Because I have you.
Ian’s shoulders jerk and he leans forward. I hear a click and then the bike roars beneath us. The bike feels alive with its warmth and vibrations. It’s intoxicating. The noise and the motion should all be sending me into a panic, but they’re not. Somehow, they center me. Being on such a strong, powerful machine gives me a sense of perspective. I could freak out over the noise or the vibrations. But then, we could also crash and die on the side of the road. Thinking of it that way kind of mellows me out. The worst that could happen is that I could die, and then none of it matters anymore.
“You have to hold on tight,” he says over his shoulder. His voice is just loud enough for me to hear him.
I smile softly to myself and wrap my arms around his torso. The cool, worn leather of his vest feels wonderful against my body. Ian’s chest expands as he sucks in a deep breath and revs the engine. The bike jolts forward, and we roll down the driveway and accelerating when we’re on the street. He blows out a breath when our speed evens. My hands grip his torso, and I pull my chest into his back and place my cheek against the leather. I can’t really describe how it feels to be here, on his bike, with my arms wrapped around him.
I love this. I really love how freeing and altogether exciting this is. With anyone else, I would be terrified and hating the rush of wind that presses in on us. I can’t imagine I would be able to handle the way our bodies lean into the pavement when we turn, or that I would be okay pressing myself into another person in such an intimate way. But this is Ian, and it seems he’s the exception to every rule.
We make it across town without hitting a single red light and only have to slow down twice on our journey. Even when I’ve been running late to work or for an important meeting, I’ve not been this happy to speed through town. The rush, even at slow speeds, is just too incredible to be forced to break at a light. I can’t even believe he gets to do this every day—be this free, in the wind, and so exposed to the world around him. It’s all too much and yet not enough at the same time.
“What’s the big deal about motorcycles anyway?” I ask Nic. She looks at me blankly for a long moment before nodding her head. Nic’s dad brought her up on the back of his bike, so of course this question would catch her off guard. She seems to get it, though. I don’t know anything about the lifestyle she’s so accustomed to.
“It’s not something you can explain. It’s something you have to feel.” She doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t have to—her smile says it all.
I remember being jealous of Nic at one point—being jealous that she understood this unexplainable thing. This urge to ride and be free and feel like you’re living your life to the fullest. Even if you’re not doing anything but getting from point A to point B, the ride itself is exciting enough to make you feel like you’re living on the edge.
Excited shouts take me out of the moment. My eyes dart ahead of us, finding that we’re pulling into the parking lot of Forsaken Custom Cycle. Up ahead is the tall chain-link fence that surrounds the clubhouse. Black privacy slats keep Forsaken’s home base private. Two prospects, Jeremy and Rob—nicknamed Baby Boy and Squat, respectively—stand at either end of the open gate. It’s rare these days that the clubhouse gates are left open, really only at times like now when there’s a party going on and somebody is standing guard. There’s too much danger in our small town.
Ian pulls us through the open gates and gives both Jeremy and Rob a head nod. I turn my attention toward Rob and give him a sad smile as we pass. He raises a hand, his expression much like mine. Apologetic, sorrowful. Angry. I don’t really know him, but Aaron talked about him a lot. They were best friends. They decided to prospect together, lived together. Rob and Aaron were as close as brothers. Now that Aaron’s gone, I can’t help but worry that Rob’s all alone. Nobody should have to lose their best friend. Especially not a friend like Aaron.