Mason taught her basic motorcycle maintenance.
Denise helped replace documents Claire had lost before her death.
Cole spoke to Sam.
Sam gave Rebecca better shifts that did not run until two every school night.
Then Cole did something Rebecca hated.
He called Aunt Lisa.
Rebecca found out because Lisa arrived at the clubhouse screaming.
“This is kidnapping.”
Rebecca walked into the parking lot.
“No, it isn't.”
Lisa pointed.
“You come home.”
“No.”
“You're sixteen.”
“You told me to leave.”
“I said you couldn't disrespect Darren.”
“He told me I was trash.”
Lisa’s face reddened.
Cole stood ten feet away.
Not interfering.
Yet.
Lisa lowered her voice.
“You're embarrassing me.”
Rebecca stared.
That sentence decided everything.
Not I was worried.
Not come home.
Not I'm sorry.
Embarrassing me.
Rebecca took out her phone.
“I have the texts.”
Lisa froze.
“What?”
“The ones where Darren told me not to come back.”
“That was an argument.”
“The one where you said maybe it was better if I stayed somewhere else.”
Lisa looked toward Cole.
“This is family business.”
Rebecca’s voice sharpened.
“I’m your family.”
Silence.
Lisa opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Cole finally spoke.
“She needs a legal guardian.”
Lisa turned.
“Who asked you?”
“No one.”
“Then stay out.”
Cole nodded.
“Can't.”
“You don't know her.”
“No.”
“But I'm starting to.”
Lisa laughed bitterly.
“You bikers think you can just take some troubled kid?”
Rebecca flinched.
Cole saw.
His expression changed.
“She isn't troubled.”
Lisa rolled her eyes.
“She works nights, skips home, argues with adults—”
“She worked nights because she needed somewhere to sleep.”
Lisa went silent.
Rebecca looked at Cole.
He had not known the full truth until Sam told him.
Now everyone knew.
Lisa’s face softened slightly.
“Rebecca…”
Too late.
Rebecca stepped back.
“No.”
The county got involved.
Not because Cole wanted drama.
Because there was no responsible alternative.
A social worker named Hannah Lopez interviewed Rebecca.
Then Lisa.
Then Cole and Denise.
Temporary kinship-style placement with non-relatives was complicated.
But Rebecca had a strange advantage.
She was sixteen.
Old enough for her preferences to matter.
Denise and Cole passed background checks.
The clubhouse itself was not approved as a residence.
Their house was.
Rebecca moved into their spare bedroom.
A real bedroom.
Door.
Desk.
Window.
Closet.
She stood inside carrying one backpack.
Denise said:
“We can decorate.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“I might not stay.”
“Okay.”
Rebecca frowned.
“You do that too.”
“Married twenty-nine years.”
“Contagious.”
Rebecca smiled.
Three weeks later, she put Evan’s photograph on the dresser.
That was the first decoration.
The mystery of Evan did not disappear.
If anything, living around the bikers made it larger.