“But you’re not wrong,” Callum said.
That stunned me more than it should have.
Nate slapped the table. “Holy hell. Dylan’s going to become our JD with a tool belt.”
“Do not call me that.”
“Contractor Daddy?”
“I will end you.”
Callum ignored us both. “You serious?”
“Yes.”
“Classes cost money.”
“I’ve got money.”
“You’ll need time.”
“I’ll make it.”
“You still ride.”
“I’ll ride.”
“You still answer when called.”
“Always.”
Callum studied me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
The word hit me strangely.
Permission.
Not to leave.
To become.
“Club will cover half if you pass,” Callum said.
My head snapped up.
“What?”
“Investment,” he said. “You pass, we cover half. You keep going, we talk more. We could use a man with a degree. Or a license. Something clean enough to put on paper and useful enough to make money.”
Nate looked weirdly proud.
The elders were worse.
Once word got out, they gave me hell for two straight weeks.
