“You were dragged away in the middle of the night by a—what did you call me? Ah, yes. A long-haired pirate. Oh, and a lone wolf.”
A memory of that night at Magnolia abruptly assaulted me. “Oh my God. I howled in the bar, didn’t I?”
He nodded slowly, impressed. Then held up two fingers. “Twice.”
I groaned, covering my eyes with my hands.
An amused chuckle met my ears. Then Jack’s gentle touch peeled my fingers away. He was grinning. “It was cute,” he insisted, linking our fingers together once more.
My embarrassment was overshadowed by the feel of my hand twined with his. The gesture was casual and innocent, but I felt anchored to Jack—connected to him in this moment. And that was something I desperately needed. He was so steady and sure, and when I was wrapped up in him, I felt like nothing could touch me, not even my own doubts and fears.
Jack helped me with the helmet, carefully clipping the chin strap in place. His gaze remained warm and affectionate, and that took the edge off of the rest of my awkwardness.
Then we both climbed on the motorcycle, and he drove me back to town.
There would be time to fret over everything that had happened tonight. Later.
It was impossible to lose myself to my worries when I was on the back of Jack’s bike. The sound and the vibration of the engine. The way the wind tugged at my clothes and the ends of my hair. The feel of the man seated in front of me, how his body shifted and moved as we flew down the road. How warm and solid and competent he was.
Despite the cold, I loved the way riding made me feel—free and unrestrained. I’d always thought I’d be scared if I ever managed to make it onto a motorcycle. But I wasn’t. Maybe that had something to do with the man sliding a reassuring hand along my calf at the first red light downtown.
I grinned inside the helmet and tried not to squeeze him too tight around the middle.
When he made it back to the library parking lot, my car was the only one there.
Jack didn’t say anything as he helped me off the bike, and neither did I.
I fought my instinct to thank him. For the rescue in the library, or for the ride that cleared my head, or for the kiss that rocked my world. I was grateful for all of those moments, but I knew Jack well enough now to know I should keep my thanks to myself.
He watched me, helmet in hand, in that quiet, solemn way of his as I made my way to my car.
I pulled out first and tried not to look for his headlight in my rearview mirror.
When I got home, the house was quiet, as usual. But I could feel the smile I wore, the one I hadn’t been able to wipe away since leaving the overlook.
I returned a few texts from my mother, who had been worried about me. Not because she’d seen me leave with Jack, but because she’d seen my car in the parking lot but hadn’t been able to find me. I told her I was fine and apologized for scaring her.
As I washed my face and got ready for bed, I thought back through my conversation with Jack. No one had ever asked me what my anxiety felt like. Not even Mac, who’d seen me in the worst of it. My sister had been too shocked at the time, and maybe she’d been too scared to bring it up afterward. I wasn’t exactly receptive or open to discussing my mental health or my divorce. Nothing real anyway. I kept my interactions with my family safe and easy.
Jack’s words came back to me as I patted my face dry.You should let them know you, Clyde. They might surprise you.
It was something to think about. Yet, I’d been honest with Jack tonight, and he hadn’t treated me like I was broken. He had another one of my secrets, I realized.
Danny had never taken my anxiety seriously. He used to tell me to just let things go, like it was simple enough to release them into the wind. I’d had trouble sleeping for years, even before the affair. Just too caught up in my own head to let my mind rest. Eventually, I’d learned to go and lie on the couch so my tossing and turning or the light from my phone wouldn’t keep Danny up.
It was nice to have Jack listen to me tonight and not make assumptions or tell me how to fix myself.
Admittedly, I’d been worried about seeing him in person for the first time since we’d started up our late-night texting. I’d thought our next encounter might be stilted or awkward. I’d wondered if we’d talk about the things we now knew about each other. Or if he would pretend our messaging had never happened. Would those texts that brought me so much happiness and comfort lately be another secret between us, too?
Luckily, an almost–anxiety attack had taken the pressure off.
Part of me wanted to chastise myself, to wallow around in mortification knowing that Jack had seen me during such a weak moment. That I’d needed saving in the first place. But it hadn’t changed the way he’d looked at me, hadn’t scared him away yet.
When I slipped into bed in my coziest pajamas, I closed my eyes and remembered whispered words and starry skies; the breathless rush of wind; the blur of trees in a single headlight; a quietly murmuredWhat do you need?; dark hair threaded through my fingers; soft lips against the corner of my mouth; and soulful eyes focused only on me.
I thought about my favorite parts of this night.
And I didn’t stop at three.
