Page 65 of Don't Take the Girl
Those aren’t the words she wants, but I'm hoping she sees my offer for the temporary truce it is. There's a conversation we need to have, words that could change everything between us, but it has to be the right moment. Perfect timing for something this fragile and maybe even dangerous. And right now, standing on a street corner with tension crackling between us like static electricity is not it.
"You don't have to," she sighs. "Noah is staying at the B&B around the corner. He'll give me a ride back."
Noah. Heat rises up my neck as I recall his threat. My jaw clenches so hard it aches. He's my fear materialized, but I'm done letting my fear control me.
"Is that what you want?"
A small smile slips through. She knows I'm fishing. After this conversation, I'm about ninety-nine percent certain whatever isbetween her and Trigg isn't romantic, but I can't say the same is true for Noah.
"I'd love to not have to walk another block."
Her response isn't an outright admission, but it's an inch, and I'll take it.
"Okay, there's just one more thing," I say, rocking back on my heels.
Her eyes narrow. "What's that?"
"You’ll have to touch me." She furrows her brow, and I nod across the street. "I rode my bike."
She purses her lips before a real smile—the first one she's given me since being here—spreads across her pretty face. "I've never been on a motorcycle."
"I think we should change that." She nods excitedly, and we cross the street.
This will no doubt be dangerous. Having her wrapped around me for the twenty-minute ride back to Fairfield will be sweet torture, but perhaps it's just the kind of torment I need to move my hands and feet.
I throw my leg over the bike and take my seat. When she doesn't get on behind me, I look up and see apprehension, but I don't think the bike is the source. It's me. "It's just a ride," I offer.
"Just a ride," she echoes, sliding one hand onto my shoulder to stabilize herself as she climbs onto the seat behind me.
I draw in a sharp breath as her arms wrap around my waist, the sensation hitting like a blow I used to take on the football field. God, she has no idea how many times I've dreamed of her hanging onto me like this again, just like she used to do in my dad's old beat-up truck. We still fit together the same way we always did.
I start up the bike and slowly pull out onto the street. This is a certified bad idea. She's not mine, but her soft thighs pressed against mine and her warmth seeping into my back, thawing the ice around my heart, makes that feel like a lie. How could she notbe mine when her body remembers how to fit perfectly against mine?
A pothole in the road as we travel down the final stretch of road between town and Fairfield has her arms holding me tighter. I instinctively reach for her hands wrapped around my front and squeeze in reassurance.
I should never have let her go. I should have gone back.
The closeness we're sharing now makes me want to keep driving past Fairfield, past the city limits and far away from Bardstown, back to summer nights when the road ahead stretched into eternity, and it was her and me dreaming about tomorrows full of promise.
I turn onto the white gravel leading to Fairfield, and I feel her shift behind me, her cheek coming to rest between my shoulder blades as I slow. Her body molded against my back feels as natural as breathing, her heartbeat steady against my spine. It feels like the start of what could be a new beginning if we both still want it. Far too soon, I'm pulling up to the lot beside the stables, and I'm nowhere near ready to let go.
As I shut off the bike, we sit, each of us unmoving, savoring a moment that feels like the kind we used to dream about, until a trainer walking out of the stables with a horse on a lead headed toward the training ring breaks the calm, and the connection is severed as she gets off the back.
"Thanks for the ride," she says, her voice a tad strained with emotion.
I watch as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear that has loosened from her ponytail. The air between us feels impossibly charged, our unspoken words hanging heavy, and I hate it.
"In order to add Trigg's name on the deed, all living heirs have to sign off on it," I break the silence and give her a truth, one with no conditions, no trade, no strings attached, hoping she sees it for what it is—an olive branch. It may not be the exact one she wants, but it's a start. Her eyes widen as understanding flickers across her face. I didn't know I had an uncle because my father hadn't talkedto his brother in twenty-four years. "Making that happen is my goal."
"Thanks for telling me."
She swallows nervously, and I can tell she's about to give me more, so I say, "You don't have to tell me anything. It's probably better that you don't."
"Why is that?"
I shrug. Standing outside the coffee shop, I wanted answers, but after riding with her on the back of my bike, I was reminded of what's important. I was reminded of the things I care about, and whatever she has to say doesn't change that. I want a relationship with my brother, which means my mission is unchanged. I need to heal the divide that exists between my family. I still want to know what he's up to, and I want to know if he's planning to cross me, but I can't control other people's moves as much as I might like to; it's not reality. All I can do is lay my cards on the table and give him the choice I once denied her. I don't want history to repeat itself. I'm tired of losing the things I care about.
"I'm not telling you this to bind you with a secret. I'm telling you so you can make your own choices. I can't change what is done, but I can try to be better."
