She laughed. Of course he had.
“You’re ready,” Beckham finally said an infinite amount of time later.
“Yeah?” she gasped.
He nodded and then kicked his leg over the back of the bike. His thighs pressed against hers, his hands sliding up her waistand over her arms.
“Easy does it.”
She started the motorcycle as he’d instructed and then eased it back onto the open highway. Beckham was close enough to take control if he had to but gave her enough room to breathe. It was a perfect example of their relationship. The only time she didn’t argue with him taking control was in the bedroom. And even then…
His lips pressed into her neck. “You’re doing great.”
Reyna tilted her head back and laughed into the summer air. This was bliss. Beckham pressing into her back, the open road before her, and no cares in the world.
When they reached their destination, Beckham helped her bring the bike to a stop. She jumped off, feeling alive and wild from the adrenaline. She handed her helmet to Beckham and offered him a kiss. He obliged.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Are you?” she countered, suddenly sobering.
This was the hardest part of their week. Every week.
It didn’t matter what else they had to face at work, with Visage, with the cure. Worse even than the fact that they never found Roland despite their best efforts. Nothing was as troublesome as standing outside of the mental facility that Bronwyn had been placed into almost six months earlier.
Beckham nodded and took her hand. They walked into the cozy home that was the best place in the state. It didn’t look like a hospital, which Reyna appreciated after all her time in Visage’s sterile rooms. There was wicker furniture on the porch. The interior was soft and feminine, painted in calming colors.
The same woman, Martha, who was always there, checked them in. “Beckham, Reyna, we’re so glad to see you today.”
“How’s she doing?” Reyna asked.
“It’s not a good day. But hopefully your presence will calm herdown.”
Reyna clutched Beckham’s hand. The bad days were the hardest on him. He took full responsibility for what he had done to Bronwyn. And it ate at him that there was nothing he could do to fix what he had broken. Except be there as often as he could and get her the help she’d always needed.
“You want me to show you the way?” Martha asked kindly.
“We can go on our own,” Reyna said. “Thank you.”
Reyna took his hand and guided him through the facility. Bronwyn’s room was at the end of a hallway. There was no lock on her door, a big upgrade from where she’d been before, but all of the exterior doors had them, just in case.
They glanced through the small window and peered in on Bronwyn sitting on a couch. She had a cross-stitch in her lap and was making gorgeous flowers come to life out of needlepoint.
“She used to do that as a kid,” Beckham said.
Reyna nodded. She knew.
After they’d given Bronwyn the cure, she’d reverted to an almost childlike state. No longer a military leader or a powerful vampire, she retreated into herself and became the thing she had been before her mind had been shattered.
“Are you ready?”
“Can I talk to you first?”
She arched an eyebrow but nodded. “Why do you look upset?”
“I’m not sure how you’ll react.”
“Should I be worried?”
