If this was a movie, this would be the part where the camera zooms in and captures his cocky smile, gorgeous as hell. Then pans to me, stepping out of rehab, reuniting with the guy who I’ll start my new life with. Close-up of my face as I smile.
Role credits.
But it’s not a movie. And it’s not someone else’s story. It’s mine, and the story damn sure doesn’t end here.
He meets me halfway and wraps his arms around me, bringing me in for a hug. “Longest fucking twenty-eight days ever. I missed you.”
“Hell, I missed you more.” I nuzzle my nose into his chest, savoring his fresh, manly scent, loving this perfect spot I found that’s all mine. It’s like coming home in a way I’ve never felt before.
Boone pulls back and nods his head toward the lot. “I know I’m going to get some mad ass when you see what I managed to do.”
My gaze travels to where his bike is parked, and next to it, my Breakout. “Holy shit. Yes, you’re going to get some mad ass, and then some. Sam and Holden? They for real rode my bike down here all the way from New York? Shit, I would’ve loved to seen that.”
He chuckles. “Oh, yeah. They did. And then I rode mine here, took a cab back, and drove yours here. Damn, girl. You’re demanding. I hope I earned some points here.”
I laugh and follow him to our rides. And as excited as I am to embark on this next journey, a sudden moment of panic spikes my blood. Boone must sense my hesitation, because he stops right before we reach the bikes.
“It’s not now or never, Mel. We can wait till you’re ready.”
I shake my head. “I’m ready. I am. It’s been too long already.” I plop my bag down and dig out my clothes, transferring them into the tote Boone stowed on the back of my seat. The envelopes are next—Boone’s handwritten letters.
While I was in rehab—this time by my own choice—Boone started counseling sessions with an anger management specialist. As much as I wanted to see him in the halls, have him near for when I struggled, the added support, I knew he’d become a crutch for me. I have to find my own coping mechanisms, so that he doesn’t become one of them. I needed time on my own to focus on my issues and myself, and he needed to seek healthier outlets. A counselor Jacquie arranged three times a week verses sharing Hunter’s story as his own and brawling.
Damn, we’re a fucked up pair—but who ever said anything was easy?
His letters were a comfort, though; hearing him making progress in the real world gave me faith that we’d find our own way. A better way. But first, there’s a promise I have to keep.
“It’s a long ride. Are you sure you don’t want to rest first and head out tomorrow?”
Strapping my tote to the back of my seat, I say, “No way, and give Jacquie the chance to change her mind? I’ve been counting down the days until I could give Florida the ol’ middle finger salute goodbye.”
Boone chuckles. “And yet, the fact that you’re now following the rules doesn’t seem to hinder your bad girl image at all.”
I reach over and lightly punch his arm. “Are you trying to start some shit? You want me to get all rowdy on you?”
As I move in for another playful punch, Boone traps my wrist and pulls me to him. He gazes down into my eyes, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I would love nothing more.” Then his lips lower to mine, caressing them into a tender kiss.
With my hands trapped behind my back, I lift up onto my toes to match the passion in his kiss.
The deal Jacquie and I struck was simple: instead of handing my case over to a judge to decide my fate, I admitted I had a problem. Checked myself back into rehab. And if I got positive feedback from my counselors, I could get off of probation early with my license back to boot.
It’s amazing what can happen when you work with the system, instead of against it. But you didn’t hear those words from me. It goes against every value I once held close—what my father taught me, what the MC instilled in me—but the truth is, all that’s still a part of me, it’s just not the only part.
I’m all about the layers these days.
Like Sam’s dead trees. I like to think of my heartwood in layers. There’s some brittle places, a broken limb or two, even some death. But there’s also new growth, sprouting around the decay, healing, and transforming my tree into something amazingly beautiful and new.
And as I wriggle free of Boone’s hold, linking my arms around his neck, I’m more than eager to explore all the new layers with this guy of mine.
He pulls back enough to whisper against my lips, “Let’s go. Before I change my mind and steal you away to somewhere private.”
“We’ll find plenty of little clandestine places for that on the road.” I give him a wink.
Then I’m saddling my Breakout, loving the tingle seizing my stomach as I kick-start the engine. My baby roars to life, awakening the rider’s soul deep within me, and an irrepressible smile curls my lips.
I dip into my back pocket and tug out Dar’s pink bandana. I wrap it around my wrist, letting her know I’ll be there soon. I don’t plan to let her father keep me away or have the final say; she’s coming with me. Where she belongs.
Then I tie my own bandana around my neck and pop my helmet over my head.