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“C’mon,” he said.
It wasn’t long before she was facin’ the prospect of ridin’ a motorcycle for the first time in her life. As Damien climbed atop it, he pulled the helmet off the seat and handed it over to her.
“For your safety,” he said, apparently set on ridin’ to his own pa’s funeral in a suit atop that noisy machine. Britney had trouble understanding it. Even if it did have a certain… appeal, in other ways.
It felt wrong, the way her heart was pounding and her excitement was rising when she was on her way to a sombre occasion. It wasn’t fair the way those contrasting emotions were warring within her, but she was grateful for a break from the sorrow. Even though her head pounded with sadness, her stomach tightened with excitement as she wrapped her arms lightly around his waist.
He took her hands, pulling her into him tighter and sending her heart to racin’ even faster. She could feel his abs with her hands pressed beneath his suit jacket, and when that roar went from beneath them, her squeak of surprise was drowned out by it.
She could not only hear the roar of his motorcycle but feel it as it shook through her body, the powerful beast circling around then carrying them along the gravel drive up towards the road. It reverberated through every square inch of her body, and once she slowly got over the tension of riding on a motorcycle for the first time she let the thrum of its engine soothe her.
Distract her.
They got to the funeral service sooner than she’d have liked, and she bawled her eyes out the whole time.
Damien had been gone for so long she’d almost put him out of her mind entirely, but there he was again. Like a dark knight who’d made an about-face to come rescue her. He held her when she had no one else in the funeral home, and coddled her through his own stoic suffering.
There was no body, just the ashes.
When all was said and done, one of the final visitors was the local attorney, who strode on up to give his condolences.
“I’m so sorry for yer loss, you two. The old man was such a charitable soul,” he said, looking dour.
She wiped away her tears, her face feeling slightly damp and uncomfortable. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to cry and that she’d be strong, but the loss of someone so close to her shook her to the core. The only thing that took the edge off at all was Damien’s heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she managed, her voice strained. She’d lost her ma at eight, but it weren’t any easier.
“I wanted you both to know, there’s no rush. But your pa had said a few things in his will about the farm that you two should hear,” he said.
She nodded, though her brows were knit and curiosity was inching away her sorrow. She glanced up at Damien as he nodded and squeezed her shoulder.
“Yeah, we’ll get around to it,” Damien said, rubbing her shoulder in support. “I’m sure it’s just a simple matter of splittin’ the farm up half and half.”
The lawyer hesitated, but looked like he had somethin’ more to say.
“Come by and we’ll discuss it,” he said, leaving them both temporarily confused.
* * *
The next few days were difficult, but Britney entered into old routines quickly, and found herself not eager to return to her life as a waitress. She cooked and cleaned, kept the house tidy as Damien, after being away much longer than her, reacquainted himself with the old homestead.
He returned as supper approached, the kitchen hot as Britney prepared dinner.
“Repaired that fence anyhow. So whoever buys the place got one less complaint to make when he haggles,” he said, coming to the sink beside her to wash his hands.
Though topless and sweaty, he probably needed to wash more than his hands. A day working in the sun, and Damien’s hard, chiselled body was coated in perspiration.
It only seemed to make him more attractive, and Britney couldn’t help but let her eyes linger along the lines of his body. His muscles were more pronounced after the workout, glimmering in the yellow light of the room. His shoulder blades pressed together, then parted, his pants slung low around his hips.
She forced her gaze away, a blush comin’ to her cheeks.
“Supper’s almost ready,” she said with a bit of airiness to her voice. “Hope you brought your appetite.”
“You kiddin’ me?” He said with a wry grin, “It’s just a good thing those horses were taken over to Mr. Thompson’s farm, because I’d have eaten one or two of ‘em already today.”
The strange thing about Damien now, was that though he was scarier lookin’ than ever, bigger, badder and more ominous, he was actually much nicer to her than he ever was when he was a boy. He rarely spared her the time of day to make a joke then.
“So what’s on the menu?” he asked, claiming a dish towel as his own as he splashed water onto his face and then dried off.
