Cocky Secrets (Cocker Brothers #29)

10. Sage

TEN

Sage

I stare at Bear. “What are you saying? Why did you do this? I…I don’t get it!”

Bear holds my gaze, lightning bolts connecting us. “When your dad came into the diner this morning, he told the owner he was getting one for his daughter… Sage .”

I blink. “You knew it was me .”

“Not a common name.”

“This was a ploy! A ploy to get me here!”

Bear turns to face me full on, no more pretense, eyes on fire. “I didn’t have your phone number and I wanted to see why I was waiting around at noon when you said you’d be here. Still don’t know exactly why you didn’t show up,” he reminds me, eyes hard and filled with something I can’t quite decipher yet. “And I’m not sure I care anymore what your reason is. Not sure it even matters.”

“Why?”

“Seeing you again only makes me want to see you more.”

Frozen by the way he’s looking at me, I whisper, “I’m so confused.”

“Because whatever reason you give me won’t change the fact that I wanted to, and want to , see you again. Enough to pretend to sell my bike to a biker.”

We glare at each other, like predator and prey sizing each other up, and I’m not sure who is which, the heat from the rising sun nothing compared to that which is now boiling in my veins. “I can’t see you, Bear. I can’t be seen with you . I can’t come paint you. I was crazy to ever think I could. I tried to ride my bicycle here, but my brothers caught me and wanted to know where I was going. I couldn’t tell them.”

Bear takes this all in. “You have to hide it?”

“Yes!”

He grunts, catching on, then explains to make sure he’s clear on this, “Your Dad, your brothers, the whole club, won’t let you see me. Because I’m a cop.”

My inhale is sharp, pained. “That’s right.”

Bear mutters, “Clubs don’t like cops,” to himself before meeting my eyes. “So I can’t pick you up and take you riding on my Harley. Even though they understand what it’s like to be on a motorcycle more than anyone, they wouldn’t let you be on mine. That’s what you’re saying.”

The image of us riding on that burgundy beast flashes in my mind, my heart, my core . “That’s what I’m saying. You can’t come pick me up and take me riding.” I pause, holding his gaze with so much meaning between us. “Even though I want you to.”

“When you say that, Sugar Pop, it sounds like you’re saying you want me.”

Eyes locked, I start to admit it, but just as I’m about to, just as I open my mouth to say the words, the rumble of his engine warns us of Dad’s return. We’d hardly moved since Dad left, so there’s no distance we need to increase between us. But that doesn’t stop me from stepping away from the heat of Bear and this conversation, just in case. I feel like I’ve been caught even if we did nothing more than talk to each other, than dream together.

Dad slows in front of the house, parks on the street right beside his motorcycle as if the two bikes are going home together. He hops off the burgundy Harley, enthusiasm radiating. “Smooth ride.”

He thinks it’s a done deal.

My teeth gnash.

Bear has once again slipped behind the mask he wore when we first arrived. “Glad you like it,” he replies, tone distant.

As I watch them chat about the bike—how smooth a ride it is, where its been—I can’t help but feel pangs of longing tethered by disappointment. The connection I felt with Bear moments ago feels like it’s slipping away, buried under layers of impossibility.

Dad turns to me with excitement. “Hey, Sage, you want to hop on and take it for a spin by yourself?”

“Bear’s not selling it,” I flatly say.

Dad frowns, “What the fuck?” instantly pissed off.

“He said he’s not.”

Dad looks between us, furious. “What the fuck is this?”

“He just told me he, uh…changed his mind.”

Bear clears his throat. “Sage has it wrong. I told her I wasn’t planning on selling it before you came into the diner.” He meets my eyes. “Sorry for the confusion. Guess I didn’t explain myself properly.” He switches his focus to Dad. “I’m not good at talking. It’s a man thing. I do want to sell, if you’re buying.”

I cock my head in utter confusion, but Dad relaxes, fury dissipating. “I’m buying, if she wants it. It’s my girl’s choice.” Dad asks, “Sage? Do you like the bike?”

“It’s beautiful, but I…” My gaze shifts between them as I try to understand what in the world just happened. “You’re really selling it? You want to part with it? It’s so beautiful!”

Bear smiles without guise, “I think it’ll be in good hands,” motioning to where the beast silently awaits my decision. “Why don’t you take it for a spin and see how you feel?”

Knowing I didn’t misunderstand him at all, that he truly wasn’t planning on selling his Harley, I sputter, “It’s been over a decade since I’ve driven one.”

Dad motions to the beast, “Sage, get on. I’ll give you a refresher,” and adds in order to reduce Bear’s ignorance, “I taught her how to ride back when she was sixteen.”

“And she’s how old now?”

Oh, sneaky bastard.

I answer, defiantly, “Almost thirty.”

“Good age to learn how to ride,” Bear says, dryly.

I keep my face placid so Dad doesn’t throw a punch. If he caught on that Bear didn’t mean motorcycles, this whole day would change.

“Doesn’t matter what age she is!” Dad snaps, “She’s a Martinez. We’re born to ride. Get on, Sage. We’ll have a lesson here.” Under his breath, he adds, “Your mom is gonna shit herself.”

Bear raises an eyebrow, “Your mom doesn’t want you riding?”

I glance to him, “Uh…no,” wishing I was skilled and could ride away like Sofia Sol does, all sexy and alluring, rather than dropping the thing immediately upon turning it on, which is probably what will happen.

“First things first,” Dad says, walking over to the Harley, grabbing and slapping on his helmet while handing me mine. “Let’s get you familiar with it. This is a big machine, and you need to respect it.”

I nod, snapping my helmet strap into place and stepping closer as Dad gestures toward the various parts of the Harley. He shows me the throttle, the clutch, and the brakes, explaining how each one works. I listen intently, soaking in every detail, letting my memory return to me and attempt to solidify.

“Now, let’s get you on,” he says, stepping aside.

I dart a glance to Bear that asks, You’re serious about selling it to us?

He nods.

I take a deep breath and swing my leg over the seat, settling into the saddle. The bike feels powerful beneath me, and I feel a thrill wash over everything that I am. “This feels good,” I grin, and receive a piercing stare from Bear, unnoticed by my father who is too busy playing coach.

“Make sure to keep your boots on the ground for now,” Dad instructs, standing next to me, his back to Bear. “You’ll want to get a feel for the weight of the bike.”

I plant them firmly on the ground. “Got it.”

“Now let’s start it up.”

My hands tremble slightly as I touch the key to turn it. The engine roars to life, sending vibrations throughout my body. It’s a deep, throaty sound that makes my heart soar, because this could be mine . I glance to Bear with the same questions in my eyes, and receive silence.

“Feel that? That’s power,” Dad grins, enthusiasm infectious. “Now, squeeze the clutch and shift into first gear.”

Remembering the old lessons cerebrally is one thing, being on the bike is a visceral reality I’m not sure I’m ready for.

But I follow his instructions, fingers gripping the clutch on the left handlebar as I shift into first gear with my left boot, pressing down. “Like this?” I ask, glancing to Dad for confirmation.

“Exactly! The saying goes: ‘First down, rest up.’ That means for first gear, your boot taps down. All the rest, your boot’s toe pulls up. You’ll feel the machine when it needs to shift. It gets angry. When you need to slow down, you just pull in the clutch with your left hand and tap tap tap all the way down to first, one gear at a time as you’re slowing down . Pull up for high gears. Tap down for lower. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Now, slowly let out the clutch while giving it a little throttle. Remember, smooth is key.”

I take a deep breath, focusing on all he just said. Truth is, if I hadn’t learned all of this once before, albeit long ago, he would’ve just overwhelmed me, but as this is a refresher course, the details come flooding back like they want me to remember them. Back then I was too young and way too different a person to care about motorcycles. But that was then and this is now. This Harley could be my first true taste of freedom.

As I slowly release the clutch and twist the throttle, the bike lurches forward slightly, and I let out a surprised squeal, “Whoa!” but still feel like I’ve got a good leash on the beast, boots landing strong.

“Easy, easy!” Dad laughs, steadying the bike with a hand on the back. “Just remember to ease into it. Let me show you.”

He slides onto his beaten-up, well-loved, black Harley, verbally guiding me, “Just a little more throttle, and let the bike roll. You got this.”

With his encouragement, I find my rhythm, and soon I’m gliding smoothly up the street a few houses, with him at my side.

“Now, let’s practice stopping,” Dad instructs. “Squeeze the brakes gently until you come to a complete stop.”

I nod, helmet firmly in place, heart racing with excitement as I squeeze the brakes, feeling the bike respond beneath me. The sensation is exhilarating, and I can’t help but laugh out loud, joy bubbling up from the place in me that has felt far, far, far too sheltered.

I easily come to a stop.

No jolts.

Zero awkward.

“How does it feel?”

“Unbelievable!”

“Let’s head up the street and practice some turns.” He shouts to Bear. “We’re gonna take her into town!”

I look over my shoulder and see Bear give a friendly raise of his right arm. “Sounds good.”

As my father and I ride, slowly and with lots of instruction, I feel the strength of the bike beneath me, the power of the engine roaring to meet the challenge as I accelerate. The sleepiness of the world we live in blurs around us, and I can’t help but grin from ear to ear. “Why didn’t I love this when I was a teenager, Dad? Was I crazy?”

He grins, “Must’ve been!” and instructs, “When you turn, remember to lean into it but not too much. It’s all about balancing your weight and the bikes, with gravity.”

I nod, focusing on the road ahead as I approach a not-so-gentle turn. As I lean into it, the bike responds effortlessly, gliding around the corner with ease. I shout, “This is amazing!”

“Show that beast how it’s done! You’re a Martinez! I told you! You were made for this!” Dad laughs, voice filled with pride.

With each turn, each acceleration, I grow more confident, my nerves replaced by pure awe. I’m not just a passenger anymore. I’m in control!

We drive until it feels like we should probably head back. But a part of me wants to keep going and never, ever stop. After longer than we maybe should have been gone for, we pull up in front of Bear’s home. I park on the street, next to Dad, tug my helmet off, red hair flying free as I send a huge smile up to Bear. “That was so much fun! Thank you!”

Dad dismounts. “You did great, Sage. I’m really proud of you.”

I beam, “Thanks, Dad,” feeling a rush of affection for him. He’s not normally this complimentary. First Atlas, earlier. Now me. He should spend more days shopping for Harleys. To make sure he knows how much I appreciate him, I say, “I couldn’t have done it without your guidance.”

Dad chuckles, shaking his head. “You had it in you all along. Just needed a little push.”

And that push was being told I couldn’t ride my bicycle anymore. But I leave that without saying it.

Bear and Dad discuss how much the bike will be sold for, and money exchanges hands, cold hard cash taken from bad people I never met. That’s primarily how The Ciphers make a living, taking it from guys who don’t need it anymore, or misused it. Sure, sometimes the innocents they save give them money in gratitude, but not usually. Those people tend to not have much, but the bad guys do and The Ciphers feel no guilt in helping them part with it.

The business aspect of today’s exchange is taking place while I wait, seated on the burgundy Harley, my fingers tracing its smooth gas tank as I admire how the sun turns the dark shade of red into ruby. “So pretty,” I whisper, feeling like my cage has been left open and no one noticed but me.

Did Dad notice?

Did he see I felt I was trapped in one? Is that why he did this for me? Why he went against what Mom wants? Or does he simply love motorcycles and this was a fun day he sorely needed? I raise my head to ask him, but notice him heading inside.

“Sage, gonna use the toilet.”

I nod and watch Bear direct Dad on where to go. “When you walk inside that door,” he motions to the one inside the garage, “turn left and it’ll be the first door on your right.”

The instant he’s sure we’re alone, Bear swaggers up to me, radiating sex appeal. “Your mom not gonna be happy?”

“I’m thirty. She can’t stop me.”

“Almost thirty,” he corrects.

“I’m not a child.”

Bear stares at me until a smirk tugs at his kissable lips. “You’re a woman.”

Heat clenches my core. “She’ll get used to the idea. But you did tell me you weren’t selling. I didn’t make that up.”

Bear nods once, sunlight transforming his eyes into a kaleidoscope of amber, bronze and gold. “I wasn’t going to. But…”

“But?” I ask.

“But now you and I can go on that ride.”

My head tilts in utter confusion. “No, we can’t! How?”

“I can’t come grab you , but when you ride away from home on this beauty, who knows where you’ll end up? They’ll have no idea.”

The door opens inside the garage and Bear walks away from me, calling out to Dad, “Just told Sage the title is inside my truck.” He reaches into the passenger window, flips open the glove compartment, grabs the officially stamped piece of paper, a pen, walks back and holds out his palm as a table, signing away his Harley Davidson just so we can go riding together. I am stunned as he hands the signed title over to me, holding my gaze. “All yours.”

Does he mean the Harley.

Or…him?

Dad, now at his hog, has a huge smile on his face as he tilts his head back and calls to the heavens, “Freedom!”

I blink in surprise. “Is that why you did this for me, Dad?”

My father meets my eyes. “I didn’t like how sad you looked last night. Everyone deserves freedom, especially my baby girl.” He mounts his Harley.

I don’t want to be called baby girl anymore, but just this one is fine by me. However, knowing what I know, I have to force a smile in reply, because, Oh Dad, you have no idea how much freedom you just gave me.

“It was nice to meet you,” I say to our host and the man who just hid the key to my cage for no one to ever find. I watch him walk back to his home, as if a normal sales-deal has been completed.

“Ready to head back?”

“Definitely! Let’s go!”

“Don’t get too excited. We still have to face your mother. She’s going to shit a brick when she sees you ride up on that beast!”

I wink, “I’m still ready.”

With that, we ride back home, the wind indeed on my face as I wished it to be, and the world unfolding before me, come what may.