The Biker's Fate Chapter 485

Bill Myers was Puddin's sober coach and stayed close to him to keep him on track. He was part counselor, part referee, part gofer, but more importantly, he kept Puddin' off smack, and that's what he was paid to do. He wasn't so close that they shared a room, but he was on the bus while we were traveling, and in the same hotel on show days. He was more of a personal assistant for Puddin' nowadays, running errands, grabbing coffee, that sort of thing, but Melody footed the bill, apparently. Anything to keep Puddin' happy and sober.

"Congratulations, why didn't you say anything? We should celebrate."

"Nah, mate, I never celebrate. Might jinx it," he said with a wink.

"I can hightail it back to my bunk if you'd rather have some privacy," I said.

"Please stay, I could use the company. Else, I'll just be staring at this damned phone all night. Plus, I wanted to talk to you about somethin' anyway."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Those bike rides you do between shows. D'you ever fancy a ridin' partner?"

"You wanna ride with me?" I asked, unable to hide my smile.

"The next show is in Phoenix, and that's where my ex-wife lives. Elli's mother, that is. She's got all my belongings in a storage shed, including my 1997 BMW R 1200 C."

"Nice."

"You bloody well bet. Anyway, I'm hopin' I can bribe one of the crew guys to commandeer a truck and help me go fetch it. It's been in there a while, so I have no idea what kind of condition it's in. But if I can bring her back to life, you don't mind if I tag along?"

"That'd be great," I said. "If you need help, don't be afraid to ask. I'm happy to lend a hand, and happy to share the road with you."

Puddin's phone dinged, and he grabbed it excitedly.

"She texted back," he said. His eyes filling with tears as he read her reply. "She said she—" his voice cracked. "She w-was happy to hear from me and can't wait to t-talk."

"Oh, man. I'm so happy for you."

"She said she was proud of me for getting clean and sober," he said, and broke into heavy sobs. I put my arm around Puddin', and he pulled me into a full embrace as tears from the past seven years flowed freely.

It was a moment that will remain etched inside my mind for as long as I draw breath. I felt privileged and honored to be there with Puddin' for such a meaningful moment in his life. It was mind blowing enough to share the stage with him let alone become friends.

We spent the rest of the morning quietly chatting while the rest of the band snored away in their bunks. I paid dearly the next day for the lack of sleep in the form of a massive headache, but it was worth it.

Melody

Train got off the bus lookin' like a hundred pounds of shit stuffed into a fifty-pound sack. "Son of a carpenter, what did you get into last night?"

"It's not what you think," he rasped. "I'm not hungover, just dead tired."

"Well, you can take a nap after we get back from the radio station."

"What?" Train looked at me blankly.

"The radio station. WKAB. I'm doing a live interview with Jinny and Jeff and then you and I are playing a song."

Train blinked.

I sighed. "You haven't looked at your daily itinerary, have you?"

Train reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "I don't see anything on here about a radio interview."

"That's yesterday's itinerary," I said, glancing at the screen and swiping my finger to the right, showing him the correct schedule.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Melody. Lemme grab my acoustic guitar out of the bus, and I'll splash some water on my face."

As Train sprinted back up the bus stairs, the sound of his voice saying my name echoed through my head. Like most people, I was relatively indifferent about my name, but there was something about the way Train said it that made it sound special.

 He walked off the bus ten minutes later, still looking a little worse for the wear, but cleaned up and ready to go, guitar case in hand.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Yeah. Again, sorry."

"It's all good."

Our car pulled up and the driver set Train's guitar in the trunk while we climbed into the back seat.

"What song are we doing?" he asked.

"I was thinking 'Flowers,'" I said. "What do you think?"

"Have you ever done it acoustically?"

I shook my head. "I'm taking a bit of a risk."

He grinned. "I like it."

"Will you do the harmony?"

He scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "Jesus, really?"

"You do it all the time on stage."

"Singing it as back up with the other guys is a hell of a lot different than up front and center on a radio show, Melody. Not sure I'm ready for that kind of attention."

"Give me a C."

"What?"

"Give me a C, Mr. Perfect Pitch," I ordered.

He sighed and held out a perfect C note. I started the song and waved my hand, encouraging him to join me in harmony. Good god, the man could sing.

"You need to watch your pitch, Melody," he said. "You're going sharp on the first line of the chorus."

"I know, I know, but you're distracting me," I said with a frustrated grunt.

"How am I distracting you?"

"I just want to crawl inside your voice and lick your vocal cords."

"That's a new one." His eyes widened and he laughed. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or grossed out."

"That makes two of us," I grumbled.

He grinned. "Do it again."

"Okay, I'll focus," I promised, taking a deep breath, and starting again.

We got through the song, and it sounded like angels flew down from heaven and settled in the car giving me all sorts of ooey gooey feelings in my soul.

Not to mention, the overwhelming need to play sit and spin on his face… again.

Good god, I was going to need some extra time with my vibrator tonight.