Page 27 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

As the miles stretched out behind us, I planned our route in my mind. A place came to mind—an old spot I used to go to clear my head. A secluded area in the middle of nowhere. It was the perfect place for Merritt to just breathe without all the noise of her life pressing in on her.

I could feel her cheek against my back and suspected her eyes were closed. It was a sunny day, thankfully. I knew that feeling. The sun beating down on you, the warmth from the rays combating the chill of the wind.

It felt rejuvenating, almost cleansing. I took a deep breath of the fresh air myself, holding on to the feeling of freedom that riding always brought me. I knew I should be back at the house busting ass, but this felt more important. I needed to keep her from spiraling.

I glanced over my shoulder to check on her. She seemed at peace. In that moment, I felt a sense of pride knowing I had provided her this little break from the heaviness weighing her down. I was her hero, even if it was only for an hour.

I geared down as we approached a bend. The road here was less traveled and it felt like we were the only people in the world. We passed some cows grazing in a field. They barely looked our way.

I took the turn down a dirt road. It led to an old barn in the middle of a field that had long been forgotten. The building was probably over a hundred years old. Its wood was weathered to a silver gray and the roof was caved in at a few places. Tall grass surrounded the building. I killed the engine and we both dismounted.

Merritt removed the helmet, her hair a little tousled. Her cheeks were flushed from the rush of air and adrenaline. She looked around, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and wonder. “This place is beautiful,” she murmured, and I could hear the genuine appreciation in her voice.

“It’s my secret spot,” I confessed, leaning against the bike and watching her take it all in. “Not many people know about it. It’s where I come when the world gets too loud.”

Merritt walked toward the barn. “Watch for snakes,” I warned.

“It feels like it’s straight out of a painting,” she said softly, almost to herself. “I bet a lot of people would love to use this for a photo backdrop.”

“I figured you might appreciate a break from all the chaos.”

She continued to explore the area. I could see her breathing a little easier. She turned and looked at me with a small smile. “Thank you, Kannon. I didn’t realize how much I needed to get away.”

I nodded. “Sometimes all it takes is a moment away from everything to find a bit of peace.”

We spent some time just appreciating the beauty of the area. Eventually, we loaded back on the bike, but I wasn’t ready to take her back to the house just yet. I didn’t think she was ready to face all of that either. We weren’t on anyone’s timeline. We could do what we wanted.

There were no rules. Even if there were, I would break them.

We headed back toward the city. I drove a lot slower than normal. I wasn’t ready to stop our little adventure. Eventually, I pulled into the cracked and faded parking lot of the old bowling alley. It looked even more rundown than I remembered, which was saying something. A couple of the neon letters were flickering, and the others had given up the ghost entirely. But the music thumped inside, spilling through the grimy windows. I found myself smiling with the flood of memories coming at me. I knew I had made the right call.

Merritt hopped off the back of my bike, tugging at her jacket. “The bowling alley?” She arched a brow, skeptical but curious. “I can’t believe this place is still open.”

“Yup.” I grinned. “Figured you could use some good memories to balance the bad ones.”

She glanced at the building. “It’s been years.”

“All the more reason to visit.” I started toward the entrance, pausing when I realized she wasn’t following. “Come on, Merritt. Don’t make me drag you.”

She rolled her eyes but trailed after me. As soon as we stepped inside, the black lights caught the white stitching on her jacket. Her sneakers lit up like a pair of glowsticks. I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out.

“What?” she asked, glancing down at herself, her teeth glowing.

“Nothing.” I shook my head, still smiling. “You just look like you belong here.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

I chuckled and walked inside. The smell of fried food and the hum of the arcade games hit me like a time machine. We used to live for this place—cheap thrills, glowing pins, and the challenge of beating each other’s high scores. I could almost smell the cotton candy body spray she used to wear, and for a second, I was seventeen again, watching her gloss her lips with that sparkly stuff I wanted to taste so badly it drove me insane.

The bowling alley had been the hangout place. It was a little slice of freedom. Our parents would drop us off and let us go buck wild for a few hours every Friday night. It was never really about the bowling. It was about laughing with your friends and trying to talk to girls. There were a lot of romances made and broken in this bowling alley.

I snapped myself out of the reverie and headed to the counter to grab us a lane. It wasn’t exactly busy—half the screens were busted, and the staff looked about as thrilled to be there as I had felt on my worst construction gigs. I returned with two pairs of shoes, handing hers over.

“You remembered my size?” she asked, surprised.

“How could I forget those giant feet?” I said, dropping into the plastic seat beside her.

“You ass, they’re not that big,” she said, laughing.