They all cross their hearts. And their fingers.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I fish it out. “It’s Vic.” His text says, Are you outside yet? I text back, Yes. By the fountain. The girls are jumping up and down. “You guys are being dumb. He’s just a man.”
Rina makes a face at me. “Just a man? No. This is the bad boy of Fort Collins. He’s a legend.”
“And he’s practically famous,” Ella says.
“I’m totally booking a tattoo with him,” Rina says.
“I tried last night,” Ella says. “But he charges three hundred dollars an hour.”
“I swear to God, if you guys show up at the shop—”
But my words are cut off by a very loud noise.
All four of us turn and look down the street towards the dorms and then my friends gasp out loud.
Because that noise is Vicious Vaughn atop a mean-looking powerhouse of a bike that shines with chrome. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, his dragon tattoos bright in the sun. His faded jeans are tattered on one knee and his black boots and chain wallet are a dead giveaway that he’s the real deal. He rides the bike right onto the sidewalk, making crowds of students scatter and squeal. And when he stops in front of me, he slides a pair of mirrored sunglasses down his nose with one hand and tosses me a white helmet covered in stickers with the other. “Get on,” he says.
That’s it. No Hello, Daisy. Who are your friends? Just Get on.
“Oh, my God.” I hear Ella even over the revving of the bike’s engine.
“Hurry up, Daisy,” Vic says. “The po-po are on my ass.” He winks at me. And I can’t tell if he’s serious or not.
Probably not. But if we stay here on the sidewalk any longer, the campus police will surely show up. I shoulder on my backpack, swing my leg over, and have just enough time to grab Vic’s hard, well-muscled stomach as we lurch forward with a loud roar.
I wave at the girls before we disappear between two buildings and then bump down off the sidewalk and take off down Pitkin Street.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - VIC
I love the way Daisy grips me as we speed east down the highway. I also love that she can’t talk to me while we’re riding. She just has to exist.
This is my favorite thing about bikes. Everything is so in the moment. There is no windshield separating you from the world around you. You feel everything. The wind. The sun. And sometimes, if you’re unlucky, the rain or the snow.
But I love it. I can’t imagine a life without a bike.
I have a surprise for Daisy today. She must know we’re going back out to my plot of land, that’s not the surprise. It’s not the picnic I packed in the saddlebags, either. That’s just the celebration.
I’m a little nervous about all of this. The past week has been one new thing after another. But none of it has been bad. And I’m glad it happened the way it did. If Daisy had just come up to me one day and said, “Hey, this is your kid,” I don’t know how I would’ve reacted, but it would’ve been a shock.
But after spending the day with Vivian, thinking she was my niece, and just getting the opportunity to be myself with her—and her with me—I don’t know. It somehow worked. I was already falling in like with the idea that kids are cool. Especially Vivi. And my parental instincts might not be as honed as some, but they kicked in. I cautioned Gramps. I side-eyed the SpaghettiOs. I paused at the rollercoaster.
Yeah. I’m pretty proud of myself for that day. No sleep, little bit hungover—and still. I did a decent job. I pulled the whole father thing off.
I slow the bike down as we approach the dry riverbed and then almost come to a stop on the side of the road before carefully easing down into the ditch and back up onto the field so I can take her all the way over to the trees.
When I get there, I shove out the kickstand and turn the bike off.
Daisy gets off, reaching for the strap of her helmet. “Wow. That was fun.”
My smile is wide as I take her in. She’s wearing a pair of light jeans and a flirty halter top that all the young girls are wearing these days. It’s even got daisies on it. Her long, blonde hair is tangled and her face is a little red from the wind.
But I like both these things about her.
I get off the bike and take off my helmet, then take hers and hang them over the handlebars. But I don’t say anything.
“What?” she says. “Why are you looking at me that way?”