His shirt flutters in the wind, his helmet glittering beneath its scrapes and scratches in the sunlight and I swear I hear him yell.
For a moment, time seems to slow down as I watch him take flight, an angel without wings.
But then reality slams hard into me when I realize he has no where to land. No incline to catch his momentum.
What happens when he comes back down?
My throat squeezes so tight that I can’t even speak as he approaches land, the bike guiding his way straight to solid ground.
At what feels like the last second, he pulls the handlebars and straightens the bike, the back tire hitting rock first. He jolts forward, the front tire catching traction, and he skids sideways.
A cloud surrounds him as he slides to a stop in a group of trees and bushes, and the engine stalls.
I’m panting when he kicks it back to life, riding out of the patch of almost green like he didn’t nearly wreck.
He comes back my way, his body hunched over the bike to keep it close as he rides over the bumpy terrain and drives circles around me.
“You found me,” he yells over the roar with bunched up cheeks and narrowed eyes, the rest of his face hidden behind the helmet as he comes to a stop beside me.
“That was stupid.”
“Stupidly fun, yes. Think you could do it?”
I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest, holding my own bike steady between my thighs. It’s a trick Tristen taught me, so I don’t have to kill the engine every time.
“What if you would have wrecked?”
He snorts and tips his helmet back so that it rests on top of his head. “Wouldn’t be the first. Surely won’t be the last.”
I’m not even sure how to respond to that as he absently rubs his side. Not that he gives me much choice before riding off again with a cackle that resembles something I feel should concern me.
Somehow … it doesn’t.
It’s …nice.
Free, maybe.
Blowing out a breath, I get my bike moving again and follow after him, the devil on two wheels.
I want to feel that one day.
Chapter 46
Emmett
We barely make itback into the house before Tristen crashes out.
He’s dead on his feet, the few hours we spent at the track looking more and more like a bad idea. I should have made him come home sooner given how slumped he is when he lets us in.
Not even his jacket and helmet make it anywhere special, just the corner of the couch. He’s slinks his way upstairs to the bathroom like he does every morning before he comes to Hatley’s bedroom.
At what point does it become the community bedroom?
Making sure the front door gets locked, I head to the kitchen and run a glass beneath the faucet. I drain a third then fill the rest of it back up and shuffle down the hall.
I managed a few anxiety-induced naps while at the firehouse but knowing that there’s a familiar bed nearby has me moving just a little faster, feeling the need to rest a little more prominently.
I freeze when I crest the threshold and am met with the sight of Tristen’s bare back. The tattoos are grayscale, but I can’t focuson what the designs on his skin are when he tips forward and shucks his pants down to his ankles.
