Page 21 of My Older Biker

When she pulls back she says, "You need to shower."

"I know."

She takes my hand. Leads me down the hallway to the bathroom. Starts the water. While it heats she helps me strip. Careful around the tape. My shirt smells like smoke and gunpowder. My jeans are stiff with dried blood that isn't all mine.

When I'm naked she pulls my t-shirt over her head. Steps out of her underwear. Then we're under the spray together.

The water runs pink at our feet. She washes my hair. Her fingers gentle on my scalp. Cleans the soot from my face and neck. When she gets to the tape on my ribs she's cautious not to disturb it.

I just stand there and let her take care of me. Let myself be taken care of for the first time in longer than I can remember.

When I'm clean she turns in my arms. Presses her back against my chest. I wrap my arms around her. One hand splayed across her soft stomach. The other across her collarbone.

We stand like that for a long time. Just breathing together under the hot water.

"I killed two people tonight," I say.

She doesn't pull away. "I know."

"Perry's still dead."

"I know that too."

"And I'd do it again. All of it. Because that's who I am."

She turns in my arms. Looks up at me. Water runs down her face. "I know who you are. I'm not asking you to be someone else."

"You should."

"Maybe." She touches my face. Her palm against my cheek. "But I'm not."

I kiss her. Slow and deep. Not urgent. Just necessary. A reminder that I'm alive and she's here and we chose this.

When I pull back I say, "I love you."

"I know." She smiles a little. Sad but real. "You told me before you left."

"I'm telling you again now that I'm back."

"Good." She kisses me again. "I love you too."

We stay in the shower until the water starts to cool. Then she turns it off and we dry each other. She changes the tape and gauze on my ribs. Her hands steady now.

In my bed we lie facing each other. Both of us still damp. The gray light of pre-dawn coming through the window.

"What time is it?" she asks.

I glance at the clock. "Almost seven."

She's quiet for a moment. Then, "We have to tell my dad today."

"I know."

"He's going to be so angry." Her voice is small. "You're his best friend. Twenty years. And I'm his daughter. He's going to feel like we both betrayed him."

"Probably."

"He might not forgive you."