Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
“You hungry?” he asks, pulling a small bag from his saddle compartment.
I nod. “Starving.”
He hands me a bottled water and a sandwich wrapped in foil. “Turkey,” he says. “Best I could do on short notice.”
I eat like I haven’t seen food in days. Maybe I haven’t.
He sits beside me on a wooden bench, unwrapping his own sandwich, but mostly just watching me.
“Why’d you come?” I ask between bites.
His jaw tics. “Because you called.”
“That’s not an answer. You don’t even know me.”
He looks away for a moment, then back. “I know what it feels like to be stuck. To feel like no one gives a shit if you disappear.”
I lower my eyes. The vulnerability is too much.
“Figured maybe you didn’t want to feel that way anymore.”
I nod slowly. “I don’t.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the wind rustling the trees. It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. It feels safe.
“Tell me about you,” he says after a while.
I take a deep breath. “Not much for me to tell.”
“How about your name?”
I smile, “Guess I left that out, huh?” He nods. “My name is Cambria Tracy. I’m eighteen years old.”
He gives a low whistle. “You really legal?”
I nod, “you need to see my ID? I have one.” Because I do and I can imagine he is worried about getting caught with me if I was a minor. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six,” he answers content I am giving him the truth about my age, “And your parents?”
“Dad is unknown, momma,” I pause, “she is sick. It’s why we live in the hotel right now. We’re gonna get a new place. I have a job now and can help. Her medicine it just costs a lot so we got kicked out of our last place.”
While the words aren’t exactly the truth, it isn’t like I’m giving him complete lies.
He listens to every word. Really listens. No interruptions. No judgment.
When I’m done, he says, “You ever think about leaving?”
“All the time.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
“My mom.”
He nods. “You love her.”
“I do.”
“And she loves you?”
That is a hard question to answer. I pause. “Sometimes I think she does. Sometimes I think she just needs me.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I know.”
We don’t say much after that.
When we get back to the motel, the sun’s already setting.
I expect him to drop me off and ride off into the dark like something out of a dream. But he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses me on the cheek leaving me in shock.
“I’m in Arkansas for one more day. I’ll take you to dinner tomorrow night. Then I gotta go back to North Carolina. You need me, call. Even if it’s to talk.”
“Who are you?”
He smiles with his perfectly white teeth. “I’m starting to figure that out, darlin’. I’m not a good man, but I’m not a bad one either. I see something in your eyes. I can’t explain it. You need me, Cambria, just call. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
And before I can think of a single word to reply, he turns and walks back to his bike without ever looking back at me.
I’ve never felt butterflies before. I’ve never felt confused by someone before either. But here we are and I’m not quite sure what comes next.
Well, except dinner tomorrow night.
THREE
DREW
Living on the edge … more than a line
I watch her fingers wrap around the water glass, nails painted a soft pink, trembling just a little. She doesn’t notice me watching, not yet. She’s studying the menu like it’s written in a foreign language, but I don’t think it’s the pasta that’s got her nervous.
It’s me and this date, if one can call it that. With a glance at the hotel records, I managed to get her full name and her mother’s. Cambria Christine Tracy is indeed eighteen years old. While I knew she was young by her looks, but not freshly legal young. Granted the information Hawk dug up on her and her mother, she’s lived a hard life. I’m sure that ages someone. What I learned on paper about her: she’s a survivor through and through.
I can’t blame her for her cautiousness.
The place isn’t fancy—just a quiet Italian joint tucked between a pawn shop and a tire store on the edge of town—but it’s a far cry from the smoky clubhouse and the roar of Harley-Davidsons or a dive bar I’m used to. That world clings to me like motor oil, no matter how many clean shirts I own, I am and always will be a Hellion, a biker, an outlaw through and through. And she—Cambria—she smells like fresh air, looks like innocence and a life I probably have no business stepping into.
Yet, I’m here. There is something about her that calls to me. I’ve never been one for a hero complex, but watching her pick up change in a busted hotel parking lot piqued my interest. The way she moves, always on alert, but still somewhere far away in her mind, it all makes me want to know what goes on inside her head.