Page 47 of Colt
“Faster than the first lap,” he amended. “That counts.”
Luca pulled off his helmet, his hair sticking up in all directions. “Can we come back again? Please?”
“We’ll see.” Lilac reached out and smoothed down his hair. “Let’s get you home and fed first. And you definitely need baths. You’re covered in dirt.”
“Battle dirt,” Knox announced proudly. “From riding.”
The boys watched as I loaded the bikes into my truck, then stood back as Lilac buckled them into her car. Before she closed Luca’s door, he looked at me.
“Thanks,” he said. “That was… that was really fun.”
“Anytime, kid.”
He nodded. “Maybe we can do it again? If that’s okay?” he asked, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
“It’s more than okay.” My voice came out rough. “I’d like that.”
Lilac closed the door and turned to face me. For a moment we just stood there, the setting sun casting long shadows across the field.
“Thank you,” she said. “The boys had a great time.”
“You don’t have to thank me. They’re my sons. Spending time with them isn’t a favor—it’s a gift.”
She studied my face like she was looking for something. I didn’t know if she found it. “Want to risk another round with them next weekend?” she asked finally.
“I’ll be here.”
She nodded once, then got in her car and drove away.
?
That night, I was nursing a beer at the clubhouse bar when Handful dropped onto the stool beside me.
“Heard the lesson went well.” He signaled for a drink. “Kids are naturals, according to my sources.”
“Your sources being Indira, who watched with Lilac?”
“Something like that.” He grinned. “Knox give you trouble with the throttle? My youngest nephew white-knuckles it every first lap. Takes him three or four laps to ease up.”
“Same problem. Talked him through it.”
“Good. Those bikes have some miles on them. They’ll treat the boys right. How’d it feel? Teaching your boys to ride?”
I took a long pull from my beer, trying to find words for what had happened today. The pride when they got it right. The fear when they wobbled.
“Like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” I admitted. “Like I finally understand why my old man was so hard on me about riding. Hewasn’t trying to make me into a perfect rider. He was trying to keep me alive.”
“And now you’re doing the same thing for your kids.”
“Trying to.” I set down my beer. “They’re six and a half. I missed years, Handful. Years of firsts. First words, first steps, first day of school. I can’t get those back.”
“No,” he agreed. “But you can be there for the rest of them. First time on a bike. First time they beat you at cards—which, knowing you, won’t be long. First time they call you dad. First time they tell you they love you.”
“They’re not there yet.”
“They’ll get there.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Bring them by the clubhouse sometime. My nephews love it here. Something about watching grown men act like idiots is apparently very relatable to boys.”
I almost smiled. “I’ll think about it.”
