Chapter Four
About a weeklater, Trevor’s cell rang just as he was getting out of the shower. He’d had his run and had been mulling over an answer to one of his problems, but so far he was having no luck. He glanced at it and saw it was one of his colleagues from Bikers For Kids, so he picked up rather than letting it go to voicemail.
“Hey, Daniel. What’s up?”
“We have an escort and a court date in San Antonio today. Sorry for the late notice but we just found out. If you leave shortly, you should be able to make it. You can meet us at the courthouse anyway.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Great, see you later.” Daniel gave him the address of the courthouse and the child’s address in case he arrived there earlier and then they hung up.
Trevor called Jedidiah. “Something’s come up and I have to go out of town today. To San Antonio. I’ll be back tonight, though. Do you want the day off or do you want to work?”
“I’ll work if you don’t mind. There’s still a lot to do.”
No kidding. “You’re making headway, though. I’ll leave the key under the mat and you can put it back when you go home.”
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yep. Talk to you later.”
Fortunately, his bike was gassed up and ready to go. He pulled out one of his nicer T-shirts and a decent pair of jeans, put on his boots, and grabbed his leather jacket with its Bikers For Kids patch. Five minutes later he was ready to go, remembering just in time to put a key under the front doormat.
Trevor didn’t consider what he did with Bikers For Kids a job or an obligation. To him it was more of a calling. Bikers For Kids was a nonprofit organization whose goal was to be a source of support for abused children, primarily through a time of crisis, such as a court case where the child would be called to testify. But along with escorting the child to court, or school or whatever was necessary, the club also maintained a relationship with children who had successfully come through their crisis. BFK dealt with children from every walk of life, both inside the foster care system and outside of it.
The first time Trevor had ridden with the club had been when he lived in Dallas and a friend of his had dragged him along. His friend went by Foxhole, a nickname he’d gotten while in the military. Foxhole had joined BFK recently and was fired up about it. His friend looked like the popular conception of a biker. Boots and leather. Lots of hair, lots of tattoos. Trevor had tattoos as well, but only one of his was visible unless he took off his shirt. Foxhole’s were everywhere.
The plan for that day had been to have an abused child join the chapter. Foxhole explained the ceremony to him. The child would meet his sponsors, usually a man and a woman. The sponsors would be on call 24/7 to the child. Whenever the child was scared or lonely or just wanted someone to talk to, one of the sponsors would be there for him. The whole chapter was there for him as well.
The child was given a blue jean vest with the BFK patch on it to signify that he or she was now part of the club. Often they were taken for a short ride on someone’s bike. They met and mingled with the club members, who spent quite some time with them. By the time it was over and they were headed home, Trevor was hooked. There was something amazing in seeing light and joy come into a child’s eyes when he or she realized that this group of people had their back and would support them whenever they needed it. He joined the Dallas chapter as a supporter, eventually becoming a full-fledged member.
When Trevor moved, he joined the Hill Country chapter of BFK, which met in Austin monthly. In between there were rides, barbecues, and pizza parties. The members were available to escort children to court and stay during the child’s testimony and offer any other support the child might need.
In the years since he’d joined, he’d taken part in a number of different operations and activities. Everything from helping children cope with bullies or accompanying them to court, to pizza parties and barbecues. He found it immensely rewarding and knew he was lucky that he set his own work hours so he could participate often.
The adult members ran the gamut from blue collar to white collar to everything in between. They all had one common goal, though. To help make an abused child’s life better. Abuse came in all forms, from physical and mental abuse by adults to bullying online and in school. Bikers For Kids handled it all. Most of the time they succeeded, though, as with everything, sometimes try as they might, things didn’t work out well for the child in question.
Bikers For Kids had become very important to Trevor for many reasons. Not the least of which was that he’d grown up in the foster care system himself. Many of the children they helped were in the foster care system, but they dealt with any child who had been abused.
While Trevor had never experienced abuse, he knew kids in the system who had. Trevor had been lucky. He was determined to help kids who hadn’t been as lucky as him. Bikers For Kids gave him that opportunity.
*
Jedidiah hadn’t keptin touch with many of her friends from high school, but Angel Chandler was one person she always tried to see when she came to town. Angel was also her sister-in-law Chantel’s sister, so she’d been able to catch up with Angel during Damaris’s wedding celebrations. They’d gotten together a couple of times since then. It was easy to slip back into their friendship. They weren’t very similar, with Angel being an artist and Jedidiah having no imagination, as she joked. She swore Gabe had gotten all that talent and by the time they’d gotten down to her as the baby of the family, anything that might have been left over had disappeared.
Angel and Chantel owned the Fallen Angels lingerie shop on the Square. Angel was a designer primarily of lingerie, and the shop was doing very well. While Jedidiah wasn’t a girly-girl by any means, she liked clothes and loved lingerie. Angel was always finding something that would ‘suit her perfectly’ according to her friend. “Any chance you can meet me for lunch at Booze’s today?” Angel asked when she called her that morning.
“I wish I could but no. Trevor’s gone for the day. He won’t be back until tonight so I’ll have all day to try and make a dent in his files. And trust me, I need the time.”
“Oh? Where did he go?”
“San Antonio. I don’t know whether he’s got a new job lined up or what. He didn’t say.”
“It’s probably something for his motorcycle gang,” Angel said with a laugh. “Gotta go. Maybe we can meet some other day this week.”
Her friend hung up before she could ask for details. WTF? Trevor was part of a motorcycle gang? Why the hell hadn’t anyone told her? He was an app designer for God’s sake. He was supposed to be nerdy and boring. What was he doing being involved with a motorcycle gang?
Maybe she’d misheard or Angel was wrong or… God, what if it was true?
