Chapter 7 Sasha #2
"Just—just give me a minute," I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathless even to my own ears.
His eyes narrow. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." His tone shifts to that commanding one he uses in the clubhouse when giving orders. "Take it off or I will."
When I don't move, his hands come up, fingers finding the strap under my chin. The brush of his knuckles against my skin makes me shiver as he unbuckles the helmet and lifts it carefully from my head.
Cool air hits my burning cheeks, and I know I must look a mess—face flushed, eyes dilated, hair stuck to my damp forehead. I’m terrified he'll read everything I'm feeling.
Despite myself, I raise my eyes to his. His expression darkens immediately, pupils expanding as he takes in my state.
"What's going on?" he asks, voice rougher now. "You feeling sick?"
"Just... feeling a little weird," I mutter, looking away. "The vibrations..."
His eyes search mine, and I watch understanding dawn in them—a flicker of realization followed by something darker, more primal. His jaw clenches tight, muscles working beneath his skin. And when he subtly adjusts himself in his pants, my heart skips a beat.
Is he turned on too?
"Come on," Havoc says abruptly. "We're here to meet Bluebell. Let's go say hi."
His tone aims for lightness, but the strain is evident. The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife. Every molecule of air seems charged with electricity.
I nod jerkily, unable to form words. My body still thrums with the lingering sensations from the ride, and now a fresh wave of heat floods through me at the knowledge that he might be just as turned on.
Havoc gestures toward the barn, keeping distance between us as we walk.
"She's a good mare," he says. "Your mom loved her more than anything. Except you and Viking, of course."
I focus on breathing, on putting one foot in front of the other. On pretending the last few minutes never happened.
Inside the barn, a stable hand nods to Havoc before disappearing down the aisle. Sunshine filters through high windows, dust motes dancing in golden beams. The smell of hay and horses surrounds us.
"Down here," Havoc says, leading me past several occupied stalls.
We stop at the end of the row, and he gestures for me to look inside. "There she is. Bluebell."
I step forward, my breath catching in my throat.
The mare stands in a shaft of sunlight, her coat gleaming pure white, almost luminescent. She's tall and elegant, with intelligent eyes that turn toward us as we approach. Her mane and tail flow like spun silver, and there's something regal in the way she holds her head.
"She's beautiful," I whisper, all the chaos in my body suddenly quieting.
The heat and confusion from the motorcycle ride evaporate as I stare at living proof of my mother's existence. This horse knew her, felt her touch, carried her.
Without thinking, I step closer to the stall door. Bluebell's ears prick forward curiously, and she takes a tentative step toward me, stretching her elegant neck.
"She knows who you are," Havoc says softly behind me. "You look like your mom."
My eyes fill with tears as Bluebell snuffles gently against my outstretched hand. I feel a lump forming in my throat, making it difficult to swallow. This magnificent creature was my mother's companion, her friend. My mother groomed her, fed her, and loved her.
"Hey, Bluebell," I manage, voice trembling. "I'm Savannah's daughter."
The mare blinks long lashes, her warm breath puffing against my palm. Then she nudges my hand gently, as if in recognition.
That's when the tears spill over. Something about this moment—touching a being my mother loved—makes her feel closer than she has in years. It's like placing my hands where hers once rested.
"Dad never told me," I whisper, unable to look away from Bluebell's gentle eyes. "He never told me she had a horse."
"Easy," Havoc says softly, reaching out to steady me as my shoulders shake with silent sobs. His hand feels warm and solid against my back. "Take your time."
I lean into his touch without thinking, desperate for something to anchor me. Bluebell watches us.
"She used to ride every morning," Havoc continues, his voice gentle in a way I haven't heard before. "Your mom and Bluebell would disappear for hours. Viking used to joke they were plotting against him."
A watery laugh escapes me as I wipe my eyes. "Did my dad ride too?"
"God no," Havoc chuckles, the rumble vibrating through his chest against my shoulder. "Viking on a horse was a disaster. But he'd come watch her ride. The way he looked at her..."
His voice trails off, and when I glance up, his expression is distant, remembering something beautiful and lost.
"They really loved each other, didn't they?" I whisper.
"More than anything." Havoc's hand moves in small circles on my back. "Except you. When you came along, you were their whole world."
Bluebell nudges my hand again.
"She's yours now," Havoc says quietly. "If you want her."
I turn to him, shocked. "Mine?"
His eyes soften as they meet mine. "Viking would want you to have her. Your mom would too."
Fresh tears spill over as I reach for Bluebell again. My mother's horse. Something of hers I can touch, care for, love.
"I don't know how to ride," I admit, suddenly fearful.
Havoc's hand slides to my shoulder, squeezing gently.
"We'll get you lessons." The tension between us returns as we both stare into each other’s eyes, my heart thudding erratically as we move closer to one another as though pulled by an invisible string.
Suddenly, his phone rings sharply, cutting through the moment.
Havoc's expression changes instantly, hardening as he checks the screen.
"Shit, I gotta take this." His jaw clenches. "Take the time you need. I'll be outside."
I watch Havoc stride away, phone pressed to his ear, his shoulders tense. The barn door swings shut behind him, leaving me alone with Bluebell.
The mare nudges my hand again, and I turn back to her, my heart lighter than it's been in weeks. I stroke her velvety nose.
"Hi, beautiful," I whisper. "I can't believe you're mine now."
Bluebell snorts softly, as if agreeing, and I laugh through my tears. For the first time since finding my father's body in our front yard, I feel something other than grief and confusion. Something warm spreads through my chest—hope, maybe. Or connection.
This incredible creature knew my mother. Loved her. And now she's mine—a living, breathing link to the woman I barely remember.
I open the stall door carefully and step inside. Bluebell watches me with those intelligent eyes, patient and curious. When I reach out to stroke her neck, she lowers her head, inviting more contact.
"Did she talk to you?" I ask quietly. "Did she tell you her secrets?"
As if in answer, Bluebell nuzzles my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.
For so long, my mother has been just a fading memory, a handful of photographs, and my father's rare, pained mentions. But this—this is real.
And Havoc gave this to me. The complicated, intimidating man who makes me feel things I shouldn't has just handed me the most precious gift—a piece of my family. My mother's beloved companion, now mine.
For the first time since Dad died, I feel like maybe I'm not completely alone after all.