Page 92 of Fly Back to Me
Butone thing at a time.
My jean-clad knee digs into the grass again, and I pick up the discarded fender to position over the bike chain.
“You have a white feather on your bike.”
I work the socket over the bolts to fasten the metal in place, my arm slowing down when her question filters to my brain.
I’ve never spoken out loud about it. Not even to Jenna. I guess I always considered the feather a silent understanding betweenus. Just me andher. There was never a need to involve anyone else or make them aware of it.
“Yeah,” I simply state, tightening the last two bolts to the white fender. “I received it as a gift.”
My abdomen tenses, silence saturating the air between us when Olivia doesn’t respond right away. I’m sure she’swondering why my answer is so stiff, and as much as I don’t want to get into every detail right now, I know she deserves more substance from me.
I suck in a breath, backing away from my bike to rise to my feet. “The woman I helped out…” My explanation fades when I drop my tools in the chest. “She gave it to me.”
Metal clashes, and my body pivots to meet her patient mint eyes. I offer her a kind smile, peeling my gloves and snapback off when her chin bobs once.
“The white feather falls from the wings of a guardian angel,” she says, her eyes locked on the item in question.
A crooked smile emerges from my lips as I shrug and say, “I guess I’m in the minority.” I drop my gloves on the ground and hat on the toolbox, scrubbing a hand through my hair after. “I didn’t know what a white feather meant until I was given one,” I explain.
Needing to keep myself moving, because of the conversation and weather, I turn to grab the full cover off the ground. I fan out the polyester, beginning to walk with it as I sheath my motorcycle from the impending rain.
“I never told you the story of my attack.”
My throat rolls, dread weighing in my gut as I speed up the motions of my arms and legs. I’m not entirely sure I can remain sane while Olivia recalls specific details of her assault. There’s a great chance that after she recounts it, I’m going to harass the police department or scope out the town it occurred in to castrate this motherfucker.
Once I cloak the entire bike, I’m walking over to her. “Hey, you don’t need to relive it, okay? I didn’t mea—”
“I wear an ankle bracelet every day,” she blurts.
My boots pause in their tracks a few inches away from her, eyes roaming over her void gaze. The gloomy sky bounces off her stare, muting that beautiful green I’ve fallen head over heels for.Her full lips flatline, face taut as she gulps through a tight lump. “I’ve been wearing it almost every day since I was attacked.”
She wants to talk about this.
My brows slightly crease, and I offer her a nod of encouragement. If she needs to vent to help herself fully heal, my ears are all hers. It’s not a question anymore. “Okay,” I tread lightly. Her chin dips, both hands wrestling at the waistline of her high-rise jeans. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m understanding,” I confess.
“I wear it because it reminds me of the person who helped me out of that situation.” Her shoulders rise with a staggered inhale. “When I wear it, I feel protected. Like they’re with me and they’re always going to keep me safe no matter what.”
I lower my head gently, trying to pull her eyes back to me. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She exhausts a long breath before raising her gaze to mine, turmoil swirling behind her glossy lenses. And then she’s digging into her jeans pocket as she takes a couple steps toward me. “Is it by accident that two people meet for the first time twice?”
I blink, my mind rewinding to our date at the coffee shop and her Post-it note. The same uproar woven in her eyes reaches my stomach, an unexpected tornado whirling on cue. “Olivia, I’m not und—”
I’m cut off when her soft fingers land on my hand, lifting it to turn my palm up between us. Her closed fist drops a tiny trinket in it, and then she’s folding my fingers over to hide the identity.
A couple rain droplets pelt the top of my head, only for another to splatter on my closed fist. I look into Olivia’s eyes, her gaze clouded with tears that are a breath away from sliding down her cheeks.
My mouth parts to speak, but she’s already spinning around and walking away. Her walk transforms to a gentle jog, and thetent in my stomach practically stabs me now.
I peer down at my cupped hand, unfolding my fingers to reveal the hidden object inside.
My ring.
The rain droplets fall faster, splashing on my open palm as I stare at the jewelry in a trance. For a moment, I think she took my ring from me when I wasn’t paying attention, only to realize mine is still wrapped around my middle finger.
“What the …?” I whisper, plucking the ring from my palm.
