Page 28 of Rebound
“Save that smile for me, Lotus.”
I don’t know why, but I nod and walk to where everyone’s waiting. I don’t look back, but I can feel his eyes on me. I swear under my breath; this was not what I wanted to happen. And now I’ve let him touch and kiss me again. I’ve let him call me Lotus in that dangerous rasp and I’ve enjoyed it. Oh my god, I’m going to hell.
Ten. What a menace
Patrick
There’s a first time for everything, right?
First time knocking someone up, first time falling back in love, first time moving to a new city as an adult.
First time putting my motorcycle into the cargo hold of a train.
This was as nerve-wracking as the other three. Especially since they don’t unload the carriage until much later in the day. The train only does two trips from Bangalore in a day and with Chennai being the last stop, they take their time unloading the cargo hold. Unless you pay extra and get them to do it as soon as you get off the train. I didn’t mind waiting a day, but now I’m anxious.
While I’m fine using public transport, there’s something to be said for riding my bike through busy streets and getting to places faster. Besides, Nyx and I have been together for a long time and she’s my prized possession. Even more than the medals. Part of the reason I chose to rent at the start of my career was so I could save all my earnings to buy a motorcycle. Growing up, my dad’s younger brother—and my godfather—was the cool uncle with a leather jacket and a Royal Enfield?1 you heard long before you saw it. To my young and impressionable eyes, it was the most badass thing on the planet.
So when I was old enough to get my own ride, I spent years researching and test riding every Enfield bike manufactured until I settled on the Hunter 350.
I don’t use the bike for long distance travelling or traversing dangerous areas. For me, it’s a way to feel like I’m flying. Plus, when Dominic and I started working together, he recommended long drives and my bike was perfect. Painted entirely black, I named her Nyx—for the goddess of night and daughter of Chaos—and she’s always in perfect condition.
So when I reach Chennai Central?2 and see the railway employees have ripped away the bubble sheets and brown paper I wrapped her up in to take pictures, I’m mad. They apologise profusely and very sheepishly ask for a tip. Despite my irritation, I make the necessary payments and get Nyx out of there.
Elias recommended a few places open this early to pick up pancakes after he overheard my conversation with Tamara. I drive to the first café and place my order, then step outside to look Nyx over. I run my hands over the engine and handlebars, around the wheels and ensure she’s okay.
“I’m sorry, Nyx,” I mumble, as I pat her down. “For leaving you with those handsy men.”
A staff member brings my order out and I thank him, then put it into my knapsack. I loop it over my shoulders and pull on the rest of my gear. Then I follow the directions coming through my earphones until I pull up in front of a gate where an old security guard guides me to a visitor’s parking area. I make sure to park Nyx in the shade before I grab everything and head inside. The lobby is teeming with plants, one wall has a bulletin board and the other side has mailboxes. The one with Tamara’s name is overflowing.
I tuck her mail under my arm and climb into the elevator. I’ve never been this anxious, but my hands are shaking. We might have kissed last night and I took a lot more liberties by grabbing her ass, but it doesn’t mean anything. Tamara was mostly annoyed with me the whole evening, so she might feel worse towards me today. Nervousness runs through my veins and my heart beats out an excited rhythm, making this the most stressful elevator ride of my life.
When I finally step out, three doors in different colours greet me—dark brown, white and green—two have plants in front, the third is empty. There are mats in front of each apartment, along with their number and names. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the green door belongs to my girl.
Giving myself another pep talk, mostly so I don’t say or do anything stupid when I see her, I knock on the door.
“It’s open!” a voice calls back and I frown.
Shuffling things in my arms, I twist the handle and push into the flat. A reprimand freezes on my tongue when I take a look at the place—it’s beautiful. I step further in and close the door behind me, but don’t go any further. The walls are light pink and brightens the space while adding character. The white curtains are drawn open to bring in natural light, plants leaning desperately towards the sun. It’s an open plan space, allowing you to see the living room, dining room and kitchen all at once. It’s clean and smells fucking great.
She hurries out of the hallway leading off the kitchen and skids to a halt. “Absolutely not.”
“What?”
“Why must you look like this?”
I look at myself and frown. “I’m confused.”
“I’m hormonal and you’re doing this to me.”
“Help me out here, Lo.”
She huffs at the nickname, but doesn’t correct me. Hands on her hips, she taps her foot and I smile. She’s wearing a grey dress that falls to her knees, putting her bare legs and bright green toes on display. God, she’s fucking cute. Her curly hair is up in what I can only assume is a ponytail, but most of it is spilling down her shoulders. Her face is clear of makeup, except for whatever she’s put on her lips to make them shine. There’s a softness around her waist that’s visible in this outfit and I’m very aware of what she’ll look like when we’re a few more months into this pregnancy.
“You’re dressed like those bad boys parents warn their daughters about.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“You seriously don’t know about the side of the internet where everyone is thirsting over biker boys?”
