Chapter 15 #2
He slows, and a moment later his brake light comes on.
I stamp on mine, speed bleeding off, but there’s no handy vehicle to duck behind.
All I can do is lie flat over my tank, hope a bright-red motorcycle is too small in his mirrors, and grit my teeth.
There’s no sudden deceleration. No twist as he turns to look back at me.
He takes the exit casually, the way I would expect, and again I accelerate. I need to know which way he turns.
He makes a right, and we must be close now. There’s a high school. Green parks, trees. Declan’s riding slow, barely fifty in a forty, but the road is empty. He’s being respectful. This is dangerous; I’m far more visible here than I have been, and can’t afford to stay too far back.
Then he swings left, into a residential neighborhood. He could go anywhere in there, and I have a decision to make. Get too close, I’ll be seen, my bike too distinctive. Stay too far back, I’ll lose him, and spend the next hour riding around, trying to figure out where he went.
The second option is safest. We must be near. Whatever he intends to do here, I don’t think he’s in a rush. It gives me time to track him down, even if I have to ride a few streets.
I follow him slowly, no longer able to see where he’s gone, ears straining to catch a hint of his engine noise. But it’s impossible to hear anything through my helmet and the wind of my own passing, even at these speeds.
The road runs down into a quiet area. Large houses, lots of trees. I slow even more. I could come around a corner to see him off his bike, and he’d notice me immediately. That would be… disastrous.
I edge carefully around each corner, watching for him, my heart pounding.
The road stays clear, and now there are side roads.
He could’ve gone down any of them. This kind of area is just a bunch of interconnecting residential streets, cul-de-sacs mixed in.
All I have to do is cruise quietly and watch for his bike.
See him before he sees me.
Cat and mouse.
It takes me fifteen minutes of circling at slow speeds, and by then my bike’s overheating, and so am I. But down a street, I see his Fireblade, parked up near the curb. I slam the brakes so hard I stop in a few feet, the rear wheel coming up and dropping with a bump.
So I’ve found him. Now what?
I haven’t thought that far ahead.
There’s no way I can ride by; that much is obvious. He’ll hear me coming and no biker lets a sportbike go by without a glance. The only option is to go forward on foot, but that actually makes most sense. He won’t expect it. I’ll be able to get close, maybe see him.
Stand in a quiet neighborhood like this and peer over a fence? Yeah, not conspicuous at all.
But I’ve come this far.
I strip my helmet, gloves and jacket off, hanging them on my bike.
It’s only a hundred yards up the street; no one’s going to touch them.
Then I take a breath, second-guess myself for about the hundredth time, and go for a stroll.
All casual, out for a walk, just like Declan does on any given Saturday.
He’s parked outside a nice house. All of them around here are.
Large green lawns, lots of floorspace, decent sized garages.
A few cars on the road, trees and fences offering cover.
I creep closer, trying not to look like I’m creeping.
There’s no one around, the place is dead.
A peaceful Saturday morning, Netflix and trips to Trader Joe’s, or whatever it is these people do.
Plan bank robberies, perhaps.
And there he is. Standing on the lawn at the side of the house, visible through a hedge. I duck down, heart in my throat, mouth dry. His back is to me, he didn’t see. But he also wasn’t alone. I didn’t get a clear look.
I stay low, fully aware how conspicuous I now am. All it takes is for someone to look out of a window, see me, make a fuss.
But I’m a girl; that helps. No one thinks women are problems, not at first. I bend to my boot like I’m adjusting it, an excuse to stay down. And I edge closer to the hedge.
I can see him through the foliage. His jacket’s off, his helmet’s nowhere.
The package I saw isn’t in his hands, it’s in the hands of a woman standing near him.
She’s a little older than me, perhaps. Not quite as old as Declan.
Blond hair, very beautiful. Opening the package from him that I’m certain has jewelry in it.
Blue paper, gold ribbon, nicely giftwrapped.
She smiles at him and says something. The words don’t travel. Or maybe they do, but I can’t hear them because my pulse is pounding in my ears.
The rest of me is numb.
She removes the lid, stares at the contents, then flings her arms around his neck. He hugs her back. She’s laughing, he’s smiling.
And I’ve seen enough.
Yet before I can turn away, it gets worse.
Someone else appears in the view through my hedge. A child, maybe six years old.
Declan crouches, holds his arms out, and the child runs straight in. It’s a girl. He picks her up, spinning her around, and she’s laughing. They’re all laughing. I’m the only one here who isn’t, while I learn exactly what I am to him.
I turn away, still staying low, and make it back to my bike before my legs give. Sit on the curb beside it, stare at the asphalt, blurry through my tears.
A woman and a child. Jewelry in a box. A present a week, to make up for his absence?
It hurts in a way I recognize, that’s the worst bit. I should’ve known better—fuck, I did know better. I still let myself believe.
I shouldn’t have followed him. I have no one to blame but myself.
The only question in my mind is whether I’d have done this again, if I knew what I would find.
Wouldn’t ignorance hurt less than this?