Page 44 of Healing You
“You used to love riding.”
He gave a sad sort of chuckle that resonated like a piece of glass in her heart. “I loved feeling like a badass. I loved all things destructive. I didn't actually love riding.”
Yvonne studied his face carefully and the way his mouth pinched into a straight line. She wrapped a hand around the grip and swung her leg over it, sitting atop the bike. Memories slammed into her, buzzing louder than a swarm of bees. How many times had she been on the back of this bike, clutching Steve's waist as he sped around, bringing them up to the highest point in New Hampshire? She had loved it, too. Hell, maybe she even loved it more than Steve had. There was a time they were fearless together. It was a feeling she only got around him—and when he disappeared, so did that feeling of invincibility. She'd always thought that was just her and that he was solidly confident even after they broke up... but for the first time she was realizing that maybe he had lost that feeling of invincibility, too. There was no more sense of adventure in her life. No more risks she took... not with her life, her job... or most of all, her heart. “I wanna go riding,” she whispered, turning to face him.
A sharp breath caused his chest to expand, and his pinched mouth turned into a full-on frown. “Not a chance, Eve,” he responded. “It's a tin can on wheels.”
“Then why'd you keep it all these years?”
He shrugged, but it didn't escape her notice that he turned away, unable to look at her while he answered. “It was my dad's bike. I want it... I just don't want to ride it anymore. Just like the decanter. I don't drink scotch, but it's still worth keeping.”
“Does it still work?” The key was in the ignition and Yvonne bent, turning it. Before she could fully rotate it, Steve's hand came down hard against her wrist, stopping her.
“Don't,” he rasped. “Please, don't.” The muscles around his scar trembled, involuntarily twitching in the same way that Yvonne's quads sometimes did when she was fatigued from running.
She released her hold on the key immediately, swinging her legs off the bike. There was something about his reaction. This wasn't the same as Jonah's controlling behavior. It was different... it was fearful. Beads of sweat pearled on his forehead and he swiped his arm across his brow. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Please,” his voice shook with panic. Panic she'd never seen in him before. “Just get off the bike. Please.”
She did as he asked, standing up from the seat. “I'm off,” she answered. “See? Steve, open your eyes. Look at me.” He did what she asked, though it seemed reluctant. “I'm fine.”
He released a deep breath and his shoulders relaxed. Even still, she could see that he was biting the inside of his cheek on one side. “Anxiety?” she asked.
He nodded. “Something like that.”
“From the accident?”
Again, he nodded. “It doesn't happen often. I've got it under control.”
“Maybe someday in the future, we can ride this again together.”
“Maybe.” But he sounded doubtful.
She entwined her fingers into his while smoothing her other hand across the leather banana seat. It was an old bike... belonged to his dad back in the seventies, if she remembered correctly. At the edge of the seat was a small lever. Instinctually, she tugged it and the seat popped open, revealing a compartment inside. “I didn't know it had this,” she said, tugging the seat up.
The compartment was empty except for an area to fill the gas tank and a stack of folded papers. Letters? She felt his grip on her hand tighten, his fingers clenching between hers. Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head, looking at a few sheets of notebook paper folded together on the top. “That's my handwriting,” she said. Then lifting another one, she recognized Steve's handwriting from their high school days. The folded note had her name scribbled on the front. “You kept our high school notes?” She thought back to their classes in high school. Steve was a year older than her and so they rarely had classes together. Occasionally, they would leave little love notes in each other's lockers, but they weren't that couple who constantly passed love letters back and forth in the hallways.
Steve lurched, shutting the seat back down and giving an attempted casual shrug. “There was no way I could throw away that letter. I tried. But I couldn't.”
Yvonne racked her brain. She and Steve had a deep history. But that folded letter with her handwriting? It looked like it was more than one page and it looked long. She didn't remember ever writing any thesis on their love. And that was certainly more than just “Future Mrs. Steven Tripp,” scribbled on the outside of her homework. “Maybe we should read them,” she said. “Together.”
A look of horror crossed his face briefly, but as quickly as the curtain dropped, he pulled it right back into place. “You want to read that note? Aloud.” The faux level of confidence Steve had crumbled and he dragged a hand down his face. Whatever anger and frustration he seemed to be feeling dissolved into exhaustion.
She shook her head, concern now taking the place of curiosity. “Well, not if it's going to upset you.” Whatever these notes were, they meant a lot to him. Or caused him stress, she noted, watching the way his eyes had turned weary. When he didn't answer, she moved to try to grab them, but he blocked her path. “Now you're worrying me.”
“You meant it when you apologized to me the other day, right?” She nodded, unsure of what their accident had to do with this. “Then can we forget about these? Let this go for now? This has been a really long day. I really just want to be with you. And hold you. I don't want to think about how we used to be and what we both said and did way back when we were teenagers.”
What in the hell had she written all those years ago? Or had he written? She caught another glimpse of his worried face and how moments ago, he was freaking out over her sitting on a motorcycle that wasn't even moving... hell, it wasn't even turned on. Maybe it was just a little too much for him right now. Yvonne lifted an eyebrow and nodded. “Maybe another night, then?”
He cupped her jaw and tilted her mouth to line up with his. “Eve, I promise you. We will revisit those letters if it's what you need. But tonight, I want to live in the now. And not dwell in the past.”
He'd been so good about giving her the time, space and words that she needed to move forward together. She wanted to award him the same thing. Even if the curiosity was killing her. “I understand. Sometimes we need to face things in order to move on from them. But I can wait until you're ready for that.”
He pressed his mouth to hers, nudging her lips open. Curiosity faded, overshadowed by lust. “It's going to be really hard for me, but I promise that by the time Gatsby's treatments are over, we can revisit those letters.”
2 1
L ater that week, Steve let her run ahead, knowing there was no way he could catch up to her when she was practicing her full stride pace. Instead, he hung back, careful not to jostle his backpack too much. On the way down the hill, he passed Jonah, also on a run. Feeling his already tight muscles clench, he closed his eyes, ignoring the glare Yvonne's ex-fiance gave him. The guy now lived in town with them; it was inevitable they would bump into each other from time to time. And he'd be damned if he let that guy ruin another evening with Yvonne.
