"Don't mention it. He's sensitive."
Caleb smiled.
Samuel pointed toward the truck.
"Battery problem."
Caleb glanced beneath the hood.
"Want help?"
"I can fix a battery terminal."
"I know."
"Then why ask?"
"Because your groceries are destroyed."
Samuel considered.
"Tools are in the shed."
They worked in silence.
Caleb cleaned the terminals.
Samuel mixed baking soda and water.
Within fifteen minutes, the truck started.
Samuel shut the hood.
"You're not useless."
Caleb laughed.
"High praise."
"It is from me."
Samuel walked toward the house.
Caleb remained beside the bike.
"Sir?"
Samuel turned.
"What?"
"Are you really Road Doc?"
Samuel sighed.
"That nickname refuses to die."
"So yes?"
"Yes."
Caleb shook his head.
"My father had a picture of you."
"Should I be concerned?"
"You were fixing somebody's motorcycle during a charity run."
"That sounds more flattering."
Caleb stared at the house.
"Why are you here?"
"I live here."
"I mean..."
Samuel smiled.
"Why don't I live inside a secret mountain fortress surrounded by motorcycles?"
Caleb looked embarrassed.
"Kind of."
"I'm seventy-one."
Samuel pointed toward the porch.
"I have arthritis and a dog with three legs."
"Life gets smaller if you're lucky enough to live long."
Caleb looked toward the road.
"You going to tell the Saints?"
Samuel's smile disappeared.
"About what?"
"Today."
"Why?"
"Because Travis and the others—"
"Do you want me to?"
Caleb hesitated.
Part of him did.
He imagined Travis's face when hundreds of riders arrived.
He imagined punishment.
Fear.
An apology forced from everyone.
But Samuel seemed disappointed before Caleb even answered.
"No."
Samuel nodded.
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because respect that's created by fear disappears when the scary people leave."
Caleb thought about the Iron Jackals.
Samuel continued.
"If those boys decide soaking an old man is wrong only because he turns out to have powerful friends, they haven't learned anything."
He stepped onto the porch.
"Besides, I have more important problems."
"Like what?"
Samuel looked toward the ruined cupcake.
"My granddaughter is going to kill me."
Caleb checked his watch.
"Bakery closes at five thirty."
Samuel looked at him.
Caleb put on his helmet.
"I'll go."
"You've done enough."
"No."
Caleb started the motorcycle.
"I made my choice, remember?"
Thirty minutes later he returned with a chocolate cupcake.
Samuel was sitting on the porch drinking coffee.
"You actually went."
"Two bakeries."
Samuel accepted the box.
"How much?"
"My treat."
"No."
"Sir—"
Samuel pointed toward him.
"Never let an old man owe you money."
Caleb smiled.
"Why?"
"We're patient enough to collect interest."
He took out a ten-dollar bill.
Caleb accepted it.
Samuel shifted.
"Sit."
Caleb sat on the porch step.
Franklin limped over and rested his head on Caleb's knee.
Samuel watched.
"He likes you."
"Good judge of character?"
"Absolutely not. He once trusted a raccoon."
For the first time that day, Caleb relaxed.
They talked.
Samuel asked about his father.
Caleb told him.
David Ross had been a nurse at Hollow Creek Medical Center.
He died from pancreatic cancer eighteen months earlier.
Caleb had been twenty-one.
"My mom died when I was eleven."
Samuel nodded.
"So it was just you two."
"Yeah."
"Close?"
"Very."
Caleb stared at the road.
"After he died, everybody kept telling me I'd figure things out."
Samuel said nothing.
"I didn't."
Still nothing.
"I dropped out."
"What were you studying?"
"Automotive technology."
Samuel looked interested.
"Why quit?"
"Didn't matter anymore."
"Interesting."
"What?"
"You quit something you liked because someone you loved died."
Caleb frowned.
"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."
"I wasn't going to say stupid."
"You thought it."
"I thought complicated."
Caleb rubbed Franklin's ear.
"The Jackals gave me somewhere to go."
Samuel leaned back.
"Travis Kane?"
"You know him?"
"Know of him."
Caleb waited.
Samuel didn't continue.
"What have you heard?"
"Not enough to judge."
"People say he's tough."
"So do advertisements for cheap truck tires."
Caleb laughed.
Then the laughter faded.
"He wasn't always like today."
Samuel watched him.
"How long have you been saying that?"
Caleb looked away.
At 6:18 p.m., the sound of motorcycles approached.
Caleb stood.
Six Iron Jackals turned onto Old Mill Road.
Samuel remained seated.
Travis Kane rode first.
He stopped near the mailbox.
The others spread behind him.
Travis removed his helmet.
Thirty-nine years old.
Tall.
Muscular.
Close-cropped beard.
A tattoo climbed from his collar toward his jaw.
He looked at Caleb.
"There you are."
Caleb said nothing.
Travis glanced toward Samuel.
"Grandpa get home okay?"
Samuel sipped coffee.
"Eventually."
One rider laughed.
Travis pointed toward Caleb.
"Come here."
Caleb stayed.
The atmosphere changed.
Travis's smile tightened.
"I said come here."
Samuel spoke.
"He's not a Labrador."
Travis looked at him.
"Nobody asked you."
"True."
Samuel stood slowly.
His knee hurt.
He ignored it.
"Then again, you didn't ask before giving me a bath either."
A couple of riders laughed.
Not comfortably.
Travis stepped forward.
Samuel was several inches shorter.
Twenty-five years older.
Still, something about him made Travis stop.
Maybe posture.
Maybe eyes.
Some people grew softer with age.
Samuel had.
But softness wasn't weakness.
Caleb knew that now.
Travis pointed toward the road.
"Caleb, we're leaving."
Caleb looked at Samuel.
Then at Travis.
"Why did you do it?"
Travis frowned.
"Do what?"
"Hit the puddle."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah."
"It was funny."
"It wasn't."
Travis laughed.
"You stopped because you felt bad for some old guy?"
"Yes."
That answer irritated Travis more than argument would have.
"You're a prospect."
"I know."
"You ride with us."
"I know."
"Then when we ride, you ride."
Samuel watched Caleb carefully.
This was no longer about the puddle.
Caleb understood.
Seven months of obedience had led here.
Every small compromise.
Laughing at jokes he disliked.
Ignoring fights at bars.
Pretending not to notice when Travis humiliated people.
Every time he told himself he was earning brotherhood.
Travis stepped closer.
"You want that patch?"
He touched the blank back of Caleb's vest.
"Then stop acting like a kid."
Caleb looked at the six men.
People he had called brothers.
One of them, Mason, avoided eye contact.
Another, Reed, looked almost embarrassed.
They weren't all cruel.
That somehow made it worse.
Because decent people could become cruel when nobody wanted to be the first person to disagree.
Caleb unzipped his vest.
Travis stared.
"What are you doing?"
Caleb removed it.
He looked at the small PROSPECT patch.
Then handed the vest to Travis.
"I'm done."
Silence.
Travis laughed once.
"You serious?"
"Yeah."
"Because of him?"
"No."
Caleb looked toward Samuel.
"Because of me."
Travis's face hardened.
He threw the vest into the mud.
"Then you're nobody."
Caleb looked at it.
For seven months he had feared exactly those words.
Nobody.
Without the club.
Without a patch.
Without the group.
Yet standing there, Caleb felt something unexpected.
Relief.
He looked at Travis.
"I can live with that."
Travis took one step forward.
Samuel moved between them.
Not aggressively.
Just enough.
Travis stared at him.
Samuel's brown coat remained open from standing.
That was when Mason saw the patch.
His eyes widened.
"Wait."
Travis ignored him.
"You want something, old man?"
Mason grabbed Travis's arm.
"Travis."
"Get off me."
"Look."
Mason pointed.
Travis finally looked.
Founding Twelve.
The color drained from Mason's face.
Reed whispered:
"No way."
Another biker removed his sunglasses.
Samuel closed his coat.
Too late.
Travis looked from the patch to Samuel's face.
Recognition arrived slowly.
Then completely.
"You're..."
Samuel waited.
Travis swallowed.
"Samuel Hale."
"Last time I checked."
Nobody laughed.
Travis's posture changed.