Tragic

"Yeah, I had a boy. He was wild about bikes."

"Hold on, be right back."

He leaves and comes back a few minutes later, pushing a cart filled with art supplies down the aisle. "Stay just like that, but lift your shirt up a little."

"What?" I laugh.

"I'll paint your back, just to make sure you know what you're in for. Just something simple."

I have to admit, this is exciting. "OK." I lift the back of my shirt up a little and lean back down on the tank. He sits behind me on the bike and grabs his supplies. First he washes my back with a wet cloth and then he dries it with a soft one.

"Now," he says, "tell me about this boy with the bike."

And I do. He paints while I talk. "Wade was his name. I was fifteen when I went to live with him. I was in foster care after my mom died, and this was literally like the tenth foster home I'd been in. I wasn't even a troublemaker or anything, it's just… I don't know, no one wanted me. Wade was two years older than me and he was a motocross racer. He taught me to ride a dirt bike and then he got a motorcycle when he turned eighteen and it was such a big deal. We had started messing around a little by then, and well, his mom figured I was bad news, a baby-maker waiting to happen maybe. She sent me away. But even though we never did anything beyond second base, he was my first love."

I wiggle a little at the soft touch of his brush on my back and he growls out a "Stay still, Blackbird," at me.

"And after that, Spencer, nothing in my life was ever good again until I found Antoine, Ronin and Elise last week." I stop for a moment to consider things, and then continue. "You too, I think. I mean I realize I barely know you, but shit, Spencer, you made my life today. Seriously, this whole offer is like a dream. And I've been pretty short on dreams these days, so it's a big deal to me."

He swishes his brush in a can of water and turns on a fan to air dry the paint on my back.

"Yeah, well," he says as he gets up and takes a seat on the bike next to me. I turn my head so I can see his face as we talk. "I have to admit, at first I just wanted to piss Ronin off and get you to agree, not that I didn't immediately think you were perfect, because Antoine described you over the phone. But Ronin and I used to be close and we're not anymore. So I was just being childish."

"So how do you two know each other?"

"We went to Catholic school together."

I almost choke on my own spit. "Oh shit, Ronin mentioned Catholic school last night, but I figured it was, I dunno, a weird suburban fantasy. How the hell did the two of you end up in Catholic school?"

"I always went to Saint Margaret's, since f**king pre-school. But Ronin showed up in eighth grade, just before we were about to graduate over to the Catholic high school. I lived in Park Hill and he lived over in the studio with Antoine. Ronin was a trip, ya know? He showed up out of nowhere speaking French like he grew up in Paris instead of Five Points, leaving school every few months to go travel the world for photoshoots. It was a strange life for a kid, but Ronin was never a kid. I found out about his parents a few years later when someone dug up the police report and plastered it all over school."

"Oh, that sucks. He told me about his father."

"Yeah, you'd think that would really piss a guy off, but not Ronin. He never even blinked. He said something in French, which roughly translated to I am not my father's son, and went about his business. That was tenth grade. We spent the next three years inseparable."

"What happened?"

"Ahhh," he says, getting up off the bike, "it's a long story. I better get you back before he goes apeshit. I have no idea what you saw today, but Ronin's not a cheater, Rook. He's just not. He's dated a lot of girls, I know that for sure, but he's never dated them at the same time. That's not him, so maybe let him explain."

He checks my back and pulls my shirt down after determining the paint is dry. I get up, feeling a lot better than when I left the studio, and I realize something.

I'm ready to go home.

Chapter Thirty-Seven - ROOK

The studio is still bustling with activity when we arrive. It's hard to believe that it takes so long to unload bikes and roll them into the elevator and park them upstairs, but it must, because there are still two bikes in the truck.

We take the stairs and I'm exhausted because this day has been long and teetering on the edge of unpleasant since it started. If Spencer hadn't made this STURGIS offer, I'd probably be very depressed right now. We reach the fourth floor and the door is open, I can hear Antoine yelling in French about something. I'm really glad that guy prefers to get pissed in a foreign language, because it saves the rest of us from listening to his big-ass mouth.

"Rook! Where the f**k have you been?" Ronin yells, storming over to us.

"Spencer and I—"

Ronin pushes Spencer in the chest, sending him backwards, and then before I even understand what's happening they are throwing punches. "Wait!" I yell, grabbing at Ronin's arm. "What's the—"

Ronin reacts to my grab and pushes me away. I go flying backward and end up on my ass.

Again! That f**ker!

Antoine pulls me up and asks me politely if I'm OK, and two of the technicians break up the fight.

"Where the f**k were you?" Ronin demands.

I ignore his question and turn to Antoine. "Spencer said he wants to offer me the STURGIS contract, so I'd like to sign that right now."