Page 11 of Cassie
Recognizing.
Contemplating.
Considering.
And then finally, accepting.
His look sliced through her, cutting through all the barriers she had in place, those walls that were desperately trying to hold everything at bay. That look told her that he saw her.Everything. Saw her fear…understood where she stood right now was filled with nothing good. The look told her that he could see she wanted to be standing in a different place so bad she would do nearly anything to get there…anything to get past this fear and panic and terror and pain. It promised that nothing bad would happen to her. Not while he was around. Tug would make certain of it, he could take care with her, for her…of her.
Certainty freed her lungs and she sucked in a great, whooping breath, then another, feeling muscles loosen in her shoulders and arms. Tears welled in her eyes as she continued looking at him and he nodded, chin going down and then back up once, steady and slow.Easy, I got you. He motioned with one casually relaxed hand, the intent clear.Come on, let’s get this going.
Chin up, she did as he requested, blinking as she walked into the sunlight of a late fall morning.
Next morning, she rose earlier than normal and worked on the computer for about four hours, then dressed and went to the garage by ten o’clock. As promised, Tug was there waiting, seated on an overturned bucket he had appropriated for himself yesterday.
He didn’t speak as she went through the safety and maintenance checks he had taught her. Only making a disapproving noise when she swung her leg over the seat and sat down. Reaching back, she pulled the helmet off the sissy bar and frowned at him. Crossly, she said, “It’s not even started.”
For some reason, Tug didn’t set off any of her alarms. The man seemed to be one big nullifier for all her triggers, because around him, she felt as if she could do anything.
Anything. For the first time in forever.
Even tease him and scowl back.
“Bad habits are easy to get into,” he said, his voice low and growling.
“Bah,” she scoffed, tightened the chinstrap on the helmet, and then grasped the handlebars. With a jerk, she pulled the bike upright, balancing it between her legs for a moment before tipping it slightly to the right. With her left heel, she lifted the kickstand that held the bike in place when it was parked, and then settled back onto the seat. Balancing. Intentionally wobbling it back and forth slightly so she could feel the weight of the bike. As she had yesterday, she pushed backwards with her feet, but the wheels didn’t turn.
Closing her eyes, she tried to remember what he had said yesterday.
“You have the—” he began and when she shushed him, he fell quiet immediately.
In gear? Maybe. She released her right hand from the grip to turn on the key and check and the bike suddenly moved backwards a couple inches. Oh, right, she’d had the handbrake engaged. Tug made a pleased sound, and she opened her eyes, grinning. Now she pushed it backwards, but it went quickly and she fumbled at the grip again, pulling the brake hard and stopping the bike just before it hit the supply shelves next to the wall.
Huffing out in irritation because she had nearly bobbled that simple thing, she cautiously pushed forwards, gliding slowly and easing the bike to a stop with the brake. When he spoke, his voice seemed natural in her garage, echoing and sounding all around her, so she wasn’t startled. “Do the three-point we talked about.”
With a nod, she pushed forward then stopped, then backwards, but she cut the handlebars far to the left. Too far. So far the bike nearly toppled with her on it and Tug was off his bucket and across the garage just as she got her feet underneath her to halt the fall. “I’ve got it,” she complained, turning her head to see how close to the wall she was. He settled back onto the bucket as she completed the maneuver, now facing the back of the garage.
“Again,” he said, and she nodded.
“Again.” Nod.
“Again.” Nod.
“Enough, Cassie.” Tug’s voice came from nearby, and she looked up from where she was staring at the floor, trying to line the wheel up with the tape he had put down. “Honey, you’re soaked and it’s like sixty degrees. You need to go inside. Get a rest in.”
“But, I want to get it right.”
“Youaregetting it right, honey.” He reached out and loosened the strap underneath her chin. “Pop that kickstand down and lean it over.” She did as he told her, but when she tried to stand up, her legs complained. With a grin, he said, “Four hours, Cassie. Quite the leg day you’ve had.”
Swinging her leg over, she completed the routine from this morning in reverse, checking the stability of the bike and turning off the fuel petcock. Helmet in hand, she turned to him and knew there was a stupid grin on her face as she asked, “Tomorrow?”
“Couldn’t keep me away, honey.” With a flip of his hand, he walked out, and she heard a vehicle engine start up. Stepping to the doorway, she watched him climb into the passenger side of a truck sitting at the end of her driveway. The driver also gave her a flip of his hand as he pulled out. She repeated the brief two-finger wave, determined to practice it until it felt natural.
A week later, she and Tug had fallen into a comfortable routine. She now brought him a cup of coffee when she came out, and he’d wrenched permission from her to go into her house for refills. Comfortable and kind, Tug somehow seemed to have turned into a friend.A friend who is also a slave driver, she thought. Today he was sitting at the end of the driveway on his own motorcycle, patiently waiting for her to roll hers out of the garage.
He had been there for nearly three hours.
The plan was to ride to the parking lot of a nearby factory that had closed down. With space for more than seven hundred workers per shift, he’d joked that it should have ample room for her to ride in figure eights and practice stopping.
