Page 99 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

Why did she want to be with me if she didn’t like who I was? Was she going to tell me she didn’t like my leather jacket or the way I dressed? It just felt like too much right out of the gate. It didn’t bode well for the future.

My thoughts were muddled. I couldn’t deny that I loved Merritt—her spirit, her laugh, the way she looked at me like I was the sexiest man in the world. But this? This felt like a chokehold.

I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling slightly as I tried to figure out what to do next. I had known plenty of guys that had girlfriends that bitched and moaned about the riding. Usually, the guys chose their women over their bikes. They hung up their handlebars and lived in marital bliss until the women dumped them on their ass. I didn’t want to end up being the poor sap with no bike and no woman. It wasn’t like Merritt was truly committing to anything. Hell, she still had an apartment in Miami.

The taxi pulled to a stop in front of my house. “Thanks,” I said as I climbed out.

Inside, I tossed my bag on the couch and stood in my living room to consider my options. I could sit home, sulk and drink or I could climb on my bike and hit the road. I already knew what I was going to do.

I grabbed my leather jacket and riding gloves from my room. The jacket was stiff, not like my other one that was nice and broken in. But it would be eventually—because I wasn’t going to stop riding. Fuck that.

I went out to the garage and opened the door. My bike had been fully repaired. Only the paint job bore the scars of the last crash. I climbed on and fired it up, feeling a sense of pride that it started without any trouble.

One thing in this world wouldn’t let me down.

I revved the engine. The sound filled the garage with its familiar, comforting roar. It was like a calling, pulling me toward the road, toward freedom. I needed to clear my head, to feel the wind against my face and the power of the bike beneath me. This was where I belonged. It was part of who I was.

As I pulled onto the street, the cool night air hit me, sharp and invigorating. I hit the highway and opened it up. The faster I went, the more my troubles seemed to fade away, left behind in the whirlwind of speed and adrenaline.

I pushed the throttle harder than I normally would. The wind whipped against me as I tore down empty roads. Unfortunately, the speed was doing nothing to erase the anger. It clung to me like a second skin.

I still wasn’t ready to go home and ended up heading for the bar. I was exhausted, but the anger wasn’t out of my system. If anything, it felt worse.

I left my helmet on the bike and walked inside. The place was quiet for a change. Just a couple regulars nursed their beers in the back corner. Riggs was behind the counter, wiping down glasses like always. I honestly wondered if that was just a nervous habit. I knew the glasses went through a dishwasher. And that rag was disgusting.

He looked up when I walked in, giving me a nod.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back so soon,” he said. “Rough trip?”

“You could say that,” I muttered, sliding onto a stool at the bar.

Riggs studied me for a second. “What’s up, man?”

“Gimme a burger. Please.”

“Drink?”

I shook my head. “Just a club soda.”

He nodded and called back my burger. He filled a glass with club soda and handed it to me. “You look like someone ran over your dog.”

I shot him a look. “Not in the mood, Riggs.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just a cheeseburger. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood after you eat.”

My stomach growled. After the shitty day, I was surprised I was hungry at all. Riggs busied himself restocking napkins and pretty much doing anything he could to avoid me.

I held up my glass. “I need another.”

“What do you say?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not the one being an ass, Grumpy Gus.” He snatched my glass and started to refill it. “I thought you were in Miami.”

“I was. Now I’m back.”

“No shit. That Florida sun cook your brain or what?”