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Chapter 25
Sammi
2:35 PM SATURDAY
The bike growls and hums beneath me, sending vibrations through my arms.
I’m not traditionally the motorcycle type. Anyone with a brain and a search engine can tell you they’re very unsafe. Statistically speaking, definitely not worth the risk of climbing on one.
Strangely, though, being on one now feels totally right.
Maybe it’s just because of what’s behind me.
I absolutely refuse to give in to the tears threatening my eyes. No way in hell am I going to cry right now.
The past day has been a living hell, but through it all, I’ve maintained my composure.
I’m damn sure not about to cry now. Not because of Lachlan fucking Williams.
I pull harder on the throttle, hearing the engine roar in response. My thighs cling tightly to the steel.
The buildings all fly by in a blur, tires squealing in protest.
I twist even harder, feeling the tread catch on the cracked street.
I’m trying to forget—and failing miserably. Which is funny, given that Lock seems to think I’ve got a real knack for it.
This entire trip has become a disaster. One big fucking shit show.
Every time I learn something new, it only gets worse.
I’m still reeling in the wake of my own memories.
Not to mention the things that Lock just said.
Even the roar of the motorcycle can’t seem to drown them out. They play on a loop in my mind. Word for word.
While I’d definitely never admit it to him, I’m fucking hurt.
Sure, I’m also angry. Definitely confused.
Mostly though, I’m just hurt.
I try to focus on my anger, my outrage at his nerve. I hate that he acts the way he does, like he knows me.
Most of all, though, I hate the fact that he does.
That he’s right.
Ihavebeen holding myself back.
This isn’t some great big secret like he assumes it is, though. I behave the way I do, because I have no choice but to. It’s not something that he can ever truly understand.
Being a woman in my field is rough. There’s always some man there, just waiting for me to slip. Waiting for me to act the part of the irrational woman so that he can point and shout, “Told you!”
It may be the twenty-first century, but try telling that to scientists.
It’s a fucking boys club. Always has been.
