Biker's Virgin

“You’re still thinking about your brother, huh?” she asked. “Or is it Phil?”

And that was all it took—just the sound of his name, and I was a weeping puddle of tears with no control and no way of stopping myself. Marta looked startled for only a moment before she ran around her cubicle and came straight for me. She wrapped her arms around me, and I sunk into her warm embrace, feeling comfort for the first time in what felt like forever.

“There now,” she said, in a soothing maternal voice. “You just go ahead and let it all out. Cry until you can’t cry anymore.”

And that’s exactly what I did. It lasted almost six minutes, but when I was done crying, I felt both tired and relieved.

“Feel a little better?” she asked.

“A little,” I admitted.

“Good girl.” She nodded as she passed me a tissue.

“You’re very different from my mother,” I said. “Whenever I was upset about something, she always told me to toughen up and handle it. Tears didn’t solve anything, so there was no point in crying about it.”

“Hmm…then I’m glad I’m not like your mother,” Marta said bluntly.

I smiled. “Me, too.”

“You know what, though,” she said. “My mother said the same thing to me when I was upset about something. And it made me realize how important expressing your feelings was. Which is why I always let me children cry when they needed to. It’s cathartic.”

“Is it ever.” I nodded.

“Now, do you feel up to talking?” Marta asked.

And surprisingly, I did feel up to talking. I nodded once, and she gave me a smile and a reassuring pat on my arm.

“Tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Phil,” I said immediately.

“Have you spoken to him since the trial?”

“No,” I replied. “And I don’t think he wants to talk to me, either.”

“He’s hurt—”

“And he’s entitled to be,” I said.

“Then maybe you should try a little harder,” she suggested. “Staying silent now is not going to prove to him that you care about him.”

“I don’t just care about him, Marta,” I said helplessly. “I love him… I am in love with him, and I’m terrified that he won’t be able to forgive me.”

“You won’t know until you’ve tried, Megan,” Marta pointed out. “I know you’re scared, but try anyway.”

“It’s more than just about not believing him,” I said. “My own brother set him up… What must he think of me?”

“You didn’t set him up,” she pointed out.

“But still…”

“You and your brother are two different people, and I think Phil knows that. He can’t judge you based on your brother’s actions,” Marta said. “And, didn’t you go to court that day to bat for him against your own brother? That has to count for something.”

“I thought it might.” I nodded. “But he never even looked at me. It was like I wasn’t even there. He looked so… hurt and angry.”

“You might need to do more than just make that kind of declaration in a courtroom, Megan, honey,” Marta told me gently. “You need to talk to him, make him understand where you came from and that you made a mistake.”

“And then what?” I asked.