That small smile of hers flickers through my mind as I ease us down the driveway, the bike rumbling beneath us.
It’s just us and the open road.
Her arms tighten as I take the first turn, the wind tugging at her hair where it slips past the helmet’s edge.
She lets out a small, breathless laugh—God, I haven’t heard that sound in so long.
“You good back there?” I say through the Bluetooth connected to our helmets.
“I’m perfect,” she squeals, laughing again, and it hits me right in the chest.
A smile tugs at my lips as I reach back with one hand, just for a moment, and my fingers find the smooth skin of her thigh where the hem of my flannel rides up.
She stiffens for half a heartbeat, then relaxes, her hand covering mine.
I give her thigh a slow squeeze, my thumb lazily circling, a quiet reminder that she’s safe, right here with me.
She presses closer. “Don’t let go.”
“Never,” I promise.
We ride like that; her laughter carried on the breeze, her hand still over mine. The world around us blurs into streaks of green and orange, a view that doesn’t look real.
Every few miles, I glance down at our hands linked together, watching how her fingers twitch against mine as if she’s trying to memorize the feel of it.
We finally pull up to the ridge. The engine goes silent, and the world breathes a sigh of relief.
She slides off first, removing her helmet, her hair tousled by the wind. She’s flushed, with bright, shining eyes as she looks up at me, smiling so wide it takes my breath away. “That was?—”
“Worth it?” I finish for her.
She nods, still breathless. “Every second.”
I set my helmet down and step close enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Told you I wouldn’t let you fall, sunshine.”
“I know,” she whispers, “You never do.”
reed
. . .
The girls insisted on a movie night. Now that Layla is here, they can’t get enough of her.
Fuck, I can't either. The hole in my heart that I’ve carried for years is finally beginning to heal because of her.
Catalina has her fuzzy blanket wrapped around her, leaning into Carter on the couch as he kisses her every few minutes; he’s clearly forgotten that other people exist.
Maverick gags looking at them as he’s sprawled on the floor, a bowl of chips balanced precariously on his stomach. Amelia’s beside him, stealing them one at a time just to watch him complain.
They’re child-free tonight, so they’re acting like complete fools.
I’m in the recliner with Layla nestled against my side, her head resting on my heart as I gently run my fingers across her shoulder.
On TV, Texas Chainsaw Massacre is playing; Maverick’s idea of hell.
“Turn this sick shit off!” he yells, shielding his face witha throw pillow, a muffled gag escaping him. “I swear to God!”
Amelia’s doubled over laughing. “You’re such a baby!”
