Chapter 18: Fifteen Minutes

Stephanie's POV

The Saints held their rehearsal for the Run in the back lot of the clubhouse, under work lights.

A long cinder-block wall stood waiting for paint.

I had stood at the end of its bar through ten years of Christmas parties. I had never been allowed past it.

Now forty patches stood in a ring on the gravel, and the wives held paper cups of coffee.

Every one of them turned to look at me when I got out of Rafe's truck.

"Breathe out," Rafe said quietly, beside me.

"I am."

"You're not."

I breathed out.

Norman stood at the foot of the wall with the Panhead beside him, wearing his old cut.

He nodded to me and did not smile.

Kendra was already at the wall in a fresh pink jacket, with a folding table of paint beside her.

In her hand was my mother's Iwata.

I hadn't seen it up close since a box sat on a curb in the snow.

The silver barrel had gone dull. Somebody had been dropping it.

"Ms. Ansel," Kendra said brightly, for the crowd.

"Daddy says we're going to settle this fairly. A paint-off, on the wall, fifteen minutes."

"The club votes for the bike."

"I didn't agree to that."

"Of course you did. You're here."

She smiled. Behind her, Dutch leaned on his bike with his arms crossed and watched me.

Norman cleared his throat.

"The offer was hers," he said. "She can take it or leave it. The vote stays."

I looked at Rafe. He said nothing, because I'd told him to.

"Fifteen minutes," I said.

A prospect set a second table at the far end of the wall.

On it lay a cheap hardware-store airbrush with a cracked cup.

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