“Your momma or daddy know you’re over here?” I ask, keeping my voice calm despite my irritation. The last thing I need is some helicopter parent accusing me of something.
The littlest boy shoves past the bigger one and walks right into my garage like he owns the place. “Our mom is moving the boxes, and our dad lives far away with his girlfriend.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Tiny Tim ain’t got no filter.
“Didn’t your momma teach you about stranger danger?”
The older boy follows Tiny Tim, his eyes glued to my bike. “Yes. She did.”
“She might should tell you boys about it again.”
Big brother shrugs his shoulders again like it ain’t no thing. “And our dad doesn’t live far away anymore. He lives in Daytona, and his girlfriend’s not his girlfriend anymore.”
Damn. These kids are spilling all the beans.
“Y’all like motorcycles?” I ask, watching them carefully.
The bigger boy shrugs, trying to play it cool, but I see the spark in his eye. He likes them a lot.
Tiny Tim, on the other hand, isn’t trying to hide a thing. “YES!” he shouts, head bobbing up and down like one of thosebobblehead Jesus dolls my Gran used to have stuck to her dashboard.
“So it’s just you and your momma in that house, then?” I nod my head toward the run-down rental.
“Yep,” the little one confirms.
Single mom with two boys. That’s a tough gig.
“What’s your names?” I set the wrench down on the concrete.
“Jackson,” the little one offers first.
“Tommy,” the older one says with reluctance, like he’s not sure he should be telling me. Which is comical ‘cause it’s a little late to be cautious now. They’re already in my garage. If I wanted to kiddynap ‘em, it’d be all too easy at this point.
“I’m Dread.” I extend my hand to them. Tommy hesitates, then gives me a firm shake. Jackson giggles when he takes my hand, his tiny fingers disappearing in my grip.
They’re cute kids. Not that I know all that much about kids, but they seem alright.
Jackson turns back to my bike, his big blue eyes wide with excitement. “How fast does it go? Do you ride it when it’s raining? Do you wear a helmet? Will you take me for a ride? Is it super loud? Did it cost a million dollars?”
The questions come rapid-fire.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I chuckle. “Slow down, speedy.”
The little guy giggles. “I’m Jackson. Not Speedy.”
I shake my head and actually smile. This kid’s something else. “Yes. It goes pretty damn fast. No, I don’t ride in the rain if I can help it. Sometimes I wear a helmet. Maybe I’ll take you for a ride if your momma says it’s okay. It’s pretty loud. And no, not a million.”
Tommy moves closer to the bike, his eyes tracing the chrome pipes. I can recognize a gearhead when I see one.
“Wanna help me out?” I grab the wrench and hold it out to him. “This bolt needs tightening.”
Tommy’s eyes widen. “Really?”
I nod, and he takes the tool, dropping to his knees beside the bike with a smile that transforms his serious little face.
“Here,” I guide his hand to the right spot. “Give it a turn clockwise. That means to the right.”
Tommy nods, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on tightening it down.
