A pussy, that’s who. Troy is a fucking pussy. A pussy who doesn’t deserve my sweet, little kitten.
Fuck him!
The crowd hums around me as I carry my girl upstream. The moonlit log-roll starts in twenty minutes and everyone in town is headed to the back of the festival and toward the arena. Anywhere else, a woman on my shoulder kicking and screaming would cause a scene. Here, it’s a normal Friday night.
Not to mention that Nikki’s screams aren’t that convincing. She likes it on my shoulders and we both know it.
When we’ve crossed beneath the wooden arch, I carry her through the quiet field toward my motorcycle parked on the east end of the lot.
“Where are we going? You’re acting like an animal. Did Clint tell you I was here?”
She must have run into him. I have questions, but I’m too angry to ask any of them. I’m livid, and I don’t want to be held accountable for what I say.
The moon hangs low, lighting up the field as I set her in the grass next to my bike. I know she hates the thing, but it’s all I have here with me, and she’s getting on it.
Her arms cross over her chest and she scoffs. “You’re kidding yourself if you think I’m getting on that death machine.”
The chrome catches the moonlight, throwing it back in sharp flashes. I focus on it for a second as I think over my next move, but mid-thought, I catch Troy making his way acrossthe field. Maybe he’s not a complete pussy. That said, I’m not fighting this fuck over something that’s belonged to me far before he even knew her name.
I lift Nikki from the ground, her small, curved frame twisting and flailing as I set her on the bike, boxing her in-between my arms as I climb on after her.
“What are you doing?” she shouts as I turn the engine, muting her words enough that I can pretend to ignore them.
Truth is I hear every damn syllable. I just don’t trust myself to answer.
I focus on the vibration, the rumble, the soft weight of her body as she leans back against me.
This is what gives me permission to peel off into the night. She won’t admit it, but she wants this. She wanted me to show up here tonight. She wanted me to lift her off the ground and carry her way. And though she’s scared of this bike, she wanted to be in my arms.
I keep my eyes on the moonlit field and drive without hesitation. Her hair whips back and brushes across my face and my throat, the soft scent of wildflowers moving with it.
I grip the handlebars until my knuckles are white and ride up onto the main road. There are two directions I could take. One, I could ride back up to the cabin. Two, I could finally get started on that road trip I’ve been meaning to take.
Sure, I have nothing packed, but there are plenty of shops along the way, and right now, I want to be as far away from anyone that could take Nikki from me as possible.
I know my buddy Kade has had a spot set up for me at his campground on the outskirts of the mountain since I told him I was thinking about the trip out there. It’s not the furthest I could get tonight, but it’s far enough that no one will think to look for us there.
Her back presses into me tighter and her small hands grip the tank. She’s small enough that I can cage her in without crowding her, but close enough that every breath she takes moves through me.
I love having her this close. Having her in my space, feeling her weight, holding her where no one else can touch her.
The wind hits cool and sharp. There’s a chill in the air tonight I don’t think anyone in town was expecting, which is probably why Nikki’s wearing this flannel she doesn’t usually wear. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to push away thoughts of the asshole taking off his shirt to offer it to my little kitten, trying to dissociate from the hard truth that my little girl was close to leaving me for good.
But here, in the quiet rumble of my bike on the open road, the rage of this reality slashes at my chest like a serrated chef’s knife. I want to pull over and rip it off her, punish her little body for letting that man care for her, but the night is cold and I don’t have a flannel she can wear right now.
It’s just a shirt.
Fabric.
It means nothing.
I tell myself this over and over again as I lean into a curve, the bike humming beneath us as she presses back into me for balance.
Why the hell is this bothering me so much?
I didn’t lose her. She’s right here in front of me, against my chest, between my arms, her tiny hand now on my thigh.
She’s safe. I have her.
