying down some long road, but navigating through the parking lot that was New York City, we didn’t get to go very fast. There was quite a bit of stop and go, but for my first time riding, I think it was best.
Eventually we ended up at the 5th Street Pier which has an amazing view of the Manhattan skyline. As we walked along the pier, the wooden planks creaking softly under our feet, Liam took my hand and laced our fingers together. The day was sunny, but there was a light breeze that seemed to make the heat tolerable. Stopping at the railing, I leaned on it, closing my eyes, letting the wind caress my face. This day felt perfect—too perfect. It was simple in the most literal definition of the word, but it was anything but simple. Sometimes it is in the plainest of moments we find the most beauty. A bike ride, a quiet walk hand in hand—it was heavenly. Liam came behind me placing his hands on the railing on each side of me, gently pressing his body to mine.
“What are you thinking?” he whispered.
