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After slipping on his mirrored sunglasses, he climbed onto the bike and held it while I settled in behind him. Adrenaline slipped through my veins, my heart raced, and for some reason my panties were soaked. Just the thought of riding on the back of his bike created an ache inside me, a naughty, deliciously daring need that had my pussy twitching and my nipples hard.

When he rolled the throttle, a little whimper echoed inside the helmet. Yeah. That was me. I hugged his waist, and I couldn’t stop the smile on my face as the motorcycle rumbled down the drive and out onto the street.

Within a few miles, I’d relaxed into the ride. Sunday morning traffic was light. We took the interstate for part of the way, then veered onto a scenic two-lane highway. I held onto Brett as the bike twisted and turned along the road. There were hardly any cars. It was just the two of us, the rumble of the bike, and the solitude around us.

I closed my eyes, and like the first time on his bike, I felt free. I could imagine us riding away from everything. No lawsuits, no restraining orders, nothing but the two of us. But then we wouldn’t be us because we were both shackled by our responsibilities. I shouldn’t call it shackled. He still had what I wanted. We couldn’t run away because then there would be no Lili.

He tapped my hand because I’d loosened my hold. Leaning closer, I gripped him tighter. I held on to him because nothing ever lasted, but in this moment, I wasn’t broken. He’d spoken about two-wheel therapy. I got it now.

The broken yellow lines on the road were a blur. Bright sunlight reflected off a lake in the distance as the wind whipped around us. We stopped at a little diner along the way and had breakfast. By the time we arrived at the Christ Community Church of Clinton, services were about to begin.

Brett rode along the back row of the lot and parked in the shade of a sycamore tree. He dropped the sidestand, climbed from the bike, and unbuckled my helmet. After he secured it to the bike, he shrugged out of his cut and carefully stored it in his saddlebag.

“Ready?” He held out his hand to help me off the bike, then continued to hold it as we walked to the main entrance to the small single-story church.

Butterflies flitted in my belly. No one here would judge me. Everyone here knew me. They knew I’d lost Jeff and Matti. I had no doubt my mother had shared her grief with them. We’d all lost when Matti died. Somewhere in those conversations, I assumed she’d confessed Jeff’s indiscretions. My mom was sweet, but come on, that was some tea.

However, I didn’t want them making assumptions about Brett. Tattoos, a Harley, and when wearing his cut, he oozed bad-boy vibes. I hadn’t asked him to take it off. I understood the vest was important to him, but I had to admit, I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to make excuses for him. Because I wouldn’t. Brett was a good man. He was my man.

Christian rock music from the band sounded from the sanctuary. Brett raised his eyebrow. Maybe he was expecting organ music and hymns. People stood in the pews and swayed to the music. I skimmed the crowd, finding my brother standing next to my mom and dad.

I smiled at Brett, and with our fingers laced, I led him to the pew. I tapped my brother’s arm. He startled at seeing me, then squeezed in, giving us room. His gaze shot from me to Brett then back to me.

My mom stared, and my dad leaned forward, trying to get a better look at Brett. She whispered to my brother to move, but my dad put a hand on her arm and pointed to the front of the church, trying to keep her from making a scene. She gave him one of her mom glares, and then she smiled at me. I could see the question in her eyes. Who was he? How long had I been dating him? And why had I been hiding him?

I’d get more than the glare later when she had me alone. Mom hated not knowing what was going on with her kids. Once she had his family history and future goals, I’d get the TED talk of not communicating with her. How was she not supposed to worry if she didn’t know what was going on in my life?

Ryan leaned down and whispered in my ear. “I hope he likes meatloaf.”

I chuckled. Brett smiled at me and gently squeezed my hand. The music ended, and the pastor welcomed everyone. We sat, but curiosity was distracting my mom. She smiled at Brett and continued to whisper to my dad.

Ryan shifted closer to me. “I guess a lot has changed since yesterday.” He glanced at Brett. “Ryan.” He held out his hand.

Brett shook his hand. “Steele.”

My mom leaned over. “I’m Calista.” She glanced over her shoulder to my dad. “And this is Jaymi’s dad, Russel.”

My dad lifted his hand in an awkward wave and glanced at the people around us. I pretended to listen to the sermon, but my thoughts swirled on Brett. Part of me feared what loving him would mean. He was a single father. Lili would be part of my life. But I couldn’t map my grief. Somedays, I was just lost. At least, I’d felt that way until he’d found me on the side of the road.

He cast a quick glance at me, then he stared ahead. He held my hand and traced patterns across my fingers with his thumb. We touched from shoulder to hip. Without words, I understood him. This wasn’t his scene. But it was mine. Just like the MC was his. At some point, I’d need to be there for him the way he was here for me.

Before the service ended, the pastor invited those who wanted to accept Jesus into their lives to the front. The band played another song, and the congregation stood and sang along. My mom’s voice rang out loud from the row. All good because she had pipes. I moved my lips, but there wasn’t a lot of sound coming out.

Brett’s shoulders shook with a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh,” I whispered. “Singing is mandatory in our family.”

“I don’t know the words.”

Ryan leaned over. “Learn to lip sync.”

Ryan and I both laughed. After the service, people filed out of the sanctuary, making their way to the fellowship hall.

“Are we staying?” my brother asked.

“I’d planned to,” my mom said. “But we don’t have to if you want to go home where we can all get to know each other.”

It would appear to be curious conversation, but with my mom, it would be akin to an inquisition. Not that my mom was looking for flaws in a person, but she was plagued by the need to know everything. “Mom has cookies and coffee at the house.”