He got to his feet, shaken to his core by the knowledge Rie believed she’d caused the accident and that by coming here, she’d faced down her greatest despair, the event that shaped her life.
He backed off, leaving brother and sister to their shared pain. He’d never have understood it if he’d hadn’t started his own therapy. But now he got it. He understood that the only way you could get past your worst fears was to crawl inside them, wear them like a skin and let them squeeze you until you found the will, the help, the strength to walk through them and be free.
But he was shocked at what just happened, and his hands trembled from the surge of need coursing through him. He’d gone from terror she’d been hurt, to knowledge he could help her, to losing control. She’d gone there with him, carved herself against him, the two of them almost combusting at the side of the road. But she was barely herself. She was hurt and confused, and having her very own panic attack, and he’d used that as an excuse to—what? If Rand hadn’t arrived, what would have happened? He knew he hadn’t been capable of stopping.
He turned away, disgust rising bitter in his throat. He was the worst kind of saviour, a rescuer turned predator. He attended to the Harley, reefing it back upright in one hard jerk, using strength fuelled by anger.
Rand had Rielle standing now and they walked the grass verge towards a clump of paperbarks. She needed this, a chance to revisit the event sensibly, calmly with someone she trusted. Not someone who would use the opportunity to take advantage of her pain and confusion.
“She’ll be all right, Jake,” said Harry, leaning on the bonnet of her red beetle.
He answered distractedly, “Yeah.” This wasn’t like being scared of spiders or leaving the house or heights. He didn’t know if it was possible to get over believing you’d killed your own mother. He’d leave. He’d done enough damage. Rand could take the Harley, Rielle could travel back with Harry. Rie didn’t need him anymore. If she ever truly had.
“Seriously, Jake, she’ll be all right. Those two—they’re survivors, they’re strong.”
He looked at Harry, Bonne’s keys tight in his palm. “You can’t know that.”
“You’re right, I can’t know. But I look at what they’ve achieved together and the odds against them; so I want to believe she’s strong enough to overcome this too.”
He grunted in rough agreement. He wanted to take off, but he wanted to see Rielle turn back more, see her face, take his own reading on whether she could beat this or be beaten down and savaged by it.
“It’s okay to love her, Jake.”
“What?”
“It’s okay.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. We can hardly even say we’re friends. It’s just physical, a distraction that’s all.” Jake flung those words at Harry hoping to shut her up, hoping to convince himself. He knew them to be a lie the moment they filtered into the reality of the hot afternoon.
Better to go now than face a thank you from Rielle. Than face her rejection when she figured out how predatory he’d been, how close he was to taking her at the side of the road with no regard for where they were, or why they were there. He started towards Bonne but Harry said, “Here they come,” and he had to stay.
Rand had his arm around Rielle’s shoulder and his face was as ruined as hers, but there was also a resignation and peace about them both. They’d faced this horror fresh again and it hadn’t destroyed them.
Watching them, he said to Harry, “You’ll take her back.” It was an instruction, not a question.
“Rie needs you,” Harry said.
“No, she doesn’t.” Jake threw his leg over Bonne’s seat, but halted his hand on the ignition when Rielle broke into a run. She stopped in front of the bike. “I’m coming with you.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. “No. Go back in the car with Harry.”
“Make me.”
It was so unexpectedly feisty. His words from last night thrown back at him, that it rocked him. He looked up; she was drawn and tear-stained, but standing straight and strong, hands on her hips—the Rielle of the football field, the Rielle of the trapeze: brave, charged and certain. He hated himself, but he could not leave her.
He gave her his hand and she climbed up behind him, hugged close, splayed her hands over his abdomen and chest. She breathed into his ear, “I’ve been frightened of this forever. Thank you for talking me down.”
She pressed her face into his shirt and he thought she might be crying again. He had no idea what to say to her. He picked up her right hand, all healed now, no bruises or tenderness, and held it over his heart, pressing it down like a bandage, and she curled her index finger over his thumb.
Rand joined them with Rielle’s helmet. He had another he’d taken from the car for himself. He had a quiet smile on his face. “I don’t know if I should let you ride with this guy now I’ve seen what he can do on a bike.” He touched Rielle on the shoulder. “He’s a maniac.”
“He’s my maniac,” she said, taking the helmet. Jake jammed his own on so he wouldn’t have to say anything.
With Rand and Harry following, they formed a cavalcade back to the city, hitting school pick up traffic and the early peak hour. The closer they got to the hotel, the more anxious Jake became. The right thing to do was to leave Rielle, give her space; because he no longer trusted himself to be around her and do the right thing.
When they pulled into the hotel’s front drive he was reluctant to shut down the bike. He wanted a quick getaway. He wanted to go home, sit on the back deck and argue with his dad about returning to the family business, con a meal from his mum, throw a ball for Monty. Anything to get some distance from the self-loathing he felt.
Rielle dismounted and shook her hair free of the helmet and went to Rand. But when she realised he hadn’t followed her, she came back and took his hand. “Don’t go. I need you.”