Diesel pushed those thoughts down deep and moved those boxes to the shelves, putting two more on the table. As he looked at pictures of Biggs’s family and friends, a pang of guilt settled in his chest. He’d been there for two years, and other than Tracey, he knew little more than the basics about the people he worked with every day, the people he’d spent the holidays with. If he hadn’t met Tracey, what kind of memories would he have when he was Biggs’s age? One beat-up photograph in his wallet and some vague memories of people he’d known peripherally?

Biggs tapped his arm, waving a handful of pictures. “These were taken out your way, a few years after Tiny moved there.”

As Diesel took them, his gaze skimmed over the box, catching on a picture that all but stopped his heart. He reached for it, his chest constricting at the image of his mother sitting on the back of a motorcycle, smiling like she was the happiest girl in the world. She was so young and effervescent, it was hard to reconcile that version of her with the image he held in his mind of her dying days. She wore a white tank top, jeans, and sandals, and her arm was around a muscular dude with bushy dark hair and tattooed biceps. His sunglasses and thick facial hair hid all but his cheekbones, but while his mother had never looked happier, the man’s expression was unreadable.

Diesel’s gaze moved to the black baseball cap his mother held in her other hand. In the distance behind them was a sign for the Hobbit Shop. His mother had taken him to that shop a dozen times. He turned the photograph over and read the messy, faded ink. My elfin magic, Ruthie. The date was scrawled beneath it—almost ten months before Diesel was born. His pulse spiked, confusion and anger brewing inside him. His mother’s voice stomped through his head. I love Tiny and his crew, but your mama does not date bikers.

Had she lied to him? He shoved the picture toward Biggs. “Who’s this?”

“That looks like Axel, when he was just a kid. Twenty-two, -three maybe. He always carried a camera when he traveled. That looks like your mama, doesn’t it?”

“Sure as hell does, on the back of his bike.”

“Don’t let that fool you. Axel had a different woman warming his back everywhere he went.”

So he fucking used her? “Were they together?”

“I didn’t even know they knew each other, son. Why do you look like you want to kill me?”

He turned the picture over, showing Biggs the date.

“What…?” His brows knitted, and Diesel saw the moment understanding hit. “Oh, hell.”