Page 102 of Up In Flames
“I was finally healing,” he says in a broken whisper. “Why’d he have to show upnow?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. Reaching a hand toward him simply to let him know he’s not alone, he flinches slightly when it lands on his thigh.
I remove it immediately, trying not to show that his flinch gutted me.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I try to reassure him, despite the fear welling up inside me. I know this was fast. I know he and I don’t make sense, but was it a lost cause from the start?
No. I refuse to believe that.
Pushing my insecurity down, I try again. “It was a traumatic night.”
My stomach rumbles, and it echoes in the cab of my truck.
“I’m sorry we had to leave before we got our meals.” With a humorless laugh, Taylor adds, “Guess that wasn’t exactly the new memory you were hoping to make there.”
This time, I don’t hesitate as I reach for his hand. “Nothing was more important than getting you out of that situation, do you hear me?”
He nods, but doesn’t say anything else for the entire ride home.
When we get to my house, I briefly think about asking him again what he needs, but he doesn’t seem to know, so I take charge.
“Come with me.”
If he’s facing his past tonight, then I’ll finish confronting mine with him.
I lead him to my bedroom, grab a leather jacket, and toss it at him.
“What’s this for?” he asks, slipping his arms in the sleeves.
“You feel caged. I can tell by the way your eyes watched the horizon as we drove home, and your fingers haven’t been still since he touched you.”
Taylor’s brows pinch together, trying to understand where I’m going with this.
“We’re running,” I explain.
The statement must register for him because he nods even though he still seems confused…until I open the door to thegarage. My truck’s too big to fit in here, so I park in the driveway and use the front door. The only time Taylor’s ever been in here, he was concussed and his eyes were closed as I carried him through this space.
But his eyes are open now, and it doesn’t take them long to land on my bike.
Something other than despair flickers in his eyes for the first time since tonight’s shitshow started, and I know I’ve made the right choice.
I punch the garage door opener on the wall and hand him the helmet from the small backseat.
Placing my own helmet on, I face my bike and pray it all comes back easily. I also pray the thing starts. She’s had a long slumber.
But when I throw a leg over and turn the key, the old girl starts right up.
“Get on.”
I look at Taylor and wish like hell I could see his expression through the visor to know what he’s thinking. Where my visor is clear, his is tinted because that’s what Karen had wanted. The helmet looks better on Taylor than it ever did on her, though.
Without wasting time, he throws a leg over the seat behind me, and I feel him push in close. I grip his right thigh, lifting his leg so his foot rests on the peg behind mine, and then repeat the move on the other side.
“Don’t move from this position or you’ll burn your ankle on the exhaust pipe,” I instruct. Next, I reach for his arms and wrap them around my waist, reveling in the feel of him here with me. For a few minutes, I thought he was going to choose to leave that restaurant with Patrick.
The thought fucking terrified me.
