Page 28 of Friar
Friar turned at the sound of the door, his face lifting toward me.In the strange mix of moonlight and porch light, his features looked softer, younger somehow.Less guarded.He cut the engine, and the sudden silence felt thick, expectant.
“Hey,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the still night air.“Was hoping you’d hear me.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of my bare legs, of the cool night air raising goose bumps along my skin.“Everything okay?”
Friar swung his leg over the bike, dismounting with that fluid grace that always caught me off guard.He had a helmet tucked under one arm -- his spare, the one that usually hung unused in the garage.“Everything’s fine.Better than fine.”He approached the steps, looking up at me with a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.“Just thought you might want to go for a ride.”
“Now?”I glanced back at the dark house, then up at the star-scattered sky.“It’s the middle of the night.”
“Best time,” he said simply, holding up the spare helmet.“Roads are empty.Air’s clean.Just us and the stars.”He took another step closer, his eyes meeting mine.“You up for it, church girl?”
Something in his voice, in the way he held himself -- loose-limbed but with an underlying tension, like a predator trying to appear harmless -- told me this wasn’t just a random impulse.This mattered to him, though I couldn’t yet understand why.
My hand drifted instinctively to my stomach, a protective gesture that had become second nature these past weeks.The slight swell beneath my tank top was barely noticeable to strangers, but I felt it -- the subtle rounding, the firmness where softness had been before.Physical proof of the life growing inside me.
Friar’s gaze followed the movement, his expression softening further.“It’s safe,” he said, his voice dropping lower.“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.We’ll take it easy.Just… wanted to show you something.”
The hesitation in his voice, so unlike his usual confidence, tugged at something in my chest.This was Friar… the man who’d claimed me, claimed my baby, in front of his entire club.Who’d risked his standing, his reputation, to give us a home, a future.And now he was asking me to trust him with this small thing.
“Okay,” I said, surprising myself with how easily the word came.“Let me just put on some jeans.”
Five minutes later, properly dressed and with my hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, I stood beside the motorcycle.Friar handed me the spare helmet, his fingers brushing mine in the process.
I turned the helmet over in my hands.“Uncle Pete said motorcycles were ‘wheeled coffins for sinners.’”
Friar snorted, a sound caught between amusement and disgust.“Your uncle and I would have a lot to talk about if we ever met.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I said, my tone sharper than intended.“You’d punch him, and he’d start quoting scripture about turning the other cheek while bleeding all over his Bible.”
“Sounds about right.”Friar’s lips quirked into that half-smile again as he helped me secure the helmet.His fingers were gentle against my cheek as he adjusted the strap, his eyes focused on the task with an intensity that made my breath catch.“Hold onto me and don’t forget to lean when I lean,” he instructed, climbing onto the bike and patting the seat behind him.
I climbed on behind him.My thighs pressed against his, my chest against his back as I wrapped my arms around his waist.The leather of his cut was cool and smooth beneath my fingers, the solidity of his body reassuring against mine.
The engine roared to life, and I tightened my arms around Friar’s middle.
“You good?”he called over his shoulder, his voice barely audible above the engine’s rumble.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, then realized he couldn’t see me.“Yes,” I managed, the word catching in my throat.
We pulled away from the house slowly, the bike’s headlight cutting a path through the darkness.The initial jolt of movement made me cling tighter, pressing myself fully against Friar’s back, my heart hammering against my ribs.But as we turned out of the compound and onto the main road and picked up speed, something unexpected happened.
The fear began to recede, replaced by a growing exhilaration.It was my first real ride, and I found it… thrilling.
The deserted streets stretched before us, empty of traffic at this hour.Friar guided the motorcycle with confident precision, his body telegraphing each movement before it happened.I found myself following his lead instinctively, leaning into turns, my body moving in sync with his.
Cool night air rushed past us, slipping beneath the collar of my jacket and raising goose bumps along my neck.It carried the scents of the sleeping town -- cut grass from lawns we passed, the lingering aroma of someone’s late-night barbecue, the clean, sharp scent of pine from the woods at the edge of town.Beneath it all was Friar’s scent -- leather and cologne and something uniquely him, warm and male and increasingly familiar.
Streetlights blurred overhead, creating a strobing effect that was almost hypnotic.The buildings we passed were dark and silent, the whole world seemingly asleep except for us.There was something illicit about it, something thrilling -- racing through the sleeping town on this powerful machine, my arms wrapped around a man who lived by his own code.
The vibration of the engine pulsed through my entire body, a constant, rhythmic reminder of the power beneath us.It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.Quite the opposite, in fact.I felt myself relaxing into it, into him.
We left the town behind, the road opening up before us.Friar accelerated, the bike surging forward with a growl that I felt in my bones.I laughed, the sound torn away by the wind, replaced by a feeling of wild freedom I’d never experienced before.
This was what Friar had wanted to show me, I realized.Not just a destination, but this feeling of liberation, of breaking free from constraints and expectations.The physical embodiment of everything his lifestyle represented.
My arms loosened slightly around his waist as my confidence grew, though I maintained enough contact to feel secure.The night air whipped at my clothes, at the loose strands of hair that had escaped the helmet.I tipped my head back slightly, looking up at the star-filled sky above us, feeling smaller and more alive than I had in months.
For the first time since the positive pregnancy test, since Uncle Pete’s harsh condemnation, since showing up at the clubhouse parking lot with nowhere else to go -- I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow, or the complications waiting for us there.I was fully present in this moment, alive to every sensation, every breath.
