I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 3)

“You like your scars,” I found myself saying. “You decorated the scars on your arms because you like them, not because you disliked them.”

He held out his arms to inspect. In fact, he studied them so long that I honestly thought he wasn’t going to answer me.

Except, finally he did.

And what he said was so profound that my heart leaped.

“That day,” he said. “Your brother, Cherry Bomb, Rico, Nas, and Taps were all sitting in a Humvee doing recon. I was standing outside of the Vee.”

I nodded. That part I knew.

“Your brother had brought the package that you sent him, and everybody but me had stayed in the Humvee to look. Your package days were a big deal because they liked that Ford shared all the goodies that you sent.”

Warmth spread through me at his words. It was more than obvious that Pace had been just as interested in those packages as well.

“Ford had just literally handed that bunny to me when my foot hit a rock and kicked it across the road. Right where we were headed next. The world exploded, and ultimately, I was injured. One of the guys in our unit died instantly – his name was Cherry Bomb. My legs were mangled because I was standing in front of the open door and my lower half didn’t have the Humvee to protect me from the flying debris.”

My breath caught in my throat at that news.

“Wow,” I breathed.

“Anyway,” he said as he pointed at a scar on his wrist. “Broke my wrist when I was twelve. Had to have emergency surgery on it.”

I frowned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I broke my wrist by saving my aunt from a carjacking.”

I swallowed hard. “Holy shit.”

“I guess what I’m getting at is that I have these scars so that someone else could live.” He paused. “I’m proud of them.”

A single tear slipped down my cheek as I stared at the man that was quickly beginning to steal every single piece of my heart. One slow second at a time.

“Will you go to my mom’s for Mother’s Day with me?” I asked softly. “I really want to go, but I don’t think I can hack the drive all by myself just yet.”

“When is Mother’s Day?” he questioned.

“This weekend,” I answered. “Four days away.”

“When would you want to leave?” he asked.

“Friday. Ford is going…but I don’t want to ask for a ride, because then he won’t be able to ride his motorcycle. He really hates being in cars now.”

My lips twitched. “He was trapped in that Humvee for hours. Twisted metal holding you down while your friend dies outside and you’re unable to reach him? That’ll do it to you.”

I was sad at that.

I knew there was a reason that my brother had such a sudden and intense aversion to riding in cars, but I didn’t realize that it was because of that.

Though I probably should have.

“Can we take my vehicle, though?” he asked. “I’m pretty particular about my shit.”

I laughed. “Anything that you want. Anything.”Chapter 9Sound the alarm. I’m up and drinking coffee without snoozing my alarm fifteen times.

-Text from Oakley to Pace

Pace

“Turn right there where it says ‘Notting Hill,’” she said. “The driveway directly behind the sign. It’s not the winery, though. Just my parents’ driveway. People mistake it for the winery all the time, nonetheless.”

I did as she asked and turned down the driveway, the first thing I noticed was the almost quarter mile of white concrete that I could see before it disappeared around a bend of trees.

“Wow,” I said as I pulled along the drive. “That’s a lot of concrete.”

“It is,” she agreed. “It took them almost a week to pour the entire thing.”

I could imagine.

I’d watched them pour the concrete driveway for my house, and it’d taken them a couple of hours. Then again, it was only about thirty feet of driveway. This was…hundreds and hundreds.

“It’s pretty,” I said as I drove. “I’d love to have something like this one day.”

Something in the country where I could spread all my shit out. Something that was far off the road and that an intruder would think twice about coming down since it was just so far to walk to.

“Me, too,” she agreed. “But for now, I’m renting. Also, it’s mostly because I can’t afford to be buying a house right now. Not that I need to or anything.”

I looked over at her. “Now that you’re no longer sick, are you going to move back home?”

She thought about it for a short moment, then shook her head. “No. I like it where I’m at.”

When she didn’t expound, I didn’t push her.

Secretly I wanted her reason to not want to move home to be me, but I knew it was likely more that her doctor, as well as her brother, were here. I was a fairly new addition to her life, but I would be making sure that I was there as much as I could be. Or as much as she would let me.