Page 90 of Lucas
Lucas, to his credit, remains patient, calling out encouragement and pointers as he jogs alongside me.
“That’s it. Keep your head up and look straight ahead. Trust your body to find its balance.”
Biting my lip in concentration, I make it a few more feet before losing momentum and putting my foot down to stop from toppling over. Again.
“Damn it!” I smack the handlebars, tears of frustration pricking the backs of my eyes. “This is hopeless. I’m hopeless.”
“Hey. None of that defeatist talk.” Lucas places a staying hand on my shoulder, ducking his head to meet my gaze. “You’re doing great, Ava. Really. No one picks it up right away. It just takes practice.”
“Practice,” I echo. “Right.”
I turn the bike around to start again. “Okay. One more go.”
As the sun climbs higher in the cloudless sky, I find my rhythm, wobbling less and less as my muscles acclimate to the unfamiliar movements.
“Yes! I’m doing it!” I pedal faster. “I’m riding a bike. I’m doing it!”
“Woo-hoo!” Lucas runs alongside me, a huge, boyish grin lighting up his face. “Look at you go!”
The rush of the fragrant spring air on my face, the stretch and burn of my muscles, the sense of unshakeable balance—it’s glorious. I understand now why he was so keen to share this with me.
I’m so caught up in my newfound joy that I don’t notice the small pothole looming up ahead in time to avoid it. The front tire hits it dead on, sending the handlebars jerking to the side. Before I can even gasp, I’m airborne.
Pain explodes across my body as I hit the ground hard, my bike clattering beside me.
I lie there, winded and stunned, as a decades-old memory assaults me.
Gravel biting into tender palms. The sickening snap of bone.
“Jesus, Ava, stop blubbering. I don’t have time for this. Only babies cry…”
“Goddammit. Now I have to waste my whole day taking you to the hospital. I can’t believe how useless you are. It’s riding a damn bike. How hard is that? Pathetic.”
Hot shame prickles my skin as his voice echoes in my ringing ears. Even now, over fifteen years later, the sting of that humiliation is still fresh. The bitter disappointment and self-loathing.
“Ava!Are you okay?”
Lucas’s panicked shout shatters the haunting memories. In a flash, he’s kneeling beside me, his expression frantic as his hands skim over my helmeted head, my shoulders, my ribs.
I blink up at him, the harsh sunlight setting his dark hair aglow. Pretty. So pretty.
A fat tear rolls down my scraped cheek.
“Fuck, baby, talk to me. Are you hurt?” His voice cracks as he cradles my head between his palms. “What do you need?”
Concern. Gentleness. Compassion.
I open my eyes and meet his beautiful, worried gaze. The sight of him shatters me. A second tear rolls down my cheek, followed by another.
“Fuck, Ava.” He pulls me to him, cradling me against his chest. “You’re okay, I’m here.” He rocks me in his arms.
I sob, all the memories from that fateful fall flooding back. Father yelling at me, the pain from my broken arm, the hours I waited until we got to the hospital and they put a cast on me because he had to stop by the office for an important meeting first.
I didn’t shed a single tear then, but now it seems all the tears since have compounded, bursting out of me.
Lucas holds me for long minutes. He doesn’t speak or rush me, just lets me get it all out.
“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” he asks as my sobs quiet, pulling back to examine me.
