Page 37 of My Wild Biker

"Can I come with you?"

I stop. "Yeah. Yeah, you can."

In the bathroom I start unwrapping the gauze from my hands while she watches. The splits on my knuckles have scabbed over but they're ugly, swollen, bruised dark purple. I flex my fingers and wince.

"Does it hurt?" she asks.

"Some. Not bad."

I strip off my cut and hang it on the hook behind the door. Then my shirt, my jeans, my boots. Everything goes on the floor and I'll deal with washing blood out later. Right now I just need clean.

She undresses too and we step into the shower together. The water is hot and I stand under the spray watching red swirl down the drain. Blood and dirt and gunpowder residue and violence washing away.

Isla steps into the spray and the water hits her face. She flinches hard, eyes going wide. I see it immediately, she's back there, that man's hand raised.

"Hey." I turn her toward me, blocking the direct spray. "You're safe. I've got you."

She's shaking. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"Don't apologize. You were attacked twelve hours ago." I cup her face. "It's gonna take time."

She nods against my hands, breathing deliberately until the panic passes.

Isla takes the soap and starts washing my back. Her hands are gentle and thorough, working over my shoulders, down my spine, cautious around the scars. I close my eyes and let her take care of me because I'm too tired to do it myself.

"Turn around," she says quietly.

I do. She soaps my chest, my arms, my hands. When she gets to my knuckles she's extra careful, barely touching, just cleaning the blood away. The tenderness of it breaks something in my chest.

"I was terrified you wouldn't come back," she says, not looking up from my hands. "All morning I kept thinking about what I'd do if something went wrong. If you didn't come back. If the last time I saw you was walking out that door at dawn."

"But I did come back."

"I know." She finally looks up and the tears she was holding back earlier are falling now, mixing with shower water. "But you might not next time. This life, this world, there's always going to be danger. Always going to be someone who might hurt you. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to live with that fear every time you ride out."

I cup her face and make her look at me. "You are. You're stronger than you think."

"How do you know?"

"Because you didn't run last night when you had every reason to. Because you waited at the clubhouse this morning instead of leaving like you probably should have. Because you're standing here now asking the hard questions instead of pretending they don't exist." I pause. "That's strength, Isla. Real strength. Not the absence of fear, just the willingness to choose despite it."

She's quiet for a moment. Then she says, "I'm not leaving for Millbrook."

My chest tightens. "What?"

"I'm not leaving. I'm staying in Bloomfield." She says it clear and certain. "I don't know what that means for my work, for my life, for anything past today. But I know I'm not driving away tomorrow morning and wondering what could've happened if I'd stayed."

I kiss her then, hard and desperate, pouring everything I can't say into the contact. She kisses me back just as hard, her hands fisting in my hair, her body pressed against mine.

The kiss breaks and we're both breathing fast. Water pours over us and the bathroom is thick with steam and I can feel her everywhere.

"I need you," I say against her mouth.

"Then take me."

I turn off the water and we barely make it to the bedroom. Towels forgotten, dripping wet, falling onto the bed together. My body covers hers and her legs wrap around my hips and I push inside in one long thrust that has both of us gasping.

This is different than before. More desperate. More claiming. We're both here, both alive, both choosing this despite everything. Every thrust is confirmation. Every gasp and moan is proof.