Page 123 of Throttle

Tequila

I anxiously hold my breath as I watch Throttle execute an air jump. It never gets easier. My anxiety for him never goes away when he rides.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Miller share the same opinion. His mother clenches her coffee cup in her hand and his father curses under his breath.

“Go get ‘em, Daddy! Kick some ass!”

“Oh my God. Mya, remember what I told you. There’s a time and place.”

“It is the perfect time and place, Mommy.” Our daughter shrugs, and Throttle’s mom’s mouth twitches slightly before returning to her normal seriousness.

With a smile on my face, I plant a kiss on our child’s head. She’s four going on thirteen.

The past five years have been quite interesting, in a positive way. We gave Throttle's parents another chance when they reached out before Mya was born. She was their granddaughter, after all. But if they mess up just once, we’ll have no issue banning them from our lives, including Mya’s.

They have been shockingly supportive in all aspects. Anything that held significance to us, such as the club and Throttle's races.

Throttle is happy, but he remains cautious with them. He forgave, but just because we did doesn’t mean we forget.

I became a kindergarten teacher at Mya's school after graduating. I love it even though I had to give up my shifts at the bar.

His mom catches my eye with a smile and tears in her eyes. Every time she watches her son race, it stirs up emotions within her. She probably regrets losing moments and missing out on things with Throttle growing up. Same with his father.

When the race is over, Mya is hopping out of her seat. “Let’s go! We have to go!”

As we leave the bleachers, my heart flutters when I spot Throttle in his gear, taking off his helmet. He will always have this weird effect on me.

“Daddy!” Mya hops up and down.

“I smell, princess,” Throttle says as he spins our daughter in his arms.

She inhales a breath of air. “Ew. You kind of do.”

With a laugh, I pull myself closer to my husband, and he leans in to kiss me. “How’s my Tequila Rose doing?”

“Fangirling as always.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I like the sound of that,” he whispers in my ear.

“Can we go get ice cream now?” Mya waves her hands around. Getting a delicious treat became our tradition after Throttle's races. All of us. As a family.

“Son. Congratulations on first place.” His father shakes his hand.

It’s always like this. The stiff congratulations. You would expect things to be less formal by now, but we're still taking small steps.

“You were… truly remarkable.” Mrs. Miller hugs her son with tension but love this time.

“Thanks.” Throttle rubs the back of his neck.

“All right. Grandpa’s buying!”

“Yay!” Mya reaches for her grandpa’s hand, and we head to where the vehicles are parked.

Throttle and I lag behind, and he casually puts his arm around me. “I love my wife.”

“I love my husband. My ol’ man.”

“I hate and love how that sounds at the same time. If Maggie wouldn’t kill me for being late to the patch in party, I’d take you behind a building and use my tongue in ways you scream for, my rose.”

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