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Connor leaving or Connor confronting his demons.
I slid on the back of the bike, pressed my body up against his while settling my hands on his abdomen then he tapped my hands once and we took off.WE RODE FOR hours on deserted roads, my body snug to his, the vibration of the engine beneath me, the wind catching the loose strands of my hair and tickling my cheeks.
He was right. This was living. The open air with the sun rising and nothing but the road in front of you.
No destination. No tomorrow.
It was freedom. Something both of us had lost for a long time.
He pulled onto a dirt road and the back tire skidded but he easily straightened it out. He drove slowly along the gravel before turning down a path into the trees. There were two well-worn tire tracks in the hard-packed dirt.
The tree line ended and there was an open space. And a dirt track, the dirt bike track. This was where he used to hang out. He’d told me about racing here as a kid, then when he was older, helping the younger kids.
He’d brought Georgie here, too.
He stopped the bike and I got off, my legs a little shaky after the long ride. He slid off as well while I took off my helmet and set it on the seat. Without saying anything, he put his hand in mine and walked toward the winding, hilly track.
It appeared unused. There were weeds growing on the track and the grass surrounding was overgrown. It was secluded being surrounded by trees and far enough away from the main road. A perfect spot for teenagers to hang out and roar around on a Saturday afternoon.
I imagined a young Connor standing on the sidelines laughing with his friends. Connor would’ve been the fearless one. The kid who tore around the track ahead of everyone else.
I’d trade anything to capture a picture of that.
He let go of my hand and I stopped while he bent, picked up a stone and tossed it off the dirt path. “Wiped out right here,” he said, nodding to the steep mound that sharply curved to the right. “Bike was fucked. I wasn’t much better. Couldn’t ride for weeks and I remember thinking it was hell not being able to get on my bike.”
He sat, legs bent, arms hanging over them. “Babe, sit.”
I sat beside him and he continued, “When I came here for two days, I did nothing except remember. And I hated myself. Hated everything. It fuckin’ rained for several hours straight. Seemed rather fitting.”
He picked up a handful of dirt and let it slip through his fingers. “The track was always a nightmare when it was wet. Barely able to see where the hell you were going because there was so much mud splattered on your visor. But fuck, it was fun. Heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, and one huge rush. No rules out here, just riding because we loved it. We loved the risk. The danger. The edge as the bike thrummed beneath you.” He sighed, shaking his head, before lying back and throwing his arm over his eyes. “I’m on edge, Alina. Constantly. But it’s different, not like before. It’s like my finger is on the trigger and if I make the wrong move, the gun will go off and it’ll all end. Don’t know what the end is.” He sighed. “I don’t trust myself. Do you know what that’s like? Unable to trust yourself?”
With the gentle breeze, the tree branches swayed in the distance and a few ducks squawked as they flew overhead. I lay back beside him and said, “Maybe it’s not about trusting yourself, Connor, but first trusting those around you? The people who know you and love you.”
He didn’t respond, but maybe that was a good sign and he was thinking about it. He needed his friends. His family.
He shuffled onto his side, up on his elbow so he faced me. My hands rested on my upper abdomen and he gently lifted my shirt with one finger so there was three inches of skin showing. “Tell me something, babe. Something normal. Just talk. I want to hear your voice.”
I lay on the grass and stared up at the clouds that half covered the sun. Normal. I was trying to find normal and I wanted Connor to find it with me.
“I’m thinking about adopting a cat. One a little older who needs a home. I’ve never had a cat, never had a pet, and I really like the barn cats at the Center.” If he’d been following me, he knew about Tristan and Chess’s Treasured Children’s Center.
“Question six. You’ve never had a pet.” He said it more to himself than to me.
His fingers traced over my skin, slow and rhythmic as if he were drawing something. And when I tilted my head to look at him, he was focused on what he was doing, so I continued.
