Chapter 7
Maddie
With the backpack slung over my shoulder, I passed the kitchen where Cook was trying to coax Vivi into taking her pills. She was as reluctant as she was before, and I wasn’t about to try to get someone to take drugs she didn’t want. Strange that Cook would after he defended me against the doctors back at the recovery house.
Crazy was one thing. Everyone had their own flavor of crazy, but I had no love for numbing it to make everyone else happy. Then again, maybe Vivi’s pills were different than the sedatives.
My opinion didn’t matter, though. I didn’t know how to care for anyone, me included, but Cook did. I had to believe he knew what was best for her. I moved along and waited outside, dragging my gaze up and down the street with houses spaced at even intervals. The homes sat close together with small yards consisting of gravel and desert shrubbery.
The rows were perfect. Pure. Even the couple walking in the distance with a stroller and dog seemed like a picture of all that was good in the world. The neighborhood and the people here were so... normal, yet it made me feel kinda gross.
I hugged myself as though I could erase the taint my presence cast over this quaint little neighborhood.
I didn’t belong.
Sitting outside Vivi’s house, Cook’s beat-up Bronco waited. It was used until the shine had dulled, like me. I had ridden in it once, at least. Maybe twice, if that’s how I ended up at the recovery house, but if so, I didn’t remember. There wasn’t much to love about it. The rattle I could tolerate, but the inside was too confining, like one of Signora’s black SUVs with tinted windows. At least the Bronco had clear glass.
Beside the ancient blue and white thing waited a gleaming black motorcycle. My thighs chaffed as I approached and ran my fingers over the silver wings painted on the tank.
With a grim or frustrated expression, I couldn’t be sure which, Cook marched out of the house. The door slammed shut behind him, and I flinched. He wore his leather vest with patches on the back and down the front breast panels. A small emblem on the front breast made me recall the larger patches on the back. A skull. Wings. The Ridge MC arced across the top, and a few more things I couldn’t recall details for.
I remembered the feel of all that leather and the patches under my fingers.
Cook carried a leather jacket, which he opened for me to slide into.
“It’s huge on you.” He zipped it up.
The frown he’d been wearing when he skipped down the steps flipped into a wry smile as he stared at how I swam in the thing.
He pushed my hair back and handed me a hair tie. “We’re riding.”
“What?” I gaped at him, my hand pointing at the bike. “On that?”
Cook cocked a half smile in my direction. “Is this your first time on a bike, Maddie?” Taking a step closer until he was towering over me and I could smell cinnamon on his breath, he lowered his voice. “Are you a motorcycle virgin?”
I gasped. There wasn’t anything I’d consider virgin about myself, but his nearness left me numb and speechless. He ran his thumb down my jawline and turned to the bike.
“No need for the Bronco,” said Cook. “’Sides, riding is faster and easier and way more fun.” He picked up the backpack I had dropped and shoved it into a saddlebag.
Cook swung his leg over his motorcycle, his long lean body taking up most of the seat. The bike sat at an angle, and he pushed it upright, then kicked the stand back with his boot. The motorcycle itself was chrome on black and more black. The leather seats had white stitching around the edge, but were otherwise supple and, yes, black, as was the tank and the fringe hanging from the handlebars.
He pushed a button, and the beast growled. It rumbled to life, the chrome tailpipes backfiring, and after a few seconds, the engine purred. My imagination drifted; my curiosity grew. How would all that power feel between my legs?
“Mount up,” he said with a smirk, standing with the machine balanced between his legs.
I toddled forward, unsure.
Cook pointed to a peg sticking out from the side. “You’ll step there and swing on behind me.”
I hesitated only briefly then moved to Cook’s side, ready to mount. Something stalled me though. I could admire his bike for what it was, but riding it... I wasn’t sure how this would go. Before I could step on the peg, Cook slipped the helmet on my head and fastened the buckle under my chin, but he didn’t wear one.
Small next to the bike and big man, I felt like a kid all over again with Daddy standing at the back of my Barbie bike with the banana seat. The very one that he’d removed my training wheels from that morning. I blinked at Cook until my vision cleared. He was giving me a new first.
He released me, his calloused fingers brushing my cheeks. His eyes lingered on my lips, and then they were gone.
Maybe I imagined his pause.
He slid his hands into leather gloves and dropped them to the handlebars. “Let’s go.”
Bracing myself, I swung a leg over the back of the motorcycle and slowly lowered my tush to the seat. The motorcycle’s backseat wasn’t big or comfortable, but I liked the fact that the only thing I had to grip onto was Cook.
He reached back for my hand, circling his strong fingers around my wrist and then latched it in front of his body. I snaked my other arm around him, his taut muscles like brick under his shirt. I pressed my front to his back, resting my head on his shoulder.
He shuddered slightly, jostling my body with him, then settled into the seat. Cook planted his boots on the pavement and pushed the bike backward with his thick legs. My parted thighs wrapped around his back, and a secret smile stretched across my lips. This position was definitely something I could get used to.
From my position, I could turn my head and whisper anything into his ear, or I could just cling to him as we sailed down the highway.
I didn’t get a chance to speak before he settled in and kicked some other thing down on the side of the bike. He cleared his throat, smirked back at me, and then took off. I had to grab him hard or fall off the back.
I squealed, and a laugh echoed in his chest—a rumble like the bike’s.
We weren’t moving fast yet, but the sensation was something altogether different than I’d ever felt. A rush went through my blood as he worked the things on the handlebars and the levers under his boot. He started off slow on the neighborhood street, and the roar of the engine cut off any conversation before it started.
As we veered onto the highway, he turned his head to the side and yelled, “Hang tight.”
Obeying the order, I gripped onto him, and he really opened up the engine. My hair whipped out the back of the helmet and I blinked against the wind. I used Cook’s body to shield the blast and wished I had sunglasses. He, at least, wore wraparounds.
The vibrations moved up my body, turning my bones to jelly.
The air twisted around me as we wound down the highway. While he originally stayed in the right lane, like he was waiting for me to adjust to the pull of the wind, he now rolled the throttle, urging his bike faster. It let out a beastly roar and thrust us forward. He dodged between the cars and swerved across the lines, leaning left and then right before straightening the bike.
I lost my breath with every lean, but soon learned to follow the motions of his body. He leaned right and so did the bike. When I leaned right too, the turn seemed faster, tighter. Better.
So, I tried it on the left side too. When he sped through the next curve, a delighted squeal escaped my chest.
The world blurred in my peripheral vision, so I faced forward over Cook’s shoulder, holding onto him for dear life.
Fuck, this was a good feeling... one in which I could lose myself and every care in the world.
Everything felt new. The purr under my body. Cook’s touch. The wind in my face. Even the rumbling engine was perfect. For once, things were quiet in my mind. As much as memories wanted to scream and cry, the ride silenced them.
This was freedom.
Fucking finally, something set me free!
As I tried to slip my hands away from Cook, sure I could fling out my arms and fly like a bird, he grabbed my arms and kept them in place.
He growled, “What the shit do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m flying,” I said.
Couldn’t Cook feel this? The freedom. The everlasting fulfillment of belonging to no one else. Of soaring. The world opened to reveal something new, and we were hurtling toward it.
“Hold on, Maddie, or I’ll have to tie you down.”
Tie me down? What?
I lost the thought along with my breath when he pushed us forward again.
Faster. Nothing could hold us back.
After a while, an hour maybe, Cook pulled off the highway. He glided the motorcycle quite gracefully, the pipes sputtering with relief that he’d let off the gas. We rolled to a stop in the middle of nowhere. The Arizona desert. Cacti and grass poked up around a rundown house covered in dirt. Weeds had overgrown the sidewalk to the house. Cook kicked the stand down on the motorcycle and offered a hand to help me off.
I slipped down, eyeing the view. Was this where he thought it was safe? Had anyone been here in the last decade? Vivi had said they once lived somewhere else. This had to be it, but I hated the thought of him living somewhere so dingy.
Off the motorcycle, I opened the saddlebags and retrieved his old camera. Twisting at the waist, I snapped a picture of the house. Click. Cook’s head rotated around to face me at the sound the camera made. The look on his face made it seem like he’d been slapped. I lowered the camera as blood rushed into my cheeks.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“You didn’t have any pictures of this house in your photo album,” I said in a weak voice, tucking the camera behind my back.
“It’s not necessary.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, but the venom in his voice turned to something easier. Resignation? Acceptance? “Come on.”
We walked across the dirt, both of us sidestepping a cactus. It seemed like the prickly plant, one of a dozen or more, served as protectors for the decrepit house. We stepped up onto the porch, and Cook extracted a key from his pocket.
Locked? Not something I would’ve expected in a house like this.
The porch under my feet groaned, and the railing looked like it would blow over with a strong gust of wind. Curtains covered the closed windows. He walked into the house and held the door open for me, blocking my view of the interior, but I stepped around him.
Something about the crumbling walls whispered to me, welcoming me home.