THE SUN STREAMED IN the open driver’s side window as Emily drove Interstate 91 away from her job in New Haven. The wind blew through the car, warm and full of the promise of the first decent spring day after the brutal New England winter. On either side of the four-lane highway, the bare branches of the trees sprouted the light green beginnings of leaves. Emily loved this time of year, and how the trees looked, fresh and newborn. She smiled, glad for the sun and the breeze that flowed over her dress. Soon summer would be here and she would spend what days she could at the beach.
The revving of an engine caused her to glance to her side, where a man riding a pearl orange Harley, a 2009 XL Sportster, a bike built for speed, passed her Honda Civic. She caught her breath. His black hair whipped back, and his white t-shirt fluttered across his broad and muscled chest under his leather jacket. His thick thighs hugged the hog and his black biker’s boots rested with confidence on the foot pegs. In that passing glance, she caught his face, a black goatee framing his jaw and chin, though his eyes were shaded by reflective sunglasses.
He was gorgeous.
At that moment, Emily Rose Dougherty knew she was in love. She loved these men who claimed the road without caution on thrumming beasts that were a heart beat away from danger. Emily loved their wild hearts that lusted to have the open road before them. It was a freedom that Emily only tasted briefly, her arms wrapped around his waist, breathing in the scent of leather and of him, loving how her body melted in his.
Luke.
There was still a sharp pang in her heart, a twitch of her heart strings, when she thought about her high school love. Luke Wade was everything her conservative Catholic parents hated. Motorcycle riding, leather jacketed, wrong-side-of-the-law bad boy. Everything about Luke screamed trouble.
She loved him.
Not for his bad boy ways. No. When Luke was with her he displayed an entirely different side. Loving. Thoughtful. Concerned only for her welfare. He was not the young man that people said he was.
It didn’t matter.
The rev of the motor beside her shook Emily out of her reverie, and the bike roared up the highway, taking the man she was in love with for sixty seconds, away.
Gone.
Just like Luke.
SOMETHING WAS WRONG.
When Emily got to her third-floor apartment, the door hung cracked open. Hers was a small one bedroom with the kitchenette separated from the living room by a half wall with a counter. She didn’t own much: just a little furniture, a couch with side tables, a coffee table and a small television. There was nothing of value in her apartment, nothing to draw thieves.
What happened? Did Mrs. Diggerty leave the door unlocked again? Her elderly neighbor was kindly, but getting forgetful. She liked to visit with Emily’s cat, Reger, during the day, and Emily, kind hearted that she was, gave the woman a key to her apartment. Emily reasoned it was good that someone else could look after things for her if she got stuck at work, like that couple days during that awful blizzard last winter. However, now she’d have to rethink the key privileges.
“Hello,” said Emily, opening her front door cautiously. “Mrs. Diggerty, is that you?”
Reger let out a keening cry.
“Reger, sweetie, come here, baby.”
The yellow tabby shot towards her, rubbing himself furiously against her legs. Emily picked him up and gave him a kiss between his ears.
“Sure, the cat gets all the love.”
Emily stiffened recognizing the voice. She walked in and shut the front door to find her boyfriend, Evan, his lanky body splayed on the couch. His blonde hair spilled messily on his forehead, and his blue eyes were bloodshot. He was drinking, again, an all-too-frequent occurrence since he lost his job.
“Evan,” she said tightly. “What’re you doing here?”
“Waiting for you. Since you took your sweet time getting home, I got a little curious.” He lifted a brown leather journal, Emily’s journal, and waved it in the air.
“Very interesting reading.”
“How dare you! That’s private!” She stood, unsure if she should grab the journal or had the damage already been done?
“I can see why. Luke this, Luke that.”
Emily’s eyes widened. She always used the same type of journal since she started writing it when she was twelve. She must have filled twelve of them by now. But how did he find her high school journal? There was only one way. “You dug through my closet!”
He shrugged. “I especially like this entry.” Evan thumbed open the book.
He read: Luke and I fell asleep while watching the stars. When we woke up it was two AM. Boy was mom and dad angry. They grounded me until the end of school. I know they hate Luke, but that just isn’t fair.
Emily didn’t think she’d ever been this angry. Her hands balled into fists as they hung at her sides.