Page 48 of The Rush

I grunt back and pull the phone from my face to kill the call.

Slapping the phone against Peach’s chest, I meet his eyes with a levity I didn’t feel when he first saw me.

“Can I get a ride?”

His grin notches up as he tips his chin and leads me out of the lift. “As long as you’re good on a bike.”

“Fuck yes.”

Stepping out into the damp morning air, I force a breath to keep my nerves down and follow Peach to the motorcycle that’s parked in the fire lane.

“You like her?” Peach’s pride shines in his smile as he hands over the helmet and straddles the beast when I accept.

“She’s beautiful.” Planting the protective gear on my head that smells of fresh mint like he brushed his teeth right before he put it on last, I nestle my body in behind Peach and hook my arms under his biceps and around his shoulders. “Why did you come?”

His shrug is the only answer I get as he starts up the machine beneath us and is pulling out into the nonexistent traffic.

The wind slices through my thin tee shirt, the dampness leaving a chill on my exposed skin as Peach speeds and weaves around the city streets until we’re hitting the outskirts of town where fog claims the fielded hills.

Sunlight breaks through the mist on the horizon when we slow, baiting back the low-hanging clouds and releasing the ominous feeling left in their wake.

Peach pulls into the treelined driveway lit with inground lights that guide the bike along the curves of the path up to the only building on the property.

The porch light is on, illuminating the single wooden rocking chair and the worn decking that could use a fresh layer of paint and it would look as good as new. The rest of the house is in immaculate condition with its brand-new siding, recently replaced windows, and meticulously kept lawn.

My eyes wander over the porch when Peach pulls the bike off to the side of the two-car garage, and I chuckle at the single cushion that sits in the rocker as I pop off the helmet.

Dismounting the machine, Peach kills the engine and accepts the helmet back from me.

“How’d you know where to go?”

“I do my homework.” He tilts his head in the direction of the screen door. “Better hurry, you might turn into a punkin’.”

Snorting, I shake my head and turn away from Peach’s grin to find the very door he referenced darkened with a heavy frame that would have made me gulp to find standing there if this were over a decade ago.

Pulling up on a bike?

With a stranger?

In the dead of the morning?

Instead, I jog up the steps with a lightness I’m glad to feel as the screen creaks open, and I all but throw myself into the safety of thick tattooed arms that smell of fake citrus soap that never really cleans away the grease stains left behind, mixed in with the scent of clean clothes.

My hands have steadied as the warmth settles in around me. My chest releases the tension I’ve been holding since the call despite the tight arms locking around my shoulders. My lungs take in the first full breath in what feels like weeks, but it’s only been a day since I felt safe in the arms of someone.

Arms that belonged to Fin.

When my chest lifts, I catch the matched movement like maybe it’s the first full breath for us both in too long.

“Hey, Princess.” The grumble ruffles the top of my head when lips make contact with my hair and vibrates through the chest I still hold tight. “Who the fuck is that?”

“A friend,” I answer easily and snicker when I lean back and I’m met with a thick-cocked brow and sharp blue eyes that only show some aging around the edges.

“He can stay outside.” Nodding, I throw an apologetic look over my shoulder to a shrugging Peach, as my wrist is wrapped up in a heavily callused hand and I’m tugged inside the dimly lit house to the kitchen. “Tell me why I can’t bury him, Princess.”

Once we’re inside the safety of the house, away from prying ears, with fresh coffee to palms, I shrug and sip the burning brew as I prop my hip into the counter and watch my dad settle at the worn table in the same seat he’s taken up for the last twenty or so years. “I don’t want you going to prison.”

“Princess.” I hide my smile behind the ceramic when he lowers the mug, and resolve stares back at me. “You know I know things. And people. I’ve seen action. That little fucking twerp is nothing but a blip on the radar if he disappears.”

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