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He wasn’t sure how he was standing. For twenty-one years, the weight of that story had filled him. And now that he’d let it out, he didn’t even have that unspoken shame to hold him up. He’d never been emptier than he was right that second.
True to her word, Emma descended five minutes later wearing a pair of tall leather boots over skinny jeans, a pale yellow sweater, and her hair in a chunky braid that hung down one side. No make-up. Puffy eyes she hadn’t tried to hide.
She was so fucking perfect… No, she was someone else’s fucking perfect now. Someone who actually deserved her.
“I’m parked out back,” he said.
“I’m just down the street,” she said.
He frowned. “I’m not sure we should ride apart.”
She shrugged. “I don’t see the point in riding together. You’ll just have to bring me back again. And I assumed, I don’t know…” She shrugged again, and the defeated blankness was like a steel knife to his windpipe.
His mind churned. Caine needed someone keeping 24/7 watch, but it didn’t have to be him, not if it made her uncomfortable. “Okay, we’ll take your car.”
“Bye, ChewChew,” she said, voice so devastatingly flat. She swiped at the whole panel of light switches on the living room wall. The Christmas tree went dark.
It was the first time he’d seen it off the entire time he’d been there. Hell, even before she’d invited him to stay on Christmas Eve, that tree had been lit every other time he’d been by or watched over her house.
The darkness was so fucking wrong that he wanted to rage at the world. But he’d already done that, hadn’t he? That was how they’d gotten here in the first place.
Walking side by side outside, they were miles apart.
“Damnit,” Emma said, cutting into the street near her car. “This will take forever to clear.” The plows had used the empty space in front of Emma’s little CRV to pile snow, resulting in the whole front and front side of her car being behind a wall of snow, not to mention the three-foot-high wall that separated the car from the street. “Your bike it is, I guess.”
He gave her clothing a once-over.
“What?” Her gaze dared him to give her a hard time.
He shook his head. “It’s a good outfit for riding. That’s all.”
They cut through the alley to the little nook along her back fence where he’d left his motorcycle for the past week. Better than out on the street getting knocked over by a plow or sprayed with salt. If Emma’s situation hadn’t felt so dire with having found the broken window and footprints, he would’ve eventually gone home and traded out his Harley for the old pick-up he owned. Because riding in storm conditions like last weekend was fucking stupid. But now the roads and weather were clear again, so they should be fine to get to the compound.
He removed and stowed the cover, checked that the cold hadn’t too badly fucked with the tire pressure, and handed Emma the helmet and coat. “Put this on. Riding gear, too.”
She accepted the helmet. “What about you?”
“I’ve ridden without a helmet a million times. It’s only fifteen minutes.”
She frowned. “That’s not smart.”
He chuffed out a laugh. “You’re right,” he said as he made sure the helmet’s fit was snug.
“Why do I need the Stormtrooper coat, too?”
He shouldn’t have found her face so cute through the helmet’s visor, but he did. Cute and sexy. Before he’d messed everything up, he would’ve teased her about the coat’s nickname. But he no longer had to ask the why of it, since they’d watched six of the Star Wars movies together over the course of the week. He got the reference.
“You’ll be too cold without it,” he said. And if I fuck anything else up today, it’ll keep you safe. But he didn’t add that because she didn’t need to shoulder anymore bullshit from him. And he was a good fucking rider, so that was the one area he never had to doubt himself.
“So then you’ll be cold?” she asked.
How could she even care at this point? After he’d wielded his dirtiest secrets against her like a blade. “I’ve got layers and Cold Gear on. I’ll be fine. Now, I’m about to throw a shit-ton of information at you. Tell me to slow down if you need to.” In ten minutes, he gave her a crash-course in being a motorcycle passenger. How to get on and off, where to hold him, where to put her feet, what to expect for different actions and movements on the bike. “Our communication will be limited, so tap me once on the right shoulder for stop when it’s convenient and twice on the right for stop right now. If you want to tell me you have a problem, tap me once on the left shoulder, or if you need me to slow down, tap the left twice. That should cover it for a ride this short. And I’ll take it easy.”
