The Dark Light of Day (The Dark Light of Day 1)

“That, too.” His stiffness slowly faded away with the change in conversation.

“All right,” I said. “Get me out of here, please.” I bent down and scratched my thighs. The mosquitoes had already done some damage.

“This way, then.” He gestured with a sweep of his arm, back to where he’d parked his bike.

The moon and the stars had just started to peek out from behind the clouds, finally shedding some much-needed light on the very dark night as we turned around and headed back to his bike.

“You are just going to take me home right?” I asked. After the events of the evening, I felt like I had to ask. Not that this guy would try anything with me, anyway. I was the girl he’d caught sleeping in his junkyard, after all.

When we reached his bike, he took the helmet off the seat and handed it to me. “If you just want to go home, it’s gonna really ruin my plans to dismember you and feed you to the town’s people at the county fair,” he joked.

“Just thought I’d clarify,” I muttered. Jake reached for the strap under my helmet, and I flinched. “I can do it.”

His eyes went wide. “Bee,” he said slowly, “where the fuck did you get all that?” He pointed to the bruise and the scrapes I had gotten on my chin when Owen had lunged for me at the door.

“Dodgeball.” It was none of his damn business. I must have been really tired by that point, because the most important thing about riding the bike seemed to have skipped past my thoughts altogether.

I’d have to hold onto him.

“Abby,” Jake said, softly this time. He moved himself in front of me and looked into my eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I answered. I tried to sound casual. “That’s about as much as I want to tell you, and if you don’t want to give me a ride anymore, that’s okay.” I took the helmet off my head and placed it back on his seat. “I’ll take my chances with the mosquitoes.” I started walking.

Things had been getting too close for me, anyway.

“Hey, wise-asser,” he called out. “Get that wise-ass on the bike, and let’s go.” It was kind of a joke and kind of a demand, but I got the point. He wasn’t going to pry anymore, but that didn’t do anything to solve my other situation.

I pulled my sleeves down to cover my wrists and stared at Jake where he sat on the bike. He seemed to sense my hesitation. “You ever been on a bike before?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Just get on behind me, one leg at a time, be careful not to have your legs touch the metal pipes at the bottom because they can burn.” Little did he know I’d prefer the burn from the pipes than the burn of his touch.

“Where do I put my arms and legs?” I asked.

“You wrap them around me,” he answered, like it was the simplest thing in the world to do. I suppose for most people, it was.

But, I wasn’t most people, and it wasn’t simple for me at all.

“Is there an alternative?” I asked.

“To what?” I was hoping he wasn’t going to have to make me explain it. I didn’t care if he thought I was odd. It was late. I was tired. And if Jake thinking I was a whack-job sped up this process, I really didn’t give a shit.

“To putting my arms and legs around you,” I answered. Jake looked like he was contemplating my question. He didn’t ask me the reason for it. He didn’t make fun of me for asking. He just looked like he was thinking, and that was all.

“When you get on, scoot as far back to this chrome piece as possible. He pointed to a chrome semi-circle attached to the back of the seat. Put your feet on the back of these stirrups here and hold your arms behind you, and grab on to the bottom of the seat. It may not be comfortable, but it’ll work.” Jake got off the bike. “If you get on first, it’ll be easier.” I did as he instructed, and I noticed that when he got back on he was riding close to the handlebars. There were a solid few inches of space separating us.

I sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” I said. He may have been judging me on the inside, but I was grateful he didn’t say anything to me about it. I didn’t need anything to piss me off further. The night was as over as I wanted it to be.

One good thing did come out of the night after all. It turned out that riding on a motorcycle was my new favorite thing.

Like, ever.

The excitement of the roaring bike beneath me was a thrill I wasn’t expecting. The wind ripped through my hoodie like it was no match for its power. It had been so long since I’d found enjoyment in anything that I was shocked when I heard my own voice shouting into the air. All my senses were still humming when the bike stopped just a few minutes later.

“That was amazing!” I shouted, ripping the helmet from my head, forgetting to be careful of the wound on my jaw. “Ouch.” I rubbed the spot with my hand and placed the helmet back on the seat.

Jake laughed at my clumsiness, but was still looking at my jaw as though it had offended him in some way. “You’ve really never been on a bike before?”

I shook my head. It was then I noticed that he never asked me where I lived, and we certainly weren’t at Nan’s house.

We were at the beach.

“Okay, I know I said I would take you right home, but this is my favorite time of day, and I thought maybe you’d want to take a walk with me. Are you mad?” I was about to tell him that I was too tired for something like that when I realized that I actually was no longer tired at all. The adrenaline from the ride had given me a second wind. I looked out over the water. Sure enough, the sun had started to make its entrance. I’d seen the sunrise many times from Nan’s seawall, and it was always beautiful. But, I’d never seen it from the beach.

“No, I’m not mad,” I said hesitantly. “We can walk.” Jake look pleased with himself and shrugged off his leather jacket. He rested it over the seat and led the way down to the beach. We walked in silence, side by side. The dark light of day flirted with the horizon, peeking out a little at a time. When Jake sat down on the sand, I plopped down next to him, and we watched the sun change from a smear on the horizon to a force to be reckoned with. Its early morning rays were already strong enough to burn the fragile skin of the unprepared tourists.

“I like this,” I said, unsure of what I was telling him I liked—the sunset or the company. I supposed I liked both.

He sighed. “Me, too. But, we don’t exactly make for the best conversationalists, do we?” He picked up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers. “I’ll sure take a comfortable silence over uncomfortable conversation any day.”

“That’s an understatement,” I said. “I’ve never been a fan of talking about me anyway.”

“Ditto,” Jake said. “So, what do two people who don’t want to talk about themselves, who obviously have some secrets in their closets, talk about?”

“I never said I had secrets.”

“But you do,” Jake said. “It’s kind of obvious.”

“Doesn’t everybody? Don’t you?”

“More than most.”

“Ditto,” I mimicked him. He laughed and laid down in the sand, staring up into the newly blue sky. He folded his hands over his chest.

“Maybe, someday you can tell me yours.”

“Not likely, “I told him. “You going to tell me yours?”

“Probably not.” He smiled up at me. “I still want to know why you were in the yard the other night, though.”

“It’s no big deal, I just needed somewhere to crash.”

“So, you picked a truck in a junkyard?”

“It’s my Nan’s truck. She never could afford to get it fixed. So, it’s just been sitting there.”

“You didn’t have anywhere else to go?”

I thought about not answering him. It would be easier not to. But he’d given me a ride, and I was tired of running from anyone who asked me anything about myself. “Not really. The foster care gestapo was after me. I was just hiding until she got bored and left.”

“Foster care?” Jake asked. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” I answered. He seemed a bit relieved. “She’s probably long gone now.” I hoped she was, anyway. I left out the part about the eviction and being homeless. “I live with my Nan... or, at least, I lived with my Nan. She died three weeks ago, and since I’m not eighteen they want to throw me in foster care.” I volunteered all that. It wasn’t even remotely the biggest secret I was keeping.

“And you’re running from them because you don’t want to go into foster care?”

“I won’t go into foster care.” It was the best answer I could come up with. It was more than me not wanting to. I wasn’t going, and that was it.

“What happens if they force you?” Jake asked.

“I won’t go, no matter what,” I said. “If they take me by force…” I didn’t want to finish my sentence. I knew what I would do. I would either hurt someone and opt for prison over foster care or hurt myself, and simply opt out of life. I didn’t consider myself suicidal. Just tired.