The Novella Collection: A series of short stories for the Pushing the Limits series, Thunder Road series, and Only a Breath Apart

by Katie McGarry

  With her by my side? I’m ready for anything, too.

  Chapter 42

  Isaiah

  “It’s a damn fine motorcycle,” I say. I’m not that into bikes so that’s saying a lot. The motorcycle is a beautiful piece of machinery, and I can tell that this one has been customized by the hands of someone who has appreciation, reverence, and love for it.

  The clubhouse is packed with people, and they’re nearly as silent as they were when Oz proposed to Emily. The two of them left, rightly so. If anyone needs a few minutes alone to enjoy their moment, it’s them.

  “It’s your dad’s,” Eli says quietly, but there’s no doubt everyone standing in the large room heard. His statement becomes an echo in the room and in my brain.

  My dad.

  James McKinley.

  He was beloved by most of the people in this room, but I don’t remember him. I was still in diapers when he died. I didn’t even know he was my father until I was close to eighteen, and I didn’t know that I had family who would have wanted me until after eighteen.

  I cross my arms over my chest as I stare at the bike, trying to see the man who helped create me. According to Nina, my half-brother Chevy’s mom, James was in love with my mom, but my mom had a hard time committing to him. Knowing Mom like I do, I can see it, and I also know Mom regrets how she treated James in the past.

  My father was an undercover police officer, investigating a rival motorcycle club who was threatening his family. He laid the foundation of the case against the rival club that brought to justice people who needed to be off the streets. The current lead investigator of the rival club called my dad a hero.

  The bike is shiny, the silver chrome buffed to the point I can see myself in it. They say I look like my father, and I try to imagine what he would have looked like crouched low, working on the machine. Did he find the same peace of mind I do whenever he had a tool in his hand and was working to solve a problem? Did he also take on lost-cause projects because there was a satisfaction in knowing that you were one of the few who could resurrect the dead?

  “Did he ever ride it?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” With his hands shoved in his pockets, Eli looks at the bike like he’s lost in a memory. “One of the last things he did was rebuild the engine. The frame was a mess, but James rode it. I still remember the huge smile on his face when he heard it rumble for the first time. He and I, we rode around for hours after he got it working. That’s still one of the best nights of my life.”

  I think of Noah and all the nights he and I play basketball, shoot the breeze, sit in silence, and are there for each other. I think of Logan and how we work on cars together and still race each other at the local dragstrip. I think of Chevy and how he and I have formed a bond over the hours playing pool in smoky bars. Those have been some of the best nights of my life, too.

  I glance up and standing on the other side of the motorcycle is Rachel. She’s watching me with her beautiful, kind, blue eyes. I incline my head to the bike, and the right side of her mouth tips up. Want to ride?

  “Are you asking?” she says.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then sure.”

  “Hey, Eli?” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “I hear you’re going to need a paint job on your motorcycle. Why don’t you bring it to my garage in Louisville for the work? Then I can drive you back in a real piece of a machinery—my Mustang.”

  Eli’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean I need a paint job?”

  “On a night like tonight, is it important?” I ask.

  He immediately shakes his head. “Naw. I have a feeling this is also going to be one of the best nights of my life.”

  I gesture toward the bike. “Does this thing have keys?”

  He tosses the key to me. Shouts of approval and applause come from all around us as I straddle the bike and then help Rachel hop on. I start the engine, and there’s a satisfaction I wasn’t expecting.

  I’ve been on motorcycles before, but this ride feels different. Like how I felt the first time I got behind the wheel of a Mustang, the first time Noah and I laughed together, and the first time Rachel wrapped her arms around me. It feels like home.

  The crowd parts as I edge the motorcycle forward and soon others are mounting their bikes, starting their engines. Then there’s Eli on his bike beside me, grinning, as if the paint on his motorcycle is exactly the way he intended for it to be. He tilts his head for me to take the lead, and with my new family behind me, I do.

  Chapter 43

  Rachel

  “Rachel,” Isaiah says softly. His fingers gently touch my face. I suck in a cleansing breath as I turn my head toward him and open my eyes.

  I’m in the passenger seat of his Mustang. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the ride home from the McKinleys, but it had been a fun and exhausting evening. First Emily and Oz’s engagement, then the motorcycle ride with the club, dinner with the club, then hours talking with friends and family.

  Eli and Cyrus invited us to stay with either of them. Usually, we do stay, but Isaiah insisted that we head home, even though dawn was going to be breaking soon. As I was hugging and saying goodbye to people, I saw Isaiah deep in conversation with Eli and Cyrus. Whatever it was Isaiah was saying, they were intent on listening and even seemed to be offering advice. The only thing I heard was that they understood why he wanted to head home.

  I was curious as to what they were talking about—I’m still curious—but Isaiah will tell me when he’s ready.

  I blink away my exhaustion to find the morning sun reflecting against the windows of Tom’s garage. The place is old and more than a little rundown, but it’s well loved, and I’m one of the people who adores it. Still, I frown, confused about why we’re here. I was half expecting him to take me to his apartment or my parents’ house, but Tom’s garage wasn’t on my list.

  Combing a hand through my hair, I feel the thoughts start to connect. “Did the Mustang start acting up on the way here?” I told him that the radiator hose was wearing thin, but he was all insistent that it could last a bit longer.

  “No, I want to show you something.”

  I make a point of looking at my watch then slowly raise an eyebrow. It’s seven in the morning and besides my short nap, we’ve both been up for over twenty-four hours. “Show me what?”

  He cracks open his door. “It’s inside.”

  Stretching my stiff and lazy muscles, I also open my door, get out then shut it. I take a step and my leg gives. My hand slams downward, toward the car to steady myself, but I come in contact with Isaiah’s hand. He places his other hand on my hip to help until I find my balance.

  Since the car accident when I was a teen, when I’m exhausted, the muscles in my legs sometimes decide not to work right. Isaiah knows this, and I shouldn’t be surprised to find him by my side.

  “I can carry you,” he says.

  He would, too. I test my leg and it’s strong enough to hold my weight, so I shake my head. I keep his hand though, and we walk at my slow pace for the garage. Inside, I glance around, wondering if there’s some car he’s taken on he wanted to show me, but there’s nothing parked in or around the garage and there’s nothing on the lift.

  In fact, besides some of Isaiah’s tools and all of Mack and Tom’s tools, there’s nothing here. After Tom’s death, Mack and Isaiah cleaned out the place so the realtor could show it.

  There’re no filing cabinets full of papers, no desk scattered with notes. Tom’s coffee mug is gone, and so is Mack’s whiskey bottle. The trash can that was typically filled with old take-out containers is no longer in the corner, and the tiny bathroom no longer has the single, ancient plug-in.

  What I do see are memories. So many of them. The first time I walked in to find Isaiah with his shirt off, sweating over the open hood of his Mustang. The hours we’ve spent laughing and talking and working on cars together. Then the kissing—oh, the many kisses that have happened here. Then there was the night that Isaiah
pulled the blanket out of the trunk of his car and we—

  “You okay?” Isaiah asks.

  “Tired, but I’m okay. I’m going to miss this place.”

  “What if you don’t have to miss it?”

  I lean against the wall next to the empty office and try to wake my groggy brain. “I don’t understand.”

  Isaiah surveys the room like he also sees the same memories I do. I bet he sees a lot more. This place was one of the first that ever felt like a home to him. He finally hitches his thumbs in his jeans and leans on the opposite wall from me. “The Plan.”

  “We have one.” Five more years and counting.

  “What if I wanted to change some things up?” He shrugs. “Like I move out of the shithole I live in and get a new apartment?”

  I visibly sag with relief. I hate to see him living in that rat-and-drug-infested, violence ridden, poor excuse for a building. I know Isaiah grew up tough, that he can take care of himself, and that the rent there means he has been able to save a ton of money for our Plans, but I’ve been begging him for years to move.

  “I would say that’s the best ‘give’ you’ve ever given me. Can you please get a place where you feel comfortable with me staying the night? Or…” I look away, feeling as insecure as I did when Isaiah and I started dating, “maybe a place where you’d be comfortable with me moving in.”

  He smiles a little, not as much as I hoped he would, but it’s still there. “I was thinking we could get a place in those new apartments that they’re building down on Lockwood Ave. The rent is more than what I pay now, but we’ll be able to handle it easily together.”

  Surprise washes over me. That’s a nice little area of town, a couple of miles from here. It used to be a dump, but the city has been trying to revitalize the area. But then I focus on the important word—we. We as in he wants me to move in with him. Butterflies take flight in my chest. “Those are super cute. I’d like that.”

  “What if—” Isaiah starts and then has to clear his throat. “What if I wanted to make a few more changes to the Plan?”

  “Like?” I say slowly.

  He rubs his neck, his go-to movement when he’s stressed, then lowers his hands. “What if we don’t wait five more years until we have enough money to build a garage? What if we buy this place?”

  My heart stops beating and I’m unable to breathe.

  Isaiah starts towards me, his gaze roaming my face as if he’s concerned about me. “We don’t have enough to buy it outright—but we have enough to make a huge down payment and I’ve been watching my credit and I know you’ve been watching yours, too. Together, we can get a loan for the rest. I’m not going to lie, the building has a ton of problems, but it would be ours. I talked to Eli and Cyrus about it last night, and there are people in the club who are good at construction. I’ve done enough work for the club that I bet they’ll do most of the work at a discount rate.”

  “Probably for free,” I say. “They’d never take a dime from you.”

  And as for the loan, there’s no doubt my father would co-sign for us if we asked. He’d buy the garage for us, but he respects that Isaiah and I want to create our business on our own so instead he’s given us advice on how to invest the money we’ve saved—to make our money work for us.

  “I know this isn’t the best part of town,” Isaiah continues, “but people around here know you and me. They trust us. We’d have business—plenty of it. Plus, this neighborhood needs good businesses. It needs people who care and aren’t going to rip customers off. There are good people who live around here, and in order for things to change, people who care, people like us, need to dig into the community instead of leaving. Besides, this is my—”

  “Home,” I finish for him. “This place is your home.”

  Isaiah’s eyes soften as he closes the gap between us and rests his hands on my waist. My heart flutters with his caress. “Anywhere you are is my home.”

  “Same.”

  “Rachel, talking to Eli yesterday about perfection, seeing Oz propose to Emily, receiving my father’s bike…if there’s anything I know about life it’s that it can change, fast. In good ways, in bad ways….I don’t regret the plans we’ve made and I don’t regret sticking to them like we have. And if you want to wait five more years, we can, and we will if that’s what you want because your happiness is all that matters to me. But if you’re on board, I’d like to do this. I’d like to buy this garage, open it with you, move in with you…marry you.”

  Joy spreads through me, so quickly, so furiously, that I go weak in the knees. Isaiah wraps an arm around me, steadies me and keeps me close to him.

  “I didn’t plan this right. I don’t have an engagement ring to give you. I don’t have flowers or dinner or anything fancy. If you want, I’ll go buy you a ring the moment a store opens and—”

  “This is my ring,” I cut him off.

  “What?”

  I scan the garage. “This place is my engagement ring. In fact, I’m pretty sure other women are going to be jealous when they hear my fiancé didn’t buy me a frivolous piece of jewelry but instead invested with me in our business.”

  Overcome with emotion, Isaiah closes his eyes and rests his forehead onto mine. “Is that a yes?”

  I weave my arms around his neck. “It’s a yes.”

  “I love you, Rachel.” His voice breaks with emotion.

  “I love you more.” Forever.

  A Moment Together:

  An Only A Breath Apart Prequel Novella

  The last evening Scarlett and Jesse spent together before everything changed. This moment is referenced several times in the novel.

  This story starts three years before the start of Only a Breath Apart.

  Chapter 44

  Scarlett

  It’s weird being at Glory’s place. Jesse and I used to hang out here all the time when we were little. From where I’m sitting on the front porch stairs of Glory’s tiny cabin, and even in the moonlight, I can see the oak tree Jesse and I would climb, the garden we used to swipe fresh strawberries and blueberries, and the poplar tree where Glory once hung an old tire for us to swing on. We repaid her by stealing cookies from her kitchen. Oddly enough, as I look back at seven through the eyes of fourteen, I think Glory left the cookies out for us—as if she knew we were coming.

  Glory has always been cordial to me, but we’ve never been close. She might flash a quick smile and wave our way before calling Jesse over to say something to him. Beyond that, I haven’t had many interactions. To be honest, she scares me a little. She talks to dead people and spirits beyond the grave for a living. That is, sort of, creepy. Dad calls her a fraud, girls at school call her a witch, and Jesse calls her his distant cousin. I’ve said as little to her as possible.

  But tonight, she invited me, Jesse, and Jesse’s grandmother, Suzanne, over for ice cream cake to celebrate Jesse’s and my eighth-grade graduation. My mother has taught me to always be polite, to accept invitations unless absolutely, completely unable to attend—as in the zombie apocalypse has happened—and how could I say no to ice cream cake?

  The ironic part of it all is that my mother doesn’t even know I’m here. Nor does my dad. It’s after midnight, and about an hour ago, I snuck out from my bedroom window and climbed down the nearby tree so I could meet Jesse for the walk across his farm to here. While my mom and dad are sound asleep, Suzanne sits in a rocker on her porch and Glory sits on the porch swing. They’re debating their family tree and how they know everyone in association with either school or church—a tradition that almost all families in this tiny town partake in. It’s a confusing and senseless game that people over thirty entertain themselves with.

  “Tink—” Jesse whispers his nickname for me “—if I start having serious conversations like that with you, I need you to shove me off a cliff.”

  “I’d never shove you off a cliff,” I whisper back.

  “Traitor.” He smiles—the pirate one. The smile that makes me smile in re
turn.

  “What are you two grinning about over there?” Suzanne clicks her tongue at us as if catching us doing something embarrassing. “You look as smug as someone about to start a revolution.”

  “Nothing, Gran.” Jesse turns his smile in her direction. “I was asking Scarlett to push me off a cliff to keep me from getting old.”

  Suzanne turns her playful gaze on me. “And you said?”

  “I’m afraid Jesse is going to have to deal with growing up.”

  She laughs, long and loud. Suzanne is one of the most amazing people I know. She owns one of the largest farms in the county, if not the largest, yet lives like a pauper. Every couple of months, Dad tells Mom he doesn’t understand why she won’t sell her property, that she would be rich if she did. But Dad doesn’t understand Suzanne and Jesse Lachlin—how they love their land as if it were flesh-and-blood family.

  Suzanne is one of those people who ages beautifully. Somehow her green eyes are sharper, her mind quicker than when she was younger, but within the past few months, she seems to get winded faster and her endurance is shot. Though Jesse won’t outright admit it, the way he looks at her when she’s glancing away from him tells me that he’s worried.

  “I can’t believe you two are going into high school,” she says. “Time flies.”

  I suppress a sigh, because to sigh at a party, no matter how quietly, is rude. Time hasn’t gone by fast enough. I can’t wait to be older—to move out of my house, to be on my own, to have a job, an apartment, to be in love…Twenty something feels forever away, especially when, this year, turning from thirteen to fourteen felt like ten lifetimes.

  Jesse looks at me, as if he can sense the shift in my mood, and bumps his knee into mine.

  I return his glance and shrug with a small smile. A non-verbal, I’m okay, and, no, I don’t want to go home yet. He raises his eyebrows in a Should you?