CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RILEY
The morning of Pride, Little Joe steps into the garage and cups both hands over his mouth. He’s wearing an old cut-off Harley Davidson T-shirt and tight denim shorts with his biker boots. “Who’s ready for a big, gay party?” he calls out, and the entire garage full of mechanics and bikers cheers.
I open my mouth to tell the showboat to shut his trap, then change my mind. I’m learning to appreciate the way this neighborhood commits to having a good time. Finn’s dogged good-spirits have helped me to see the importance in that, and I know it’s something the bikers need, too. Hell, all I have to do is consider the fun I have writing stories with MorningEnthusiast to remember that this kind of thing matters.
There’s music blaring, not just in the garage but on the street outside, and every bike I can see is decorated with colorful flags, garlands of flowers, and gaudy accessories. After a decent run in the scavenger hunt and a turn in public opinion, the mechanics are riding high.
Still, it’s no excuse to get sloppy. I finish making my last round, assuring myself that everything valuable and dangerous is safely locked away. There’s less than an hour until the parade starts off, and for the first time, I can truly see Chase’s visiontaking shape, and Liberty Garage becoming a hub for the queer bikers.
Now we just need to make sure that the rest of the block thrives, too.
Big Jo cups her hands over her mouth. “Dykes on Bikes!” she yells out, earning another cheer.
“Dykes on Bikes!” Ali yells back as they sit on their ride.
I shake my head, but I can’t help but half-smile to myself, too. After a rocky summer getting the shop up and running, it’s good to see everyone in a celebratory mood.
Chase emerges from the rear of the garage with a few people from the PR team, who are shooting pictures and taking notes. Like every year, the gay bikers association is running a fundraiser today for the community center, and the professionals are eager to capitalize on the opportunity for good press.
Pirate Bill slaps me on the back. He’s got a beer in one hand and rainbow beads hanging over his bare chest. “Hey, big guy,” he says. “Got your eye on any action today?” He nods toward the back of the garage. “Don’t know if you’re into silver daddies, but my buddy thinks you’re hot.”
I don’t even look to see who his buddy is. “Everyone gets all worked up and horny at Pride,” I tell him. “Not my style.”
He nods with a laugh. “I always get caught up in the collective energy.”
“I’m good at resisting that kind of thing.”
He snorts. “That you are. I spotted that wad of cash you shoved in the fundraiser box, though. Can’t say you aren’t participating.”
I pat him on the back, wrapping this up before he talks any more about my sex life. “Have fun out there today. Stay safe.”
Pirate Bill shakes his ass. “Prrrrr-ide!” he bellows out, earning another cheer from the crowd.
I’m already exhausted.
Once I finish checking all the locks, I head out to the street, which is bustling with people. Across the crowd, I see that Finn is out front on the patio, chatting and serving rainbow scoops to passing revelers. A sign declares that all the profits are going to the gay theater, and the director, Harry, stands beside him in full Cher drag.
Despite their setup, though, I notice that many people are walking past, eyes averted. Nearby, I spot a few other business owners on the block, huddled together with depressed expressions, a stark contrast to the party around them.
Ever since we started the PR campaign to defend the garage, the protests outside our shop have quieted down, but it’s also resulted in people giving Finn and the rest of the block grief for coming against us. I know his business has already struggled with our introduction to the neighborhood, and I worry that our success is coming at further cost to everyone else, which isn’t a real solution.
Chase even sent that letter his lawyers crafted, claiming no fault for any disruption. I understand the legal reasoning behind it, but I hate how that must have landed.
Hate the idea especially that I’m still making life hard for Finn. I’ve been so wrapped up in my commitments to the garage; it’s made me act like a hypocrite. I’ve got to turn the corner on this and start valuing the gayborhood and the people who live here the way they all deserve. Otherwise, what’s the damn point of anything?
In all the mayhem, Finn doesn’t notice me, and I take a moment to watch him. He’s wearing a pink T-shirt that advertises The Scoop, and he’s got colorful flowers artfully stuck in his curly hair. There’s a warm, tingly feeling behind my ribs as I look on.
By the time Chase walks out to the street, I’ve made up my mind.
“Ready for the parade?” he asks.
“Almost. Realized I need the crew to take care of something for me first.”
He chuckles. “Good luck getting them to work today.”
“Not work,” I say, and tilt my eyes across the street. “The rest of the gayborhood is coming along to liking us, but what good is that if we’ve fucked up the people on our block?”
