Chapter 39Olivia
Olivia
The motor cuts underneath us, jolting me to open my eyes. My helmet presses into Cade’s back, arms still tangled around his tight stomach when I scan the brick building.
I lift my gaze higher behind the tinted visor, greeted with the amber neon lights of the sign to a bar—Whispers & Whiskey.
Newbridge.
We’re in Newbridge.
My body stuns against his, adhering like cement as my lungs paralyze. “Cade,” I croak.
He fidgets in my embrace to peel his helmet and gloves off, my fingers fastening around his leather like the claws of a talon. “Have you been here since it happened?”
I crunch my eyes closed, simply shaking my head when my voice fails me.
“I have. Once,” he says. “I guess you were on my mind as much as I was on yours.”
His palms sheathe my hands at his stomach, the chafing of his rugged skin inserting an equilibrium inside my body.
“I didn’t bring you here to dwell on an awful memory. I brought you here to replace it,” he says. “But if you want me to turn around and take you back, we can do that too.”
Replace it?
My eyes open, a chill streaming down my spine when I see the cast iron Victorian lamp post. Every detail of the village digs up a buried nightmare.
I sink my nails into the pelt of his coat, promising myself I’ll pay for the damages later. Then the metal of his ring rubs against my skin, the rippled wings pumping like a ventilator connected to my lungs.
I’m safe.
When I lift my head, Cade swivels to unlatch the helmet strap from my chin. My hands find his upper arms, clinging onto him as he glides the gear off.
Then his bare palm snakes around my cheek. “I promise you that you’re safe, Olivia.” The cool ridges of the ring brush my skin, his gaze plunging into me.
I nod, gulping when his eyes lift to the top of my head to adjust some of my whisked locks. The quake settles, his attentive touch gracing me with solace.
Knowing I have to get off the motorcycle first, I hook one hand around his arm with the other stationed on the seat. I shakily swing my leg over, Cade quickly following suit after.
He positions us so my back is leaning against the bike, his arms caging me on either side. “If it’s too much for you at any time, just tell me and we’ll head back. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He withdraws a step, grabbing my hand to alter our positions. My back fuses to his rigid chest, his large arms wrapping around me like a blanket before my hands clutch his forearms. He’s transforming himself into a makeshift shield, and my fear gradually fades.
His legs steer us from behind as we walk along the sidewalk. “I’m not much of a ‘flowers guy.’ I find them to be a contrived and overrated gift. Sorry in advance if that’s a deal breaker.”
I swallow thickly, steadying my focus on the few stray people strolling past us. “Of course you would.”
Haven’t lost my quick wit apparently.
“ But apparently, different flowers have different meanings. Did you know this?” Cade asks, his scruff grazing my temple as he slopes his chin down. “I didn’t know this,” he whispers.
Maybe it’s the tickle of his breath, or the way he cracks a joke, but a tiny smile settles on my lips. “Maybe. I’m not much of a horticulturist though,” I joke.
Our shoes pad along the concrete, my stomach shriveling when I recognize that large brick building in the distance.
Tell him you want to leave.
“Ever hear of the Black-Eyed Susan?”
I release a breath, relief hugging my lungs when his deep tenor graces my ear. Then I wag my head, palms pressing into the leather around his forearms. “No.”
“It’s not a rare or exotic flower. It has a dark center with yellow petals that look like the shape of a daisy. You’ve probably seen it before.”
“Oh, yes,” I breathe. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
He chuckles softly as we step along the sidewalk, my heartbeat drumming in my ears just as brash as it did that night.
“We can turn around if you want.”
I shake my head, the echo of his voice grounding me. “Just keep talking.”
Our legs idle at the corner, waiting for the pedestrian light to tread the crosswalk. “Well, the meaning of the Black-Eyed Susan had me thinking of planting it where we first met.”
My eyes numbly trail the couple of cars that turn in front of us, a few light honks from the village street ringing through the air.
Where we first met.
I inhale, his woody scent loosening my tension, and I’m reminded that I don’t need to know what he has planned.
Our souls were hand-crafted. Personalized to understand and push each other. He knows my limits but will gladly break them if those boundaries prevent me from flying.
And when I really think about it, there’s no better time to soar than when I’m wrapped up in his wings.
Our legs pause. Between the midst of my thoughts and spiking nerves, we’ve made it in front of the alleyway.
His hands spin me by the waist, my feet stumbling over an uneven heartbeat. Two palms frame my cheeks just as mine cup his elbows, and I clutch the leather there as he robes me in his armor.
My eyelids drop when his forehead molds to mine, his masculine scent delivering the exact high I need right now.
“We can’t control the things that happen to us, Olivia.
The best we can do is control our response.
” The pads of his thumbs stroke my cheekbones, mellowing the turmoil beneath my skin.
“We didn’t get to decide how we were created, but we can decide how to move forward.
Take back the control. I want to give you a better memory than the one I know lays in the back of your mind every single day. ”
The crooks of my eyes pool with tears, and my head nods in agreement. His hands slip from my face, only for him to pull a green and yellow packet out of his coat pocket.
A seed packet.
He lays the foil wrapper on his palm, holding it between us until it reveals the Black-Eyed Susan on the front. “When I came back here, I saw this planter box,” he admits. “The Black-Eyed Susan is a perennial flower, so it grows back every year. They say it symbolizes transformation and healing.”
“I didn’t know that,” I whisper.
“When it’s in full bloom, we can come back here.
You don’t have to feel frightened, but instead, you can be reminded of your resilience.
Your strength.” We pull away, my chin sloping toward him as he barely nods his head.
“Because that’s how I see you. Not helpless.
Not terrified. But admirable and strong. ”
A long breath flows from my lips, my head turning left to the unmaintained sidewalk of the alley.
The corner of the dumpster peeks out at the far end, sunlight reflecting off the military green.
Rays so bright that the image of my attacker blurs, the warmth relaxing the knot in my stomach at the same time.
I return my gaze to Cade, nodding over a subdued smile. He grins as he snakes an arm around my shoulder, and I wrap mine around his lower back.
We journey the couple steps to the rectangular, stone planter box lining the sidewalk. His two knuckles waste no time when he circles them in the soil to dig a hole.
“Is this legal?” I ask.
“Not sure. I’m also not worried about the plant police,” he answers, offering the packet to me.
I bite my lip, taking the foil from him before plucking a few seeds out. The gray chips fall from my fingers into the divot of the dirt, and then Cade swipes a thin layer of soil over them.
As soon as we straighten up, he takes the tiny package from me to cuddle me into him. His arms twist around the back of my neck, my cheek landing on his sternum as my eyes flutter closed. The blend of his heat and the sun fan a quilt over my body. One that I can at least peek my head out of.
Face the world head-on.
“To finish my point,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my hairline, “I guess I just needed a good enough reason to be a ‘flowers guy.’”