Page 19 of Whispers of Fire

As I tore down the open road, the rumble of my bike echoed like thunder in the night, AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" blarin’ from my speakers at full tilt. Leaving Orlando's skyline behind, I cruised through the heartland, the moon casting a silver glow over the rolling landscapes between Orlando and Knoxville. Each mile marker passed beneath my wheels, bringing me closer to her. The miles melting away until, with the dawn breaking on the horizon, I reached Knoxville.

Leaving my bike in front of my house, I walk inside, putting my helmet on the kitchen island before grabbing a bottle of water in the kitchen. I instinctively look at the bay-window. Something pulls me toward my garden, as if my body was aware of hers.

Is she awake?

Still wearing by black gear, I walk to my garden, ready to climb over the small fence and break into her house just to make sure she’s alright. But I don’t even have to cross her property when I already see her goddess silhouette glowing in the dawn light.

There she stands in her garden, as if she was looking for me, bathed in the soft morning light, still wearing her nightgown, barely hiding her curves.

Her eyes are puffy, cheeks stained with tears as if she's been crying for hours. My chest clenches at the sight of her pain, and without a second thought, I ask, “Wanna come over?” nodding towards my place.

I know she ain't keen on her folks catching wind of her hanging out with a stranger, especially one like me, but I can't stand seeing her like this. She looks up at me, surprise flashing in her eyes, tears still lingering, but she gives a silent nod.

Stepping over the fence, her nightgown shifts a bit over her leg, offering me the sight of her soft and creamy skin.

So fuckin’ perfect.

It’s chilly. I don’t want her to be cold. It feels unusually familiar, this want to take care of her even though I haven’t done it to anyone in years.

As she walks toward me, I notice her hands are still in a pretty bad state, but the scars have started to appear, so it’s healing. I know a lot about it, since I’m usually the one giving them to other people.

I left the bay window open and she steps inside as if she knew the place, as if it was hers.

A voice far away whispers to me that it could fuckin’ be.

She steps into my living-room, the scent of her vanilla perfume intertwining with the rugged essence of leather and motor oil that permeates my place. This space reflects my life as a biker—my sanctuary with relics and tales from the open road. Vintage motorcycle posters on the walls with framed photographs of my club brothers.

The leather sofas draw her attention first but it's the corner filled with books that catches her eye, and I can see the spark of interest igniting within her. She approaches the bookshelves with a determined stride, her fingers tracing the spine of each book.

Wonder what she likes to read.

Books were my escape, my way out of the poverty and struggle of my upbringing. My parents couldn’t buy them for me and my brother, but we would go to the library to borrow books every week. Jamie will never read any new books anymore, and it fuckin’ hurts to remember this hard truth.

She then turns herself, looking back and forth at me and the couch. Is she asking me if she can sit? I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I nod and watch her rush to it as if she hadn’t slept for days.

My angel looks so fuckin’ tired my chest aches.

Circling the couch, I grab a wool blanket in a basket behind it. She’s laying awkwardly on her side as if she didn’t dare to fully relax.

“Just make yourself at home, Angel,” I say, hoping to make her more comfortable. Her shoulders drop a bit and she finally allows herself to lie down.

She looks damn good in my home, like she was meant to be here the whole fuckin’ time.

I notice how her lips have a light shade of blue. She’s shivering.

Damn it, I should have seen it sooner.

Taking the blanket in my clenched fist, I try to approach her slowly to not scare her away. She sees me carrying the blanket towards her, stopping myself for her consent, and she gives me a small nod with the shadow of a small smile at the crease of her lips.

Should be illegal to look this freaking cute.

Lowering myself on one knee, I carefully put the blanket on her body, tucking it on the sides and almost touching her in the process. I try to ignore the electricity in the air, but I swear it’s so thick you couldn’t cut it with a fuckin’ knife.

Never done something so intimate in my life.

I hear her breathing quicken at our closeness and I stop to breathe for a few seconds at the sight of her, melting into my couch, getting warmer under my blanket.

Something stirs within me. It isn’t just the primal urge to protect or the instinct to provide comfort. No, it’s something deeper, something I hadn't felt in a long time and refused to allow myself to feel ever since the car crash.

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