Page 50 of Never Trust the Living (Battle Crows MC 7)

Which led to now, me standing next to Bram’s bike, with the diagnosis of hyperemesis for my troubles.

“Cupcakes sound good,” I said softly.

The doc, Daniel Proctor, Sabrina’s dad and Tide’s soon-to-be father-in-law, had given me a Zofran in the office. And for the first time in a week, I wanted something to eat.

A cupcake.

“I can take you to Jeremiah’s place. We can get you a cupcake.” He sounded excited even.

And that was likely due to him freaking out to the point where he was all but force feeding me food and drinks over the last week to make me better.

Which, I guessed, wasn’t going to happen.

At least, not for a while, according to Dr. Proctor.

“Let’s go get you that cupcake,” he urged. “And seriously, this is the very last time we’re going on this motorcycle. So not even your puppy dog eyes are going to convince me to allow it again.”

That caused me to smile.

Our trip back from Florida went a little funky.

Mostly because, after purchasing me a brand-new vehicle—yes, brand new, with the top-of-the-line everything—he hitched up his bike to a trailer and drove us home.

Only, the entire time I’d dreamed of moving back to the bike.

The open air helped with the nausea, and though I knew riding while being pregnant was dangerous, it was dangerous any time.

Bikers were clearly the lower class when it came to the road.

People in cars just didn’t see them.

Which sucked, because Bram would never give the bike up.

Anyway, after having to stop half a million times on the way home due to motion sickness—or so I’d thought—we’d gotten home and I’d convinced him every time we needed to go somewhere that I wanted to do it on his bike.

But when Dr. Proctor saw us riding up on Bram’s bike, he’d promptly discouraged that mode of transportation until I was no longer pregnant.

“We’ll see,” I grumbled as I fitted myself to his back.

And there, I wouldn’t admit to liking being pressed against his back.

To him actually wanting me wrapped around him.

When we rode, I could pretend.

Pretend that everything was okay when we both knew it wasn’t.

“Do you remember when I first got on your bike?” She snickered. “That day was… something.”

“That day was a total and complete fuck up,” he agreed, his laughter causing his chest to rumble. “And we really shouldn’t be laughing about that day, but shit. On top of everything else that had happened, I’d forced you to go on a ride. You were scared to death to be on my bike, too.”

“It scared me,” she admitted. “The way that we got so close to the road when you turned. The wind in my face. Your shoulders being so broad I couldn’t see over them to watch where we weregoing. It was a combination of things. But when we got where we were going, it felt like part of my soul had been let free.”

Why was I telling him this?

Because I didn’t want him to stop giving me rides on the back of his bike.

If I only had a few months left, I was damn well going to get everything out of it I could. One more ride on his bike. One more memory to tuck away for when I needed to relive it the most.

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