Page 58 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

“No,” he replies, dejected. “That will only disappoint her. She doesn’t want me to miss out on anything on account of her.” I want more information, but that can wait. Now is not the time for a discussion.

“Then let’s go.”

CHAPTER27

Zoomingdown the back roads on a motorcycle is by far one of the best things I’ve experienced. Riding as Riggs’ “backpack”, as he said, pressing my body tight to his and holding on to his toned frame is even better.

Riggs is one with his bike and the streets, staying laser focused enough that I sense I’m safe riding with him. Safety in moving vehicles doesn’t come often for me unless I’m the one driving. Hence why I take Foxy most places.

This bike is another one of his getaways when he needs a break. He’s not a daredevil, at least not with me on the back, but he is a skilled rider.

We dart off the highway and loop around to a side road. Riggs hops up on the curb and starts down a walking trail to take us under the highway we just left. He parks the bike and cuts the lights, leading me over a wooden bridge descending the steep hill that tucks us away.

Dusk is approaching, so it’s hard to see my surroundings well, but up ahead is a concrete tunnel—short, no wider than the highway, and dingy.

Water seeps through cracks in the wall to pool on the asphalt of the trail. Large puddles slosh as we walk through them.

The walls, though… The walls are stunning. On one end is a legit mural someone must have commissioned. It’s a nature scene, a field of wildflowers where animals graze.

The mural is pretty, but the pieces that catch my eye are by the amateur artists who have something on their mind and this is where they get it out.

Riggs leads me to one in lime green and other neon colors. The lines are drippy, distorted. The image is hard to read up close, it’s so large, but when I step back, I see the message.

Free.

In the bottom right-hand corner, it’s signed “The Jester”.

“Is this one yours? Are you The Jester?” The name doesn’t suit him. Riggs is far from foolish.

“Yeah, I’m the fool.”

“The fool? Why do you say that?” I side step, bringing us closer until his scent cocoons me and our shoulders touch. I’m pretty tall at five-nine, but he still has a few inches over me. “And what doesfreestand for?”

One thing I like about Riggs is he’s confident in everything I’ve seen him do. I would shy away from showing my bestie my art, let alone someone I barely know.

Riggs doesn’t get embarrassed, and it’s liberating to see someone who doesn’t give a shit what people say about him. Until you try to feed him, but I guess it’s a shot to his pride more than anything, so I can understand.

“I’m a fool for thinking I can ever be free, but I’m wanting it. I painted this after you bought me lunch. Thank you, by the way.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “You mentioned change the other day, something I deserve. I don’t. I’ll never be free. It’s a pretty picture in my head, but something I’ll never achieve.”

“Free from what?” I push, tentative. I’m not sure which questions to ask to keep him talking and which ones will shut him down. But I want him to get whatever he wants off his chest. I’m here to listen and absorb anything he plans to give me. I’m willing to bet Riggs doesn’t share himself often.

His brows pinch together, and he grits his teeth. The urge to touch him hits so hard my hand twitches, but I keep it at my side.

I want to know what is going on in his mind, but I also don’t want to cause him pain. He’s in pain right now. Jensen said Riggs’ story isn’t his to tell. Does that mean it’s bad? Shit, am I sure I want to know? Am I sure I want to tangle my darkness with his? Would that even be healthy for us?

I have no doubt Riggs, for whatever strange reason, is interested in at least being friends with me in this surprising turn of events, but am I ready for this?

Yeah, I am.

Even when he was rude to me, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wasn’t sure why, because who would daydream about someone who treated them in such a manner?

I thought it was the guilt I carry, and some of the weight was, but it’s possible I’ve had feelings for Riggs since he first opened his mouth.Twisted.But now that I’m standing here witnessing his heart on his sleeve, it’s hard to accept that I ever disliked him.

What the fuck.

“Gramma has cancer.” Not an answer, but okay. Maybe he’s leading up to it because surely he doesn’t want to be free of her. “Two weeks or so ago, her doctors gave her a month to live.” Riggs shudders as he tells me, shattering my heart in two.

“Riggs, good god. What are you doing out here with me? You should be home with her.” He peers down at me over his shoulder, his eyes loaded with grief.

---