“He’s been around the block a few times, served time in prison for multiple offenses, and he’ll fight at the drop of a hat, but I’d trust him with my life.” Geneva drew my attention back to her with those words. The waitress delivered our beers, and I took a long pull before setting it on the sticky, stained table.

“You would?”

“He’s a good friend of my dad’s. He’d die for me.”

“I see. I guess I don’t really understand the code bikers live by.”

“You don’t need to.”

“So did Jock grow up in a biker family too?”

“Oh, no, we have the same mother but different fathers. She got around a lot. She got entangled in the biker lifestyle when Jock was young. His dad was a conservative workingman. Way too boring for her. And my dad was only an outlier, he wasn’t a member of any club, so she aspired to more than that. Wanted a real biker. She eventually found one.”

“Do you ever see her?”

Geneva looked away for a moment, but not before I caught the pain in her gaze. I knew that look because I’d seen it before. In the mirror. “No. I hear about her once in a while. She was within three blocks of where I lived last year and never bothered to stop by.”

“That’s brutal.”

“It’s life, Axel. It’s not all perfect and neat and tidy. It’s usually messy, bloody, and painful. You do the best you can and deal with things as they come at you.”

“That’s all we can do.” I admired her toughness, her determination, and her try. A lot of people Geneva’s age would’ve played the victim card and wallowed in self-pity, but Geneva didn’t use her childhood as a crutch. I didn’t either, so I appreciated her attitude.

We were a lot more alike than we were different. I don’t think I’d ever spent enough time getting to know a woman like I felt I knew Geneva in such a short amount of time.

One thing I knew for sure. I wanted to know a lot more.

I glanced up as a couple scary-looking dudes walked up to our table. They weren’t staring at Geneva; they were staring at me. I shot Geneva a questioning glance, but she was studying them as if trying to decipher whether they were friend or foe.

Their expressions weren’t unfriendly. In fact, they reminded me of the expressions fans got when they realized they had a pro hockey player in their midst. I wasn’t as recognizable as many of my teammates since I was relatively new to the team and a rookie, but I did get my share of requests for autographs.

I took a chance and treated them as I would any fan. “Hey, guys, what’s up?” In my peripheral vision, Geneva opened her mouth, thought better of it, and snapped it shut.

“Hey.” The smaller of the two stepped forward, tentatively, while the larger guy fidgeted in the background. “Are you Axel Vanderbuel of the Sockeyes?”