Page 26 of Fight Or Flight

“Do you?”

“Yes, I do,” I say hoarsely.

I believe no one knows for sure where life will take them, but in the end, we land right where we’re meant to, surrounded by the people we’re meant to love. I believe that because I’ve watched people come and go throughout my life. I’ve seen the people I love struggle with what life threw in their path, and I watched them navigate every bump and lean into every curve. Cancer. Death. Mental illness. Addiction. You name it and someone around me has conquered it.

And I believe there is a little bit of beauty in every storm.

In every hurricane.

But if I didn’t believe in any of that, if there was a shred of doubt, Brooklyn’s existence would make me a believer.

“My mom is dying, Eric,” she whispers as if she’s just coming to terms with it and the tears she’s been holding back rain down her cheeks. Once again, my fingers itch to touch her.

To brush those tears away and hold her face in my palms.

It’s that force, that heaven and hell shit.

I got an angel in front of me and the Devil on my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur softly.

Shaking her head, she sniffles and wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she says, taking a deep breath. I watch intently as she looks away. Something catches her eye and the tears stop almost instantly. I follow her line of sight and my eyes land on her dad’s kutte that is displayed in a frame.

“Is that why you brought me in here?” she murmurs, bringing her eyes back to me.

I brought you in here because I’m the reason you don’t have your dad. I brought you in here because I don’t want you to hate me. I brought you in here because I thought we could be friends.

Every one of those reasons is wrong, though.

I don’t want to be Brooklyn’s friend.

I want to be her goddamn detour.

But I don’t tell her that.

Hell to the fucking no.

Instead, I make my way to the tarp in the middle of the room. My fingers close around the material and with a jerk of my wrist, I unveil her dad’s most prized possession—his Harley.

“I brought you in here to show you this,” I say, meeting her gaze. She stares at me for a minute and I immediately question my decision, wondering if I’ve made yet another fucking mistake.

“Is that his?”

I nod.

“No one has ridden it in seventeen years, but the engine purrs—no pun intended—and, well, everything has been restored. It couldn’t be in better condition if it came out of the showroom, and that’s because my dad services it regularly. I thought if you saw it…well…I don’t know what I thought,” I mutter, roughly dragging my fingers through my hair. I glance at the bike and back at her. “I thought if you saw it, you’d take notice of how much love and respect everyone here still has for your dad and maybe you’d realize that time never erased his place in this world. You being here only makes everyone who loved your father feel like they’ve got a second chance at loving him through you.”

It’s fucking lame, but it’s true.

I think her being here is just what this family needed to be complete.

“That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

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