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He rubbed his hand over his face again. He wanted to put the hand on Skye’s knee, but he hadn’t been invited. He laid it back down on the arm of the chair. “I told her I’d be happy to do that, if she still needed it, but she shakes her head. Now she insists I go before her in line, looking at me like…”
When he fell silent, his emotions churning, Skye’s screen appeared in his field of vision. “Like instead of being a capable adult who can reach top shelves, you’re someone she shouldn’t expect anything from, because you’re handicapped.”
“Yeah. I said I forgot something and went back down another aisle until they left. But then I got so pissed. Out of proportion pissed, like there was stuff built up in me that I didn’t know was there. I thought the day was going well, you know? And now, all of a sudden, I wanted to grab her and yell, shake her for acting that way. I wanted to drag her back to the aisle get her goddamn Skippy peanut butter or Fruity Oats or toilet bowl cleaner, whatever it was on that top shelf. Just to prove to her that I’m just like her, just as all there, just as… I’m just like her.”
He shook his head. “But I’m not. That’s what the voice in my head kept hammering me with. I left the cart and headed backto the parking lot. I was worked up, so I step in front of a car coming through, one of those muscle cars I’d hear a mile off, anyone would. Damn, I should have felt it through the asphalt. Guy flips me off, and I guess my expression told him how close he was to being pulled through the window. He takes off while still yelling at me. And rolling it up as fast as the motor can go.”
A wry look, one he hadn’t been able to summon at the time. “So at that point I feel like I’m in a pinball machine, bouncing from one bat to another to get the shit kicked out of me. I managed not to scurry to the truck like some kind of rodent. That’s when the headache and dizzy spell really hit, so I ended up sitting on the running board.”
He shook his head. “Managed to clear it up to get back behind the wheel. I come here, and today’s mail…there’s a card from Aubrey. My brother is refusing to let her go back to Florida. Making her stay at the farmhouse. On the fucking property. She didn’t say that. She just said, ‘Daddy says he needs me to stay with him a while. I miss grandma.’”
He stared at his hands and turned them over, looking at his callused palms, the skinned place from the splintered board. “This morning, before all of this, I had thought about inviting you to a rally. And then I thought, ‘what would have happened if she’d been on a bike with you and you got dizzy like this?’ That was the final straw. The idea that I could have screwed up like that and gotten you hurt.
“Shit, Mistress. I thought I was doing good. But that was just because I had a few good days in places I could mostly control. What the hell was I thinking, believing I’m ready for something as crazy as a bike rally, where there’ll be a million ways I can get messed up and turned around? And not be able to watch after you like I should? You’re not helpless, I know you’re not, but…shit.”
A long silence. He was looking at her knees, covered by a gauzy skirt printed with that famous blue and white painting of water lilies. Back up to her shirt’s ribbon-edged neckline, the hint of her breasts beneath. He wasn’t being a jerk. It just helped to rest his eyes on her, and he wasn’t ready to look her in the face. The hand holding her phone showed her trimmed polished nails and a gold and pearl ring with a fairy worked into the delicate setting. Helpful aids to swiftly identify her as a woman when she’d touched him.
Her foot shifted, the toe against his testicles under denim, which brought his gaze up to her instantly. She reached forward, her hand out as she sent a pointed look toward the hand he’d cut. Rather than arguing, he laid it in her grasp. Her fingers brushed around the skinned place, a gentle contact.
“Is there anything you can do for Aubrey?” she typed after she let him have his hand back.
“Maybe. Not sure yet. I’d assumed she’d gone back to Florida. I don’t know what Colt’s long-term plan is, but it’s pretty obvious Rose and Bill would take her. Get her as far from that life as they can.”
She put a finger to her temple then flipped it up, mouthing the word she was saying. “Smart.”
“Yeah. I need to figure out how much contact he’ll let me have with her. If he’ll even talk to me.” The transcription machine worked on the phone itself, not just the answering machine, so they might be able to have a conversation, if he could get Colt to respond to his texts. “Nicole was our go-between for years.”
He’d call Rose tomorrow to see where she and Bill were on things. If it came to a custody fight and they needed character witnesses…well, he’d give his brother one more reason to hate him, he guessed. But he knew where Aubrey needed to be.
Skye lifted her phone again. The message she’d put into it was longer than one screen could contain, so he closed his hand over hers to scroll when needed. He was glad for the contact, no matter how neutral it might be. His hand already felt absurdly better, just from the light stroke of her fingers.
“Your ability to ride your bike is an innate skill,” she said. “Something you’ve done for years. Is there a way we can test your balance in a safe place, like a parking lot?”
Practical. Logical. It was what he’d started the morning thinking he would do. It shifted his mind away from some of the heavier things. “Yeah, there is. I have room at my place. A dirt track to test bikes I’m working on.”
The gleam in her gaze before she resumed typing should have warned him. She raised the phone again. “Maybe I’ll add an element that will help you focus.”
Or destroy it, he thought, but wisely kept that thought to himself.
She crooked a finger at him, making him pull in his legs and roll the chair forward a few inches. She shifted, putting the soles of her shoes against his chest, and leaned in.
The semblance of a real smile found its way to his face at the brazen move. She tilted the phone up so he could read it. “I’m going to put a plug up your ass while you practice. If you’re nice, it won’t vibrate.”
He blinked. “What makes you think I won’t safeword the hell out of that idea?”
She eased back to type, but one foot dropped down to dig into his thigh. He manfully managed not to wince. She showed him the phone again. “Three reasons. You deserve the punishment, and you need the reminder of how to respect yourself.”
The darkness of the thoughts behind the words gripped him, but he managed to keep his voice light. “You said three reasons.”
She touched his face, her eyes suddenly serious. She typed again. “You like pleasing me. It’s important to you.”
He closed his hand over hers, jaw flexing. She one-handed typed her next question, her gaze matching its tone. “Truth? Would a plug make it difficult for you to stay safe in that situation? Or me, if I’m on the bike with you?”
“Probably,” he admitted. “Though you know I won’t deny you the option when my feet are firmly on the ground.” Or his knees. He sighed. “When I was with the Fallen Angels, situational awareness was pretty much life or death. I got out of the habit. The keys, the muscle car, the lady at the grocery store.”
“On the flip side,” she typed, “that means you don’t have to learn it from scratch. You just have to dust off the skills.”
“Yeah.” He also needed to adapt them, since that earlier honed awareness had included hearing in the mix. “Problem is, I’m not in my teens or twenties anymore. At forty you get a little cantankerous about changing and adapting.”
