“I didn’t figure you as one for biker bars.”
Dalton followed Heath through the kitchen and out to the garage. “Yeah, well, it’s a long story.”
“One I look forward to hearing once my wife is safe.” Heath grabbed the first key ring on the holder nailed to the wall next to the garage door. “Looks like we’re taking Cherry Cherry. You tell me how to get there.”
He didn’t look like a man who was willing to take no for an answer.
“Sounds good. But what’s a Cherry Cherry?” Dalton stepped into the garage and one look answered his question. A red Cadillac circa a long time ago sat proudly between a black Porsche Spyder and a black Cadillac Escalade.
Heath nodded to the red car. “Jump in.” He clicked the garage opener button on the wall next to the kitchen door.
Dalton slid into the passenger’s seat and sniffed. “Do I need to remind you of the league’s policy on marijuana use?”
The car reeked of reefer.
“I’m clean, but I’m pretty sure Cherry Cherry tokes up every once in a while.” Heath slammed the key into the ignition, and Neil Diamond boomed out of the speakers.
“Your car smokes weed?” Now, he liked Neil Diamond as much as the next guy, but this was loud—really loud. “Can we turn it down?”
“No, Cherry Cherry is in love with Neil Diamond.” Heath leaned into Dalton and whispered, “She doesn’t like anyone who disses Neil.”
“I don’t understand. How can a car have a crush on anyone?” Dalton tried to appear nonchalant, but he made a mental note to review the team’s health insurance to see if it covered mental health issues. How did he discreetly ask Heath to seek counseling? He was worried that all of those concussions through the years had added up to some serious head trauma.
Clearing his throat, he said, “You know cars aren’t actually sentient beings … right?”
The car coughed and then backfired.
Heath patted the dashboard. “He didn’t mean it. He likes you. And he’s not going to say anything else bad about you, Cherry Cherry, because we have to go save Lyric from Harm.”
The check engine light dinged and they sped up.
“Cherry Cherry likes Lyric.” Heath was completely serious. “She hates Harm.”
Cherry backfired again.
“Your sister-in-law can’t be that bad, her cannoli were as close to a religious experience as I’ve had in a very long time.” Dalton glanced around the car, looking for signs of intelligence.
Cherry Cherry backfired for a third time.
“Maybe we shouldn’t mention my sister-in-law’s name,” Heath said as the check engine light dinged again. “Cherry Cherry is very protective of Lyric.”
It wasn’t possible. Heath was obviously insane—there was no way this car was alive.
Neil Diamond’s song “Cherry Cherry” finished and then started up again. “You have it on repeat?”
“I don’t.” Heath glanced at Dalton. “It’s her favorite song. She likes to play it over and over.”
“Okay.” Dalton drew out the word. He peeled his hand from the seat. “Why are the seats sticky? You know, there are people who can clean them for you.”
The engine revved high.
“That’s another sensitive subject. Maybe we should talk about something else?” He coughed, then shot Dalton a this-subject-is-closed look. “So … hang out at biker bars often?”
If he only knew. Dalton’s past was his own business. He’d worked too hard at leaving it behind to unearth it now.
“Not anymore.” He tried to roll down the window, but the button seemed to not work. “Can you roll down my window? My head’s spinning from the contact high.”
“Come on, Cherry Cherry, don’t pout. Dalton’s a good guy. Let him roll down the window.” Heath sounded like he was reasoning with a toddler. “I promise I’ll get you hand-waxed tomorrow.”