Chapter Four
Staring at Colton’s bike, Zack immediately reconsidered every life decision that had brought him to this moment.
The thing looked like it ate smaller motorcycles for breakfast. Matte-black, chrome flashing along the pipes, leather seat hugging the frame like it had been designed specifically for bad decisions.
Even parked, the machine practically purred danger.
Colton stood next to it, arms folded across his ridiculous biceps. He watched Zack with the sort of soft patience that could’ve been comforting if not for the size difference and the way Zack’s heartbeat did embarrassing things when he looked at the guy.
He’d agreed to this. Voluntarily. Like a man possessed by someone with a death wish. Zack had always been a risk-avoidant sort of guy. Don’t run with scissors. Don’t twist your ankle jumping curbs. Don’t get on motorcycles with men who could probably bench-press a washing machine.
Yet here he was, outside Cyril’s Café, sweating through a pale blue T-shirt and skinny jeans that honestly did no favors for his self-preservation instincts.
Colton beckoned him closer with one finger. “It won’t bite. That’s my job.”
Zack nearly choked on a laugh, nerves and excitement tangling together. “I don’t know, man. It looks like the kind of bike that eats people for breakfast.”
“It prefers assholes,” Colton said. “You’re safe.”
Right. Because Colton, built like a linebacker and packed into a gray T-shirt and jeans, was safety incarnate.
He scanned the street, but nobody was paying them any attention.
Just heat radiating off the concrete and the faint rumble of traffic somewhere down Main.
Zack found himself hyper-aware of every sound, every shift in the air around them.
Colton’s presence muted the world until it was just the two of them next to the bike that probably had more personality than either of them.
Zack’s legs tried to lock up on him. “So, uh. This is… intimidating.”
Colton moved closer, crowding Zack gently against the curb, careful not to startle. His voice dropped. “You want to back out?”
“Not even a little bit.” Huge lie. He wanted to run, but wanted to impress Colton more. Besides, Zack had never been this close to a man who made him feel like anything was possible. If trust had a smell, it would’ve been the cedar-tinged heat rolling off Colton’s T-shirt.
“Good,” Colton said, “because I was looking forward to your arms around me.”
Zack snorted. “I bet you say that to all the waiters you kidnap.”
Colton’s eyes crinkled with his smile. He rolled the Harley out into the sun before swinging one long leg over and settling on the seat. “Come here, kitten.”
Zack hesitated. He’d seen people ride before, but all that know-how fled his head as soon as he stepped up next to the bike. How did people get on without tripping over their own feet? Was he supposed to climb, vault, or just throw himself at it and hope for the best?
Colton’s hand found his hip. The grip was gentle, guiding, and Zack’s skin burned hot under the palm even through the denim.
“Never mind,” Zack said. “If I fall on my face, promise to take a picture for my obituary. I want to be remembered for the right reasons.”
Colton squeezed his hip, steadying him. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Put your left foot here.” He pointed at the peg. Zack planted a sneaker on it, praying his foot didn’t slip. “Now swing your other leg over.”
It was harder than expected. His jeans clung to his knees, making him wobble, but Colton guided him with an easy hand.
For a second, Zack’s face was close to Colton’s.
Their breath mingled in the summer-thick air, and all Zack could think about was how easy it would be to lean in, press his mouth to Colton’s, and let the rest of the world vanish.
“Perfect,” Colton said, voice warm as honey. “Arms go around me. Hold on as tight as you want.”
Oh Zack planned on it. His palms landed on Colton’s ribs, finding heat and muscle there. The sensation was electric, almost vibrating under his grip. He tightened his arms, clutching for dear life.
The motor ignited with a snarl that vibrated through the whole frame. Zack expected the world to lurch, or for the bike to do something wild and unpredictable, but Colton held them steady, barely a whisper of movement as he eased them off the kickstand.
“You good?” Colton called over his shoulder.
“Define good!” Zack’s face was pressed between Colton’s shoulder blades, his words muffled.
Colton laughed, deep and real. “You’re fucking adorable. If you want me to slow down, tap my leg.”
“Don’t plan on letting go,” Zack squealed.
With his arms clamped tight, Colton rolled away from the curb and into Main Street.
The first block went slower than Zack expected. Colton kept the speed safe, never even jerking the throttle. The ride was smooth, almost lazy, weaving between older cars and the occasional pedestrian. Instead of wild danger, the dominant sense was… comfort? Or at least, control.
Wind brushed over Zack’s cheeks, chased through his hair. The scents of summer–fresh-mowed grass, baking concrete, something sweet and floral from the shops–all crowded in. Colton’s presence wrapped around him, solid and unshakeable.
Riding through the heart of town, people did double takes, some stared, a few waved. Being perched behind a man like Colton on a Harley was the opposite of subtle. Zack gripped tighter, hands fisting in the cotton of Colton’s shirt.
They passed the bakery, then the hardware store with its open door spilling cool air. Every pothole in the street translated up through the bike and into Zack’s bones, a low, rumbling reminder that he was out of his element.
Colton’s hand covered Zack’s for a moment, giving a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing great, Blue.”
Blue. Because of his eyes. The nickname hit Zack right in the gut. Maybe it was the way Colton had said it, gentle but rough, like he cared.
Zack watched the world streak past. The sun hit the bike, bounced from chrome to his eyelids. His knees hugged either side of Colton’s hips, and it felt natural, like he was supposed to be there.
When they hit the last light leaving Main, Colton shot him a look over his shoulder. “You ready?”
Ready wasn’t the word. Ready didn’t cover the thrill that ran through Zack, or the way his thighs quivered, or the hope that his terror didn’t make him look like a total wimp.
But he nodded anyway.
Colton downshifted, rolling through the intersection. The bike’s growl grew lower, more dangerous. The buildings dropped away, replaced by open lots and a line of trees crowding the backroad. Something about the stretch of empty space ahead made Zack’s stomach clench.
“Hold on tight, babe,” Colton warned him, and then accelerated.
The rush hit harder than he thought possible.
Wind snapped around them, tugging at his hair, pulling at the shirt plastered to his back with sweat.
The engine thrummed through his body, made his teeth buzz and his ears ring.
He clung harder, plastered against Colton, terrified to move, convinced that letting go would send him flying into the stratosphere.
The road curved, and Colton leaned into it. Zack tried to move with him, but terror froze his muscles. That first turn seriously made him consider never eating solid food again.
But then the curve straightened and the bike smoothed out, the ride steadier than any car he’d ever been in.
His heart finally slowed, settling into a rhythm. The open air was wild and clean, nothing between him and the sky except Colton’s back and the heat of the engine below.
After a minute, he loosened his grip a fraction. The panic was still there, but it took a back seat to the thrill zipping through him.
“See?” Colton called, voice a warm burr under Zack’s ear. “Not so bad.”
Zack thought about his brother’s warning, about turning into roadkill or skidding out in a fiery mess. None of that felt real, not with Colton in charge. The man moved with total confidence, every muscle saying I’ve got you.
They shot past a field where horses grazed, heads lifting as the Harley thundered by. Off the shoulder, wildflowers blurred purple and yellow. Zack leaned his cheek against Colton’s back, feeling the world rush around them, hot wind fluttering the ends of his hair.
By the second mile, the terror completely faded. Something sweet crept in—a kind of freedom he hadn’t tasted since he was a kid. If he let himself, he could almost pretend he was flying.
Zack had started the ride white-knuckled, fingers locked around Colton’s waist, every curve of the road a small heart attack waiting to happen. But somewhere between one back road and the next, the fear cracked open.
The wind shoved at him, warm from the sun-soaked asphalt, and the world blurred into trees and sky and endless pavement. No shouting. No threats. No brother breathing down his neck.
Just the roar of the bike and the wide open road.
So this is what it feels like to breathe.
He tipped his face into the sun and laughed, the sound ripped right out of him by the wind. That stupid, uncontrollable grin people got when the world suddenly felt wide.
Zack couldn’t remember the last time his chest had felt this light, even though he was flying down a road on a machine that could absolutely kill him… and it was the safest he’d ever felt.
Not just safe—more like his body discovering space it didn’t know it was allowed to occupy.
Ahead, the road stretched on into the haze. Colton slowed, taking it easy, letting the bike glide over the curves. Zack matched his breathing to the rumble of the machine.
God. This was what he’d been missing.
He tightened his hold, and Colton covered his hands again, warm and silent.
Zack didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. For the first time in years, he felt like he belonged somewhere.
They rode until the scenery blurred from green to gold and back again. Colton eventually slowed, easing them to a stop near an overlook, and cut the engine. The sudden quiet left Zack buzzing with life, heart still racing. He kept his arms wound around Colton, afraid to let go.
“You alive back there?”
“I’m so alive right now. Possibly too alive. My body may never recover.”
Colton patted Zack’s hip. “Want to stretch your legs?”
More than you know, Zack thought, but didn’t say it. Instead, he clambered off the bike, stumbling a little. Colton steadied him with a big hand at his waist, squeezing gently. Zack melted into it, breathing hard, legs like jelly.
They stood at the overlook, staring down at Crimson Hollow.
All the shops and the curve of the river in the distance, the traffic so tiny it barely mattered.
The sky carried that washed-out blue, sunlight sharp enough to cast crisp outlines on the pavement.
Zack wiped sweat from his forehead and tried to catch his breath.
Colton watched him, every so often glancing at Zack’s face like he was searching for something.
When the silence stretched too long, Zack filled it. “If you ever want to kill a guy with a motorcycle ride, that’s the way to do it. Good job, A-plus, would recommend.”
A short laugh rumbled from Colton. “You did fine, Blue.”
“Did I?” Zack’s hands trembled when he tried to dig his fingers through his tangled hair. “Because I’m pretty sure my soul left my body half a mile back.”
Colton reached out. His palm dwarfed Zack’s, thumb brushing gently along the bruised wrist. “You stayed on. Didn’t scream, didn’t puke, didn’t pass out. That’s a win.”
At the touch, Zack unspooled a little, the adrenaline shuffling off. “Is this thing really safe?”
“Safe as it gets,” Colton promised. “Wouldn’t risk you for anything.”
That did something embarrassing to Zack’s insides. He looked away, staring at the chrome where it glittered in the heat. “You probably do this all the time, right? Take guys for rides, watch them fall off the back?”
Colton shook his head. “Nope.” He stared right at Zack, letting the truth hang in the air. “You’re the only one to ride at my back.”
For once, Zack didn’t have a sarcastic or witty reply, so he just clung to the edge of the bench and willed himself not to blush. Colton just sat there, sun flashing against the muscles in his arms, brown eyes tracking Zack the way a man watched something precious.
Then he scooted closer, sliding a gentle but possessive hand over Zack’s hip.
“Wanna keep going?”
Zack nodded. “Yes.”
Climbing back on was easier this time. Zack swung up behind Colton, arms wrapping around his waist without hesitation. The leather seat was hot, but all that mattered was warmth of the man in front of him.
Colton fired up the bike and steered them back toward the main road, a little faster this time. Zack didn’t even care. He held on, pressed his cheek to Colton’s back, and let the world fall away.
Everything else—the job, the rent, Craig and his threats—all of it, vanished.