Page 40 of Biker Daddy

“Was it hard?” She stared at the envelope with her name scrawled in her uncle’s messy handwriting. “Reading the last words he’ll ever have for you?”

“Hard as hell, babe.” His hand touched her knee but she didn’t look up.

“I can’t do it yet. The lawyer is going to be calling soon after Uncle Ray’s funeral and I can’t even read the letter.” The breath she gathered into her lungs was shaky. “How the hell am I supposed to handle all this shit?”

“It’s okay, there’s still time. And you’re strong, Addi.”

“Time?” She said the word as if it was in a foreign language. “I’ve been flirting and screwing around with you like I’m still some carefree teenager. It’s wrong. My uncle just died and all I’m thinking about is how hot you are, how wet you make me, and how badly I want you to spank me, fuck me, and be my daddy dom for real. I’m the worst person in the world.” Tears started halfway through her speech, but she ignored them. “I’m not strong, but I’m fucking great at avoidance.”

“Baby girl.” His words matched the sympathy on his face. “You were never some carefree teenager and there’s no right way of dealing with any of this. I’m not innocent either, but who says we can’t grieve together in whatever way works for us?”

She was his way of grieving? Her chest ached with the pain of a thousand wrecking balls landing on it. Here she thought it was just her, but she was no more than a distraction for him too. Just like the last time, this wasn’t real. And, God, that stung as if he’d slapped her. She stood, hugged the letter to her chest, and walked to the door. It was no different than when they were sixteen. He was using her then, and he was using her now.

“Don’t follow me,” she said.

He didn’t, thankfully, and she made it back to her cabin without issue. She felt nothing but angry at herself as she tossed the letter on her nightstand. This was bullshit. She needed to sit in her cabin alone and think, but wanted to go out and forget. Bury her emotions about her uncle, her messed-up childhood, and the daddy she wanted so badly it hurt, but her body ached from the work she’d done that day. Scrubbing floors on her hands and knees wasn’t something she was used to.

She filled the tub with water and a fragrant bath bomb. She stripped, tossing her filthy summer dress in the corner and stepped into the deliciously soothing water. It was so hot it stung but she sank into it regardless of the tensing of her stomach muscles and burning of her skin. She hoped it would burn away the wrong she’d done.

She scrubbed herself quickly, shaved, and paused, staring at the hair on her pussy. She chewed her lip and swiftly ran the razor over it until it was bare. She ran her hand over the smooth skin and slid under the water until her nose was the only thing above the hot, mollifying liquid.

She thought of her time with Drew, tried to remember anything that happened between them that indicated it wasn’t real. She couldn’t think of a single thing. It was time she confront him. She needed to know. What the hell he’d been doing then and what the hell he was doing now.

Addi bolted straight up out of the bathtub, not caring that water splashed onto the floor. Determined and wanting out of the confined space of her cabin, she dried off and quickly cleaned the mess.

Pulling on a cotton skirt and blouse with buttons up the front, she walked out into the chilly dampness of night. It had been getting cooler after dusk as they were in August, but it was still warm during the day. The ground thumped hollowly as she made her way through the pines. She should have grabbed a flashlight, but the moon was almost full and cast a little glow through the scattered treetops and cabins helping her eyes adjust somewhat.

Addi wandered with her head down, keeping her eyes on roots and rocks, until the smell of a campfire made her look up. The glow of it through the trees in the distance pulled her.

As she walked closer, she could see the fire dancing and hear it crackle. The smoky air was as intoxicating as cologne. The scent was as much a part of Drew as his intense blue eyes.

Faint music started. A sweet melody from an acoustic guitar strummed through the cool, heavy air. Drew, sitting on a bench made from a cut log, had a guitar propped on his lap. His head was low, his hair curling at the ends around an old flannel long-sleeved shirt hiding his tattoos. She edged closer, not wanting to alert him of her presence, but too mesmerized to leave.

His voice entwined with a melody she recognized. It was old, one of those hair bands from the eighties that she remembered he liked as a teen. Poison. As he got to the chorus, he looked up at her.

Every rose has its thorn.

Standing across from him while the hot, dancing flames flickered shadows across his face, her heart pounded. His eyes, flashing in the light, blazed blue heat into hers. There was fluttering in every pulse point as she sat, sliding back into a dew-dampened Muskoka chair.

Feelings flooded her, making her want to jump through the flames and run to him. Teenage-crush feelings were strong and as he changed the song to one he’d sung for her way back then, she felt all those early hormone-driven emotions as if they were new. ‘I Remember You,’by Skid Row.

And she did. She remembered.

---