13. Ivy #2
Without Cam pushing me, I might sit there forever and stare at it, thinking about what’s inside, clinging to Drew in a way he never wanted.
Even if I don’t do it for me, at the very least, I can do it for him.
“Let’s go, Ivy.” Cam keeps his hand flattened to my chest, as if he’s afraid pulling it away will somehow make me say no. “Let’s go put him to rest.”
It’s those words that finally break me.
The tears trickle down my cheeks, and I nod, unsure if I’ll even be able to say the single word that tries to come. “O-okay.”
Cam slowly pulls his hand away, and I immediately miss the feel of it pressed to me, the heat and comfort he offered in our moment of shared grief. He pushes to his feet, then steps in front of me and reaches out a hand.
I slide my palm into his, allowing him to pull me up, but he doesn’t release his hold. His thumb skates over my skin, sending a tiny shudder through me before he finally steps back, letting his grip fall away.
He clears his throat. “Put on jeans, boots, and a heavy jacket.”
“Why?”
A smile plays at his lips, and he inclines his head toward the street. “We’re taking my motorcycle.”
“What?” I shake my head, panic immediately seizing my chest. “No. I’ve never been on one.”
He snorts. “I figured. The last thing Drew would ever do is climb on a Harley.” His smirk fills his eyes with humor. “Far too dangerous.”
I can’t help but grin, despite the anxiety threatening to crush my ribcage at the thought of actually getting on that death machine. “We can’t take my car?”
Cam shakes his head. “I think this is the perfect way to go. Let him ride on a motorcycle one time, just to know what it feels like.”
My heart cracks wide open as I see the beauty in it.
No matter my fears or Drew’s while he was alive, something tells me he would take Cam’s offer for exactly what it is—one final thrill. One final thing they can share. That we all can.
I nod. “Okay…”
We’re doing this.
Cam scans me over one more time, as if he’s ensuring I’m not going to bolt instead of climb onto his bike. “Go get changed.” His eyes flick up to the window of the living room. “I’ll get him.”
Good.
Because I don’t think I can do it.
I don’t think I can reach up and grab that box again.
I’m not strong enough.
Maybe I never would have been strong enough to do this without Cam…
I turn away from him and move back to the house with his heavy steps following. He nudges the door shut behind us, and I pause at the edge of the living room and watch him approach the mantle.
He stops in front of it, feet spread wide, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Tattoos hidden beneath his leather jacket. He tilts his head slightly, staring at the box as if he’s having some kind of private conversation with it, and I slip away into the bedroom, giving him a moment he likely needs.
I change into a pair of jeans, knee-high riding boots, and snag my leather jacket that I typically only wear in the fall from my closet, slipping it on as I step back out into the hallway.
The house is silent, and I cautiously move into the living room.
Cam still stands in the same position, staring at the box, but when he hears my approach, he glances over at me. “You’ll want to tie your hair back.”
“Okay.”
I grab a hair tie from my purse and twist it into a loose ponytail. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Cam grab the box carefully with trembling hands, as if he’s handling something priceless.
Because it is.
To both of us.
He stares down at it for a few seconds, swallowing thickly and then squeezing his eyes shut. A minute passes. Another. Time seems to drag on as he processes the thoughts in his head.
My chest tightens looking at Cam holding that box. The way his head is dipped. His knuckles white clutching the cardboard. The tremble of his body. How his lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something but can’t or won’t.
I’ve spent so much time wallowing in my own grief, in allowing myself to drown in it, that seeing his and how closely it matches mine jerks something loose deep inside me. A sense of feeling seen and being able to see something in him that no one else does.
He finally looks up at me, his eyes watery, but he manages to keep his tears at bay. “You ready?”
For what?
My first motorcycle ride?
My first crime?
Or to say goodbye to Drew?
Even though the word “no” burns on my tongue, Cam’s firm grip on the box and the strength and confidence he exudes as he approaches me cautiously prevents me from saying it.
I nod. “I am.”
He gives me a soft smile, as if he knows I was about to answer differently. Because he always seems to sense what I’m really feeling, even when I do my best to hide it.
Stepping behind me, he shifts the box to one hand and presses his palm against my lower back, urging me toward the door. Offering me his assurance that we’re doing the right thing, even when I’m not as confident that I can survive it.
But that steady hand keeps me moving forward. It stays with me while I open the door and step out onto the porch. It remains when I turn to lock it behind us and slip the key into my jeans’ pocket and as we walk down to the street where his bike is parked.
The crickets continue to chirp. The branches and leaves continue to sway in the summer breeze. And I’m frozen in place. Not sure what to do.
Cam’s touch disappears, and he steps around me to open his saddlebag. He pulls out a helmet and hands it back to me before carefully placing the box inside and securing it.
When he turns to me, he holds out his hand, and I take a deep breath before sliding mine into it. Squeezing gently, encouraging me through the thoughts that threaten to derail our plans, he leads me around the bike.
On the other side, he takes the helmet from me and settles it on my head, securing the strap at my chin. The corners of his lips tip up.
“What?”
His grin deepens. “It looks good on you.”
My cheeks heat at the compliment, and he turns and swings his leg over the bike, settling easily onto it, looking like it was made for him, or him for it.
I chew on my bottom lip as I look at the space on the seat behind him.
We’re going to be close.
Very close .
With Drew at my side.
Something about that just feels right.
It allows me to push away the remaining reservations.
Cam extends a hand, and I accept it, allowing him to help me slide my leg across the seat and settle behind him. He keeps his eyes on me over his shoulder. “Wrap your arms around me and hold on tight. Lean into the turns, and you’ll be fine.”
Somehow, I believe him, despite everything .
There’s so much confidence in the way he says it. In the strength of his body pressed to mine. His unwavering voice.
I nod my understanding and wrap my arms around his torso.
He fires up the bike, and the rumble of the engine below me makes me jerk. His low chuckle fills the night, blending with the sound of the bike as he revs it. “Ready?”
His firm chest and abdomen ripple beneath my palms, and I bury my face against his back and nod. And it’s all the confirmation he needs. He pulls away from the curb with my heart in my throat and my life in his hands…and in his saddlebag.