Page 71 of Brash for It
I think about the first ride I ever took with him.How my knuckles went white on his cut, how my brain screamed about accidents and headlines, how I was too stuck in fear to feel the freedom.I think about the night he took me riding when he was restless and I asked how we could make him feel free.I didn’t know then that riding wasn’t just his freedom.It could be mine too.
Now it is.
At one of the short straights, Kellum glances in his mirror, checking me.I give him a quick thumbs-up, then spread my arms wide for a second, letting the wind carry them like wings.His shoulders shake with laughter, and he guns the throttle just to hear me whoop.
Curves tighten again, stacking fast, but we move as one.It feels like dancing—fast, fierce, a rhythm that belongs to only us.Sweat collects at the back of my neck, my thighs burn a little from gripping, but I’ve never felt stronger.
Halfway through, the mountains open up on one side, a sudden view of endless green spilling down into valleys.My stomach flips, but not from fear—from awe.The sheer size of it all, the reminder that the world is bigger than heartbreaks and small-town whispers, bigger than the girl who thought her life ended when she lost her parents and her boyfriend’s lies unraveled her.
I tuck closer into Kellum’s back and whisper—not loud enough for him to hear through the roar, but loud enough for me to know I said it—“Thank you for finding me, love me, challenging me, and holding me close.”
The curves keep coming.So do we.Ten miles, eleven.Then the road spills us out onto a wide overlook where other bikes are already lined up, chrome glinting in the sun.Kellum slows, eases the bike into a spot near the edge, and cuts the engine.The sudden silence roars almost as loud as the ride.
My legs wobble when I climb off.Not from fear.From adrenaline.From joy.Kellum steadies me with a hand at my waist, helmet still on, eyes laughing.
“Well?”he asks as I unclip my strap and shake out my braid.
I grin so hard my cheeks hurt.“Again.”
He throws his head back and laughs, big and free, the sound bouncing off the mountain and coming back twice as loud.He pulls me into his chest, crushing, then presses his helmet to mine before tugging it off.His hair’s a mess, his grin wild.“You’re mine, Kristen,” he growls, but it’s joy, not warning.“Every damn curve, you’re mine.”
I tilt up, kiss him hard, not caring about the other riders grinning at us like they know exactly what just happened on that road.I don’t care.Because they probably do.Because they’ve been here too.
I break the kiss, still smiling.“Always.”
He cups my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone, expression turning softer than the leather he wears.“Come on, darlin’.Gotta show you the view.”
He takes my hand and leads me toward the overlook, the mountains waiting like a secret he’s about to let me in on.
The overlook hangs like a balcony over a thousand shades of green.The mountains fold and refold on themselves until they’re more suggestion than shape, blue at the edges where the air forgets to hold color.A line of bikes glints in the sun—chrome and matte, clean and road-dirty, stickers and stories layered on helmets and tanks.Helmets sit on seats like loyal dogs.Riders stretch, trade water bottles, show off scuffed leathers like proud scars.
Kellum threads our fingers and leads me to the stone wall.A boy no older than seventeen gawks at our bike and gets an elbow from the woman with him—his mom, probably.An older couple in matching half-helmets split a granola bar and the woman catches my eye, gives me a conspirator’s nod that says first time, I nod back.But it won’t be my last.I want us to be them one day, old, gray, but riding this out together.
Kellum drops our hands only long enough to tug my knit neck warmer from his back pocket and hold it up with a grin.
“You smuggled my cozy?”I ask, delighted.
“Mama handed it to me on the porch, she made two” he says.“Said you’d get cocky and forget mountain air bites.”
“She knows me well.”
“She prayed for you for me,” he says, and it folds me right open in a way that doesn’t hurt.I let him pull the knit over my head letting it scrunch around my neck.
“Hold still,” he murmurs.“You got bug confetti on your cheek.”
I snort.“That’s my new bronzer.”
He laughs, rubs it away with his knuckle, then leans against the stone and drags me between his knees so I’m standing in the frame of him.From here the drop looks dramatic and safe at the same time—like the world wants to impress without actually threatening.
For a minute neither of us speaks.We just let the view try its tricks to wow us.The man in front of me wows me more than anything.The mountains breathe.My body answers.
“Was it what you thought?”he asks, voice low enough to be ours alone.
“More,” I respond, immediately.“It’s like the road is brutally honest.No pretending.It shows you everything—your fear, your balance, your trust.If you lie, it’ll put you in the guardrail.If you tell the truth, it will carry you.”
He hums, pleased.“You rode on truth, then.”
“I did,” I say, proud enough to glow.“With you.Because this is us.”
