Chapter 10 Freedom on Two Wheels
Choose Me
The breakup lasted exactly six hours.
Not because I accepted it.
Because I was too shocked to react immediately.
For the first hour, I sat alone in the guest room staring at my laptop without seeing any of the words on the screen.
For the second hour, I walked aimlessly around town.
For the third, I cried.
For the fourth, I got angry.
By the fifth, I realized something important.
Jaxon Kane was an idiot.
By the sixth, I had a plan.
The problem with loving someone stubborn was that eventually you learned to recognize the difference between truth and fear.
Jaxon wasn't ending things because he didn't love me.
That would've hurt.
But at least it would've made sense.
No.
He was ending things because he loved me too much.
And somehow believed that was a problem.
The logic would've been impressive if it wasn't so incredibly frustrating.
I sat on a bench outside the university library watching students move between buildings.
Nobody paid attention to me.
Nobody noticed the argument currently happening inside my head.
Part of me wanted to walk away.
To protect myself.
To preserve what little dignity I still possessed.
That would've been the smart choice.
The mature choice.
The healthy choice.
Unfortunately, my heart had never shown much interest in healthy choices.
Especially where Jaxon was concerned.
Because every time I replayed the conversation, the same detail stood out.
He never said he didn't love me.
Not once.
Instead, he'd talked about my future.
My father.
His past.
Everything except his actual feelings.
The realization felt important.
Vital.
The kind of thing people overlooked when they were hurting.
I wasn't overlooking it anymore.
By sunset, I'd made my decision.
I found Jaxon exactly where I expected.
The garage.
Of course.
The man processed every emotional crisis by fixing motorcycles.
If therapists accepted carburetors as payment, he'd probably be cured by now.
The large garage door stood open.
Music played quietly from somewhere inside.
The familiar scent of oil and metal greeted me immediately.
For a brief moment, sadness hit unexpectedly.
Because this place had started feeling like home.
Then I saw him.
Jaxon stood beside a workbench pretending to focus on an engine.
Pretending being the important word.
One look at his face confirmed he was just as miserable as I was.
Good.
A petty thought.
Possibly.
Still satisfying.
His eyes lifted.
Found mine.
Immediately hardened.
Not with anger.
With caution.
Like he already knew this conversation wouldn't be easy.
He was right.
We stared at each other from opposite sides of the garage.
Neither moving.
Neither speaking.
The tension settled instantly.
Familiar.
Painful.
Unfinished.
Finally, Jaxon sighed.
"Elliot."
"No."
His eyebrows lifted.
The interruption clearly surprised him.
Good.
I was done being polite.
Done accepting explanations that weren't actually explanations.
Done allowing other people to make decisions about my life.
Especially men who thought self-sacrifice automatically made them noble.
"We're talking."
His jaw tightened.
"We already talked."
"No."
I took a step forward.
"Actually, you talked."
The words echoed through the garage.
"You made a decision."
Another step.
"You told me how things were going to be."
Another.
"And then you expected me to accept it."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Necessary.
Jaxon looked away briefly.
A mistake.
Because it revealed everything.
Guilt.
Regret.
Pain.
All the emotions he'd been trying to hide.
I saw them immediately.
The same way he always saw through me.
The realization strengthened my resolve.
"Look at me."
His eyes snapped back to mine.
The intensity nearly stole my breath.
Still.
Always.
Every time.
"You don't get to decide what I want."
The words came quietly.
Steadily.
Not angry.
Honest.
"I know your past."
Jaxon's expression tightened.
"I know about the arrests."
Another reaction.
Smaller this time.
"I know about prison."
His jaw flexed.
"None of that changed how I feel."
The silence stretched.
Then stretched further.
The entire garage seemed to hold its breath.
Waiting.
Finally, Jaxon laughed.
A short humorless sound.
"You don't understand."
The statement irritated me immediately.
Because I'd heard it before.
From professors.
From politicians.
From my father.
People loved claiming I didn't understand things.
Usually when they wanted control.
"Then explain it."
His eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Explain it."
I crossed my arms.
"Because right now all I see is a man making decisions for me."
The words landed exactly where I intended.
Jaxon flinched.
Barely.
Most people wouldn't have noticed.
I did.
Because I'd spent weeks learning him.
Learning the difference between anger and fear.
Strength and vulnerability.
Silence and surrender.
This wasn't anger.
Not even close.
This was fear.
The realization settled heavily between us.
Jaxon looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like he'd been carrying something for years and finally reached the point where he couldn't anymore.
For several long seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he sat down heavily on a nearby stool.
The motion looked defeated.
Almost resigned.
The sight made my chest ache.
Because I suddenly knew what was coming.
Not an excuse.
Not an argument.
The truth.
Finally.
Jaxon rubbed a hand across his face.
His voice sounded rough when he spoke.
"My brother died when I was twenty-three."
The confession hit unexpectedly.
I froze.
Because in all the conversations we'd shared, he'd never mentioned a brother.
Not once.
The garage felt very quiet.
Very still.
"He was younger than me."
Jaxon's eyes focused somewhere beyond the wall.
Lost inside memories.
"He followed me into the club."
Something painful twisted across his face.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
"I told myself it was his choice."
The words grew quieter.
"But it wasn't."
My heart sank.
Because I already knew where this story ended.
Jaxon laughed softly.
The sound broke something inside me.
"I was his hero."
His gaze finally returned to mine.
Filled with so much regret it almost hurt to look at.
"He wanted to be like me."
The silence that followed felt endless.
Then:
"He died because of it."
The confession settled like a weight across the room.
Heavy.
Permanent.
Devastating.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I couldn't.
The grief in his expression stole every word.
Every argument.
Every prepared speech.
Gone.
Replaced by understanding.
Not complete understanding.
Nobody could fully understand that kind of loss.
But enough.
Enough to see the wound he'd been carrying.
Enough to finally understand why he kept pushing people away.
Jaxon looked toward the floor.
His voice dropped lower.
Almost a whisper.
"Everyone I love gets hurt."
There it was.
The real reason.
Not my father.
Not politics.
Not criminal records.
Fear.
Pure devastating fear.
Years of guilt transformed into a belief.
A prison he'd built for himself.
And suddenly everything made sense.
The distance.
The self-sacrifice.
The constant need to protect people by leaving them.
Because somewhere along the way, Jaxon Kane had convinced himself that love and loss were the same thing.
And he genuinely believed he was saving me.
The realization broke my heart.
Because I could see how much it cost him.
How deeply he believed it.
How lonely it had made him.
For several seconds, I simply stood there.
Watching him.
Understanding him.
Loving him.
Then I took a step forward.
Not away.
Toward him.
Because some truths changed everything.
And this one finally revealed the man beneath all the fear.
The Open Road
For the first time in weeks, my head felt quiet.
Not empty.
Just quiet.
The kind of quiet that came after finally telling the truth.
The conversation in the garage had changed something between us.
Not because Elliot had solved my problems.
God knew nobody could do that.
The guilt over my brother wasn't something that disappeared after one conversation.
The scars remained.
The memories remained.
The fear remained.
But for the first time in years, someone knew the truth and hadn't walked away.
That realization stayed with me long after our conversation ended.
And maybe that was why I made the decision.
Or maybe I was simply tired of wasting time.
Either way, the result was the same.
"Get your jacket."
Elliot blinked.
We were standing beside the motorcycle outside the garage.
The afternoon sun hung low overhead.
A cool breeze moved through the street.
He looked adorably confused.
"Why?"
"Because we're leaving."
"Where?"
I shrugged.
"No idea."
The confusion lasted another second.
Then excitement appeared.
Bright.
Immediate.
Impossible to miss.
A smile spread across his face.
God.
That smile.
It was becoming a serious problem.
Twenty minutes later we were on the highway.
No destination.
No schedule.
No pressure.
Just miles of open road stretching endlessly ahead.
The city slowly disappeared behind us.
Buildings became fields.
Traffic became silence.
The tension that had been strangling me for days gradually loosened with every mile.
Motorcycles had always done that.
Something about the freedom.
The movement.
The simplicity.
Out on the road, life became smaller.
Manageable.
The future stopped screaming for attention.
The past stopped dragging at your heels.
There was only the present.
The engine beneath you.
The wind against your skin.
The horizon ahead.
And today, there was Elliot.
His arms wrapped securely around my waist.
His helmet occasionally bumping against my shoulder whenever we hit a rough patch in the road.
The contact should have distracted me.
Instead, it grounded me.
Reminded me exactly where I wanted to be.
We stopped several times throughout the afternoon.
A roadside diner.
A scenic overlook.