Broken Ride (Men of Valor MC)

Patriot was the best-looking guy I'd ever seen in my life, with a face that looked like it belonged more in magazines than under a helmet on a bike. When I looked into his eyes that day, I recognized a sadness that was only matched by my own. You can’t unsee or unfeel your past and those who’ve been through the things we have, well, you just know. People who’ve had trauma usually recognize their own. It's like a shitty secret club no one wants to be in. That day, in Patriot, I recognized the pain I’d spent my entire life masking. When I looked into his eyes, I saw a reflection of myself.

He was really quiet, barely talking unless someone spoke to him. Stoic and taciturn. He kept his head bent low while he ate, and he was very polite. The type of politeness that the other guys in the MC didn't really seem to have—expect Malcolm of course due to his job. That night after he left, I grilled Malcolm about the mysterious man, who’d eaten three servings of my mac and cheese, yet used a napkin and even offered to clean the dishes when we were through.

“Where’s he from?” Part of me even wondered if we’d been in the same circles at one point along the way.

“Around,” Malcolm joked. “What’s gotten into you, Sky?”

“Why does he have a hearing aid?” I’d noticed the discreet device in his ear and I was incredibly curious about it.

“Never asked,” Malcolm said. “Didn’t want to be rude.”

“Do you know if he was born like that?”

“Skylar, honey, I’ve got no idea. He’s a new recruit. Ask him yourself since you’ve got ants in your pants.”

A few years had passed and apparently I still had ants in my pants. And I still had a million and one questions for him that I was too shy to ask.

I leaned against the wall and buried my face in my hands, groaning out loud. The one and only guy I’d ever had a crush on and I just told him I loved him with my fifth grade signing abilities.

When I bumped into him in the hall, my heart beat a million beats a minute, and my palms began to sweat. I was such a bumbling fool that I forgot to actually look at him when I talked, which I usually tried to be mindful of. Having him in my house was a whole other level of discomfort. I was hyper aware of every word, every step, every single breath. And now I had to eat dinner with him and keep up the small talk while I was dying inside from ten zillion tiny heart attacks. This was maybe what they meant by the phrase “boy crazy.” But I’d only ever had it once, and it was surprisingly debilitating. I’d have to give an Oscar worthy performance to make it through dinner.

I rushed down the stairs to seek comfort in my parents.

"Stop that," Claire said as she smacked Malcolm's hand away from the stove. I smiled as I watched them, so in love and so strong together, always. "No one wants your sticky paws in their food."

"No one's gonna know I had a little taste."

"I'll know," she said. She smacked his hand away again and he pulled her in for a kiss. Claire smiled when she noticed me. "Sky."

"Hey," I said. Walking into the kitchen, I dipped a spoon into the pasta sauce, and tried it.

"How come Skylar doesn't get smacked for tasting the sauce," Malcolm asked, crossing his arms over his huge chest.

"She's special." Claire shrugged as she stirred the sauce. "She's my only daughter and you’re already a big lug." She turned to me, smiling, her arms open for a hug. I walked into them, put my head on her shoulder and breathed in her scent of lavender and talcum powder. I still loved how comforting it felt being near her. I’d never had that kind of closeness with anyone growing up. No mom to kiss my banged up knees or teach me to cook. No one to explain these weird acrobatics of my heart and sweating palms. But I had Claire now. It didn't use to be like this, especially when I first met her. I was banged up inside and out and my trust with adults had been broken. She's taken me in, giving me a home and unconditional love. A gift I hadn't known for most of my life. Malcolm saved me the day he found me on the streets, but Claire helped heal me. They might not have been blood, but they were my real parents.

"Wanna go ask Patriot, if he's staying for dinner?"

Do I want to go stick my heart in the blender and turn it all the way up to insane? You mean the gorgeous man I just said I love you to like the teen who idolizes some guy from a boyband?