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“My mom used to tell me bedtime stories as a kid.” I smile fondly. “Every single one revolved around Norse mythology and, more specifically, Valhalla. I soaked up everything she ever said on the topic, fell in love with the rich history and incredible pictures she painted with her words.”
Viking takes a step closer to me. “Sounds like you had a very good childhood.”
“I did. The best. And then I turned her stories into my life. I became obsessed. Still am, actually,” I admit. “Between her stories and my schooling, I’ve spent so much of my life learning about Valhalla, dreaming about the heaven Odin created. I’ve read countless books, journals, and research papers. I’ve learned everything I could about it.”
“And then I came along and told you that you were wrong,” he says quietly.
I lock eyes with him. “That hurt, Viking, but not for the reason you think.”
He reaches for my hand, and I let him lift it to link our fingers together. “Tell me why it hurt.”
“Because in the span of a few minutes, you completely tore apart everything I thought I knew, everything my mom taught me.”
“I didn’t m—”
I hold up my free hand to silence him. “I’m not done.” He nods for me to continue. “I was hurt, not because I could be wrong, but because my mom is who inspired me, who made me who I am.” I swallow past the lump in my throat that always forms when I have to utter my next words. “She died several months ago, and I just… I miss her, ya know?”
Viking lifts his hand and rubs his thumb under my eye to catch a falling tear, and that is my undoing. I crumble in on myself, sobbing out the pain of losing my mom like it happened minutes ago and not months.
“Let it out,” he croons as he pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”
I don’t know how long he holds me, but when the crying eases, he leans back and looks me in the eye. I try to avert my gaze, but he grips my chin.
“Don’t hide from me,” he growls.
“I’m n-not usually s-so emotional,” I manage to say in between hiccupping sighs.
“There’s nothing wrong with emotion. Sometimes, crying is the only thing a person can do.”
I nod.
“When is your shift over? I think going home would do you a world of good right now.”
“My set ended my shift,” I say.
“Then let me take you home,” he coerces. “You’re too upset to drive.”
I consider his offer. It’s tempting to let him take care of me, but I’m a big girl. Then again, the man he threw out earlier could still be out there, and I’m pretty sure it was him who left that fucking note on my car.
What if he’s outside waiting for me?
Temptation and a good dose of fear win the day, and I finally nod. “Okay.” I frown. “But what about my car?”
“I’ll have one of my brothers bring it to your place.”
“Okay.”
When Viking steps into the hall to let me change, I realize that Brigg and Sarah are no longer standing guard. I quickly put my street clothes back on and grab my bag before joining Viking and letting him guide me outside to the parking lot.
“Ever ridden a motorcycle before?” he asks when we reach his bike.
“Nope.”
“You’re gonna love it.” He grips my hand and guides me closer to the machine. “Swing your leg over and straddle the seat. And watch these pipes,” he says pointing to the chrome near my feet. “You don’t wanna burn yourself.”
Once I’m settled, Viking takes my bag and shoves it in the leather pouch on the side of the Harley. Then he climbs on in front of me, his body heat seeping into my bones and making me feel… safe.
“Hold on,” he instructs before starting the engine. “And tap me on the corresponding shoulder when we’re coming up on a turn.”
