Madison practically tumbles off the Ducati, yanking off her helmet. "That was AMAZING!" She's talking with her whole body—hands gesturing wildly, bouncing on her toes. For the first time since Mom's funeral, she looks untethered from grief. "Can we do it again? Can we go faster?"
"Easy, speed demon." Thorne dismounts more carefully, removing his helmet. His hair is mussed, sticking up in several directions, and he looks more relaxed than I've seen him since the call about Williams. "What did you think, Ivy?"
I shut down my motorcycle, adrenaline still singing through my veins, making everything feel sharp and bright. "It's incredible." I run my hand along the tank. "She handles like a dream. Responsive, powerful, but smooth. I've never ridden anything this nice."
"Good." He moves closer, his hand resting on my hip briefly. "Because I like having you as my riding partner. We’ll have our two-person MC this summer.”
This summer. The words should be light, promising. Instead they settle heavy in my chest like stones. Another month and a handful of weeks before I take Madison to New York. Beforewhatever this is between us becomes just another thing I left behind in Kentucky.
Madison has wandered to the edge of the overlook, staring out at the view. "It's so pretty up here," she says softly. "Everything seems smaller. Less complicated."
Thorne and I join her at the railing. She's right. From up here, the world does seem simpler. The valley below stretches out in golden light. There are pastures divided by blackboard fences, a few horses grazing in the distance. A creek cuts through the bottomland, and the far hills roll away in dark green waves, one ridge behind another fading into haze.
"You know what we should do?" Madison turns to us, her expression mischievous. "We should get ice cream."
"Ice cream?" I raise an eyebrow. “It’s nine in the morning.”
“So? Let’s go to a little town where no one knows us. We could walk around downtown and look at the shops. Do normal people stuff." She looks between us hopefully. "Please?"
"Normal people stuff?" Thorne repeats, sounding amused. “Most normal people have ice cream for breakfast?”
“Fine, we can get eggs instead.” She rolls her eyes. “Come on, let’s do normal stuff. Like a regular family would do."
The word "family" hangs in the air, heavier than she probably intended. Thorne's hand tightens on the railing, knuckles going white for a heartbeat before his fingers relax. His jaw works like he's chewing on words he won't let himself say.
"I think ice cream sounds delicious,” I say, bumping my shoulder against his. "Come on, Blackstone. When's the last time you did something normal?"
He looks at me, and for a moment, the walls drop. There's longing there, raw and unguarded, chased by fear. He blinks and some of his shield returns. He nods. "Alright. Ice cream it is."
Madison pumps her fist. "Yes! Okay, can I ride with you this time, Ivy? I want to see what that bike feels like."
I glance at Thorne, who shrugs. "If you’re comfortable with it."
"I'm good if you are," I tell Madison. "But same rules apply—hold tight, lean with me, two taps if you need to stop."
"Got it." She's already heading for the Bonneville, practically vibrating with excitement.
The ride into town is slower and more careful as I get used to Madison on my bike. But she's a natural, moving with the dips and curves. When we pull up outside a vintage ice cream parlor with pink and white striped awnings, she's hopping off before I have the sidestand down. "That was even better than the first time," she announces. “You're like, really good at this."
"Thanks." I remove my helmet, running a palm along my head to feel for hair that escaped my braid. "You're a pretty great passenger."
I can’t help grinning. Right now, she's just a fourteen-year-old who gets to ride a motorcycle and eat ice cream. Not a girl who lost her mother. Not my responsibility who I’m unsure how to raise. But my little sister, who’s excited about our adventure.
Inside Scoops, it's all checkered floors and chrome stools at the counter. The cases are full of colorful ice cream, and the air smells like waffle cones and sugar. A handful of other customers are scattered around, and no one seems to recognize Thorne. Or if they do, they're too polite to stare.
I order a pistachio ice cream. Madison gets cookies and cream with rainbow sprinkles. Thorne picks bourbon and honey, telling us how much he missed this flavor while in Quebec. We take our cones and wander outside, strolling down the main street.
The town is charming in that Kentucky way with old brick buildings, gas streetlamps, and window boxes full of summer flowers. Madison darts ahead to peer into shop windows, a running commentary spilling out of her. "Oh my God, look at that dress. I want to live in that bookstore." She's not waitingfor answers, a teenager free of the need to measure her words or guard her enthusiasm.
"She's a good kid.” His lip twitches. “When she’s not blackmailing me.”
I laugh, licking melting ice cream off the side of my cone. "You're good with her."
He snorts. "I let a fourteen-year-old ride on the back of my Ducati. Pretty sure that's the opposite of good."
"Hey." I smack his arm. "I agreed to it. And let her ride with me. Are we both shit at adulting?"
He laughs. "Maybe. But given our parents..."
