He tried to make it sound like a joke. Hank heard the strain underneath.
“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Hank said. “You could be on a beach somewhere waiting for your Cup bonus wire to hit.”
Brian shrugged. “Meh,” he said. “I like this beach. And if you two are jumping off a cliff, I’m not gonna stand at the top and wave. Somebody’s got to help build the landing pad. And I like it here. I'm house shopping myself since we're all moving here, and between us, Colby snores.”
Hank laughed out loud. "You snore too!"
Brian shook his head. "Not like Colby."
Hank looked at Brian, at Jason, at the half-gutted warehouse. The sense of standing in someone else’s life crept up on him again; a life where people showed up with rollers and drills instead of rifles.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t get sappy,” Brian said. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
Before Hank could retort, his phone buzzed. He checked the screen: Diaz.
Need a favor. You heading out to the warehouse today?
He thumbed a reply. I'm here now.
Her response came fast.
We picked up chatter about a “demo day” at the bike shop just out of town on County Road A. Vendor’s supposedly showing off new “tuning tech” to some local riders. I’d rather not let our friends recruit on my turf. I’ve got plainclothes in the area, but you know the scene better than most of my guys.
His throat tightened.
You want me to run interference?
No. I want you to exist as a very visible reminder that fast doesn’t mean illegal. Talk to the kids who look interested. If someone you don’t know offers you “free samples,” remember what I said about alleys. I’ll handle the rest.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“Diaz?” Brian asked.
“Yeah,” Hank said. “She thinks our friends might be trying to recruit some locals at the bike shop just out of town. Wants us to be another set of eyes.”
Brian’s mouth tightened. “I hate those guys,” he said. “Like parasites.”
“Parasites get removed,” Jason said. “Eventually.”
Hank glanced at the clock on the exposed pillar. “We should move,” he said. “If we’re late for the application, Liz’ll put our heads on pikes outside city hall.”
“Free publicity,” Brian said.
City hall smelled like floor polish and old paper.
Bree met him at the front steps, hair twisted up, a folder tucked under her arm. The sight of her, even in the mundane setting, still did something quiet and seismic inside him.
“How bad was it?” he asked, nodding at the folder.
“Bad-ish,” she said. “My accountant says if the board says no and we operate as just the shop and private studio, we’re tight but not doomed. If they say yes, the workshop income gives us breathing room faster. Either way, there’s less cushion than we hoped for the first year.”
“You still in?” he asked.
She held his gaze. “I called Charlie,” she said. “He’s sending a letter to the board. He offered to help financially if we needed it, but I told him no. Bryn’s insurance already got me this far. I can’t…” She trailed off, eyes bright. “I want this to stand because we built it. Not because the universe felt sorry for us.”
Pride swelled under his ribs. “Then we build it,” he said.
