Page 62 of Drift
“It’s not about pretty, Waverly,” I said gently as I stepped closer, laying a hand on the seat like it was something sacred. “You can ride any one of the others, sweetheart, but this spot”—I patted the leather seat—“this one belongs to your mama.”
She blinked, confused for a second, then thoughtful. “Only Mommy?”
“Only Mommy.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. “No one else has ever ridden behind me on this one, and no one ever will. That’s her seat. Always will be.”
Her small mouth made an O. She looked at the bike again, then at me. “So…that’s like her forever seat?”
“Exactly.”
The back door to the house swung open behind us, and the smell of coffee came with it. Alanna stepped out onto the porch, her sundress fluttering in the breeze and her hair twisted up in a messy knot with a pencil shoved through it. She still had that same smile that had wrecked me the first time I saw it, and the same eyes that could end a war.
She adjusted our three-year-old on her hip before she walked over, the corners of her mouth curving when she saw where I was standing. “Let me guess, she wants the black one.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Of course she does. She’s your kid. But she understands now.”
Gunner reached for me, and I transferred him onto my shoulders, making him squeal with laughter. I shot a look at my wife that told her I wasn’t happy she’d just carried him outside. She was six months pregnant with another boy, and she wasn’t supposed to lift anything heavy.
Alanna ignored me and came closer, laying a hand over mine on the bike seat. “You kept your promise.”
“Never planned on breaking it.”
Her eyes misted, catching the sunlight.
“You’re still impossible,” she whispered, then leaned in and kissed me.
When she pulled back, our daughter tugged at the hem of my cut.
“Daddy,” she said solemnly, “can I have a seat too? Like Mommy’s? One that’s only mine?”
That damn tug in my chest got tighter. I bent down until we were eye to eye, careful to hold Gunner steady.
“Maybe.” I brushed her braid off her shoulder. “We’ll see.”
I kissed her nose, and she giggled, wrinkling it up. “I wanna seat that’s just for me!”
Gunner clapped his hands and squealed “Fo me! Fo me!”
Before I could answer, Alanna grinned, all mischief and light. “Maybe you’ll have your own seat one day. On someone else’s bike.”
The words hit me like a punch. “What?”
She laughed. “You know—when she’s older.”
“Older?” I demanded, straightening up. “Like…fifty?”
Alanna just kept laughing, eyes sparkling wickedly. “Now you know how Jaxton felt.”
I shot her a look that promised a conversation later—one she was going to feel on her pretty little ass. She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile, which only made her laugh harder.
Waverly looked between us, confused but amused. “Daddy’s face looks funny.”
Alanna smoothed her hand over our little girl’s hair. “That’s the look of a man realizing he can’t protect you from everything forever.”
“Watch me,” I muttered, earning another peal of laughter from her.
I set Gunner on the ground and made sure his hand was firmly grasped in Alanna’s, so he wouldn’t run out in front of the bike. Then I scooped Waverly up onto my hip, her tiny hands gripping my shoulders, and turned toward the cruiser. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s start you on this one. The others can wait.”
She gasped with delight. “Can I go fast?”
