“What about you?” she asks.
Thorne moves to a cabinet along the wall and returns with a sleek summer riding jacket in midnight blue with gold accents and a helmet that matches the Bonnie perfectly.
He holds it out to me. “Here. Can't have you riding without proper gear."
I take it, turning it over in my hands. The interior is lined with premium padding, and my initials are embossed in gold on the back. "You had this custom made."
"Good thing, since Madison is wearing the one you borrowed last time." He's trying for casual, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He cares what I think. He cares that I like it.
"Thank you," I say softly, running my fingers over the embossed initials. "You didn't just listen to my ramblings about my old Bonnie. You found her. You brought her back.”
"I always listen when you talk, Ivy." He turns to Madison, “You're riding with me. At least until she gets used to the bike. And you’ll follow every rule I give you. Deal?”
"Deal!" Madison throws her arms around him in an impulsive hug.
He freezes for half a second, clearly not expecting it, then carefully pats her back. When she pulls away, his ears are even pinker.
"Okay, first rule." He moves to a cabinet along the wall, pulling out helmets. "Safety gear is non-negotiable. You'll wear my sister's helmet." He produces a sleek black helmet with purple accents.
While he helps Madison with the strap, I move to the Bonneville. My Bonnie. Not that I can keep her, but I damn sure will ride her while staying with Thorne.
“Ready?” Thorne asks.
Madison bounces on her toes. “Are we going riding, or are we just going to stare at them all day?” Thorne barks out a laugh, and the tension breaks. "Get on the Ducati, troublemaker. And remember—hold on tight, lean with me through turns, and if you need me to stop for any reason, tap my shoulder twice."
"Got it." Madison approaches the bike, running her fingers along the red paint. "This is so cool."
"Wait until we're moving." Thorne swings his leg over, then helps Madison settle behind him. "Feet on the pegs, arms around my waist. Tight."
She wraps her arms around him, and something in my chest constricts at the sight. They look right together. Thorne patient and protective, Madison trusting and eager. Like family.
"Your turn, Ivy.” Thorne nods at Bonnie. "Let's see what she can do."
I approach the bike and throw my leg over. The seat molds to me, the controls falling exactly where my hands reach like it was made for me.
Because it was.
I pull on the helmet, swing my leg over, pull in the clutch, and hit the starter. The Bonneville roars to life with a deep, throaty purr that vibrates through my bones. This is power. This is freedom.
This is Thorne telling me he sees me, knows me, wants to give me what I love.
Thorne pulls out first, Madison's delighted laugh echoing off the garage walls as they exit. I follow, the Bonnie responding to my every touch like we've been partners for years.
It’s a hot day, but it doesn’t touch me as I ride the wind on the motorcycle. Thorne leads us from the suburbs of his estate to the rural roads lined with black fences.
For the first few miles, he keeps the pace easy, giving Madison time to adjust. I can see her gradually relaxing, her death grip on his waist loosening as she gains confidence. By the time we hit the open stretch of two-lane highway, she's leaning with him through the curves like she's been doing it for years.
Thorne glances back at me, and even through his helmet, I can feel his smile. He revs the engine, pulling farther ahead.
Oh, you want to play?
I twist the throttle and the Bonnie surges forward. The acceleration is smooth and powerful, eating up the distance between us. Thorne accelerates, pulling a little ahead of me, and Madison's delighted shriek carries over the wind.
We barrel down the empty road, the bikes growling in harmony. This isn’t a race, it’s a stolen slice of time where nothing exists except the rumble of engines, the rush of wind, and the three of us carving through the heat of a Kentucky summer.
Thorne takes a turn onto a narrow road that climbs into the hills. The curves come faster, tighter, requiring focus and skill. I lean into each turn, the bike and I moving as one. This is what I missed. The freedom, that feeling of complete presence, where every sense is engaged and there's no room for worry or doubt.
The road crests a hill, and Thorne pulls into a scenic overlook. I follow, cutting my engine as he does the same. The sudden silence is almost shocking after the constant rumble.
