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My brows dip. “Since when do we customize and sell bikes?”
Dad snorts. “It’s called diversification. It’s how we stay profitable, even when shit is hitting the fan for the suits on Wall Street.”
“Yeah, okay. Where are these bikes?” Anything is better than thinking about my folks mid-bang in the middle of the kitchen. Or the living room. Or anywhere, anytime, period.
“Outbuilding number three,” he answers almost dismissively.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m on it.”
We walk out to the third outbuilding and find that it’s not empty. There aren’t just motorcycles inside. Some still need repair while others are ready to go back to their owners, but an unexpected visitor hunches over one of the bikes. I say, “What are you doing here?”
Gray freezes at my question and glares at me over his shoulder. “I’m loading up the bikes. What are you doing here?”
“Dad sent me here to do that.” My tone is angry and annoyed. I cast a glance at Dad. What the fuck is he thinking?
In the next beat, he gives me an answer. “I need you both to pull your heads out of your respective asses and drop this shipment off. Try to make it back without killing each other.” Dad’s tone is sharp. It has that don’t fuck with me quality that I know well.
“I can handle it on my own,” I assure him, offended and growing angrier by the second.
“I have no doubt about that, son. But I need you both to figure your shit out, and you have until you arrive back at the ranch to do just that. Saint and Slayer are gonna ride lookout, and when you get back, I expect that this shit, whatever it is, is done. Got me?”
Every fiber of my being wants to argue, but I grew up with this man, and I know that when his mind is made up, there’s just one option. Obey. “Got it.”
Gray and I load up the van in a tense silence and get on the road. Gray grips the steering wheel with an iron grip, sighing every few seconds, just in case I’m not sure how he feels about this trip.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
He shrugs. “In a nutshell, you are.”
“I haven’t done a fucking thing other than come home. I thought you might be happy to have me back, but I was wrong.”
“You’re after my girl, and you’re shocked I’m not rolling out the welcome mat for you? You’re fucking delusional, man.”
“I am not after your girl,” I shout. “Do I want her? Fuck, yeah. But she’s made it clear that she is with you, and the only thing she has to offer me is friendship.”
Gray laughs. “Do you fucking hear yourself, man? You want my ol’ lady, and you’re shocked why I might not be happy you’re here? Read the fucking room, bro.”
I laugh. “Did you miss the part where I said friendship is all she wants from me?”
Gray nods, but he doesn’t respond. I hate this shit, all this game-playing and riddles. “I told her she needed to choose. You or me.”
I groan at his words. “Why the hell would you do a dumb fucking thing like that?”
He shrugs. “I guess I thought she’d convince me that she only wants me. Instead, I haven’t heard from her since I issued the ultimatum.”
Part of me is happy by this news, but the other part feels like an asshole. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t seen or talked to her in days. Maybe she smartened up and decided to choose neither of us.”
Gray laughs, and I join in. “That would fucking suck.”
“Damn right.” I can’t even think about staying on the ranch or in Opey and not seeing Ivy, never mind seeing her with someone else now that I know how she tastes and the sounds she makes when she’s turned on. The idea of watching her with Gray or anyone else is un-fucking-fathomable. “You know I’d never do anything to fuck up your relationship.”
Gray snorts as we finally arrive at the drop-off spot more than an hour later. “Just being back is enough to fuck things up. I don’t know if it’s you and the connection you two have always had or if there was always something missing, but your return has made it an issue, Stone.
I should feel bad, and to a certain extent, I do. But not enough to deny myself the chance with Ivy. “Like I said, I didn’t get between you. I wouldn’t.”
“Yet here you are, right in the middle of us.”
I shrug and step from the van to handle the paperwork with the buyer. I finish up, and we unload the bikes together. Slayer and Saint take the lead while the van settles into silence again. “Own up to your own fucking insecurities,” I tell him when we’re heading back to the interstate.
