“You sleeping with her?”

“It’s not like that …”

“Is she butt ugly?”

I lower my voice for fear of being overheard. “Fuck off. No. She’s a glamour … the whole situation with her is just … different. She’s kind of a lesbian, but not, because she almost married a guy. But we have these moments where I think shit might happen. I don’t know. I don’t understand women.” Fuck, I’m rambling.

“You falling for her?”

Falling for her, as in love her? Fuck, am I?

“Just tell me, Roc. Give me something else to think about. Please.”

“If you must know, I wanna fuck her senseless, but I don’t think that’s what she wants. She’s turned out to be nothing like I thought. She kicks my arse, gives me shit. Can you believe she calls me De Loser?” I chuckle. “She’s the maid of honour in Jones’s wedding, and I thought we’d never get along, but with some of the shit that’s happened in our lives somehow we’ve found some common ground.”

“It’s fuckin’ good to hear you have her, Roc. You need someone like that in your life.”

He’s right. I do. “Yeah. She’s gonna come with me to meetings. It’s not gonna be easy, but it won’t be as hard as doing it alone. I’m a week dry. Can’t fuckin’ believe it.” My body is protesting, but my will is stronger.

“Proud of you,” Vinnie says, his voice hoarse.

“Thanks, V.”

The line goes silent for a moment.

“V?”

“I’m here. The guard just signalled that I’ve got one minute left.”

Shit. It’s never enough time. I could talk to him all day.

“I’ll be crazy travelling with work the next few weeks, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to come in. Then I have to go overseas for the bucks.” Each word cuts me up inside as it leaves my mouth. I shouldn’t be off having fun and jet setting across the world when he’s in there.

“Where’s the bucks?”

“Vegas.”

“You lucky prick.”

“If I wasn’t in the bridal party I wouldn’t be going. I don’t wanna go; I’d rather be here for you, but I can’t be an arsehole and pull the pin. I’ve got few friends, and I can’t fuck Jones over.”

“Just go. If I had the opportunity, I’d pounce. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

“I’ll take you there, one day. I promise.”

“I want pictures and a full run-down when you get back.”

“As soon as I’m back, I’ll be in.”

“Gotta go, Roc. Love you brother.” Fuck it cuts me up when he says that.

“Ti amo, fratellino,” I say softly.

“Mamma’d be proud you still speak the language.”

“I want her to be proud of more than just that.”

“She’d be so fuckin’ proud you’re getting help. I bet she’s watching over you, smiling.”

There’s a loud voice in the background and the line goes dead.

This is the moment when I’d normally be reaching for the bottle.

Because I love my brother more than I can express to him in words, this time I won’t.

****

“So, you’re really doin’ this, huh? Getting married,” I ask Jones as I fiddle with my cream-coloured tie. I wouldn’t wanna wear this shit every day, fuck no, but I actually don’t mind it. It fits well.

“Yeah, buddy. I am.”

“How’d you know?”

“Know what?’

“That April was the one.”

“Truth or bullshit?” he asks, with his brow furrowed.

“Truth, brother. Tell it to me straight.”

“This might make me sound soft, but I don’t give a shit. I knew she was it for me because she made me fight for her. I was in a shitty place when I met her. I was the fuckin’ manwhore of motocross. April changed me … not by telling me to change. She made me see things differently, you know?”

Fuck me. He might as well be talking about Suds.

“Spencer Jones!” a female voice calls out.

We all turn to watch as the caramel-haired beauty struts farther into the shop, wearing bike boots, tight leather pants, and an open leather jacket with a loose charcoal grey tank underneath. A helmet is tucked under one arm. It’s like every man’s wet dream just walked through the door. And Jones happens to be engaged to her.

“I’m also marrying her because, well, just look at that.” He motions his hand up and down as if he’s presenting her as a grand prize on a quiz show. “When she wears those damn boots, I wanna take her out back, bend her over and drive—”

“Right behind you, Jones,” Mac grumbles.

A loud chuckle rises up my throat. Where the fuck did he spring from? His timing is always impeccable.

April walks right up to Jones, the tips of her boots nudging Jones’s black leather dress shoes.

“Damn I love you in a suit,” she whimpers.

“You happy, beautiful?” he asks, pulling his shoulders back and straightening his neck.

April tugs on the lapels of his jacket, smooths her palms down his chest, and then curls them around his waist.

“I’m more than happy. In fact, I’ve got a right mind to take you out back and—”

“Right here, Peaches,” Mac says and walks to the side of Jones, out from behind a rack of suits.

“Daddy, oh, hey. I just meant I was gonna, um, take him out back and show him some, um”—she swivels her head towards some glass cabinets—“cuff links. I hear they got in some new stock. Out back.”

“Relax, Peaches. I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that my only daughter has sex. Your old man is getting a bit of action these days too, you know,” he says with a wink.

“Ew! Way too much information,” she cries.

I laugh again. This shit is too funny.

“What?” Mac says with a shrug. “You’re having the sex, I’m having the sex. We’re all adults.”

“Daddy, just no. We’re not having this conversation.” She sticks her fingers in her ears and makes a ‘la la la’ noise.

****

Saturday

“God I love the smell of dirt and exhaust in the morning,” Mac broadcasts loudly as he walks about our camp at the track at Raymond Terrace.

It smells that much sweeter waking up to it. I’m glad we got on the road last night after trying on the suits, instead of leaving at three am on the Saturday morning like we’ve done before. It makes for a long day that way with a good four hours on the road before the day even starts.

I take in a deep breath, letting the familiar smells settle into my soul. He’s right.

“Nothin’ else like it,” I say.

Mac moves in closer, but instead of focusing on the bike that’s in pieces in front of me, he’s looking at my face. Do I have grease all over my cheeks? What?

“You’re sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage, son,” Mac says as his blue-green eyes continue to wander over my face.

I wipe at my brow. I’ve been working all morning, but my body has been doing whacky things since I gave up the grog. Sweating has definitely been a major side-effect.

“Just trying to get through it, Mac. Doin’ my best.”

“It hasn’t gone unnoticed, son.”

I acknowledge his comment with a nod. I’m relieved that he’s picked up on the effort I’ve been putting in, but I have a long way to go. Once I’ve sorted out my own problems, I’ll be in a much better headspace. Then I can really focus on what I’m doing and start looking ahead.

“How we going with Billy Boy’s?” he asks, as he inspects Billy’s bike.

“I’ve changed the jets and then I’ll put the new exhaust on. I’ll have it finished in about half an hour.”

“Good work.”

Mac slaps me on the back and gives me a nod.

****

Jones walks into camp and pulls off his helmet and gloves.

“Apart from your words of wisdom at the start and finish line, I’ve hardly seen you today,” he says, flopping into a camp chair. He has dirt over his face and his blond hair is knotted and damp with sweat. He’s been pushing the limits this round.

“Head down, arse up, you know?”

“You comin’ out with us to dinner?” Jones asks as he strips off his jersey and starts unclipping his body armour. “I think the plan is to get cleaned up and head out in about an hour.”