She was quiet for a moment. "On a motorcycle."
"Yes."
"I've never been on one."
"I know." She’d told him last week. Their conversation had been long and thorough. He knew enough to know she was his. There were many firsts he planned on being for her.
"That's not — I mean, I'm not afraid of them, I just—" She stopped. "You'll go slow?"
Rampage looked at her. Really looked at her, the way he'd done the moment he crouched outside her window, and she'd askedis it really youin that small, wrecked voice that had done something unexpected to the inside of his chest.
"I'll go slow," he said. “And we have a helmet for you.” He held out his hand and Irish stuck a bright pink helmet in his hand.
She tried not to giggle at the sight of the large man in front of her holding a bright pink helmet with a Hello Kitty sticker on it and instead nodded. Tugged the front of her hoodie straight, like she was pulling herself. "Okay. Yeah. Okay."
After helping her with the helmet, he got on the bike and walked her through what to do. He showed her where to put her feet, where to hold on, how to keep her weight centered, lean when he leaned, and don't fight it. She listened carefully. Asked one clarifying question about the foot pegs. He answered it.
She climbed on behind him.
There was a moment, just after she settled, where she sat stiffly with her hands hovering somewhere near his waist, not quite committing.
"Hold on," he said.
"I am holding on."
"You're hovering. Hold on."
A short pause. “Yes, Sir.” She muttered.
He wondered if she was even aware of saying the words. He smiled to himself and then her arms came around him, really around him, locked at the front of his cut, her face pressing in against his back, and he felt her exhale. Long and shaky and relieved, like she'd been holding her breath for hours.
He gave Irish a look.Follow us. Keep it tight.
Irish nodded.
Rampage pulled out of the lot.
He'd told her he'd go slow, and he always kept his word. As he drove, he kept it steady, well under the limit, nothing to jar or alarm. The night was cold and clear, the highway emptying out as they got further from town, and the only sounds were the engine and the wind.
She held on like she was afraid she’d fall off and become road kill.
Hands locked together just below his sternum, her body pressed flat against his back. After the first mile, her grip changed. It felt less desperate almost like she'd decided she trusted the bike, trusted him, and was allowing herself to actually breathe. He felt her cheek against his back.
His hands stayed steady on the bars.
He'd seen plenty of fear in his life. Had watched people come out the other side of it in every possible way. From hard, angry, and closed off, to shattered and numb. Emily Carter was none of those things. She was soft under the fear. Not weak, but soft. There was a difference, and it was a difference he understood. He’d deployed numerous times all across the globe. Quick trips to remove a tyrant in power to yearlong battles filled in middle east combat zones. He’d learned how to read people and Emily was easy to read.
She was the kind of woman who needed something she'd never let herself ask for.
He'd known it when she askedis it really youthrough a one-inch gap in a window. He'd suspected it when they were at the diner. She was a little. It was in the way she’d ordered her food, the stickers on her phone case, and the stuffy seat belted into the front seat of her car, the one he’d motioned for Irish to grab. She’d noticed a kid across the street playing and her expression looked like longing.
Now, with her arms around his waist and her forehead against his back, and every mile that passed making her holdhim just slightly less like she was drowning and slightly more like she was choosing to be there, he knew by the way she fit into him. He’d already suspected, but now?
He knew.
She was his.
He didn't make a thing of it, the way he didn't make a thing of most things he was certain about. It wasn't a feeling he needed to examine or argue with. It just was. It was solid and simple and true the same way the road under the tires was true, the way the stars above the highway were true.
