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Authors: Krista Lakes
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really slow."
"No." The idea of getting back on made me want to throw up. James's voice echoed through my head, the moans of pain any time he moved calling out from my memory.
He sighed, then held his hand out. "I'll take the helmet, then. Wait here and I'll be right back." I leaned forward and picked up the helmet. Dean took it from me and winked before putting it back on. "Don't get on the bike with those other guys. They're crazy."
That finally made me smile. Dean's engine growled to life and he took off. I watched him go, my hands still shaking a little bit. Still, I was happy that he listened to me. Within a few minutes, Dean was jogging back up the road to where I was at.
"I'm sorry," I said immediately. "I know you wanted to ride your motorcycle."
He just shrugged. "I did that already today." He took my hand in his, pulling me gently to start walking with him. We traveled quietly for a moment, away from the house and the motorcycle.
"I'm sorry I freaked out on you like that," I said quietly. Dean just nodded as the tension between us broke. He didn't say anything. "My cousin and I were really close. He was in a really bad motorcycle accident last year."
Dean gave a quiet "mmm-hmm" and squeezed my hand.
"He was in the hospital for three weeks. The doctors said he was lucky to be alive, but he was never quite the same after that. I've never liked motorcycles since."
"I'm sorry I pushed you, then," he said softly. "You doing better now?"
I nodded and rested my head against his shoulder. He felt good against me. I bent my arm behind me, pulling his hand so that it wrapped around my waist. My world felt right again.
Chapter 11
J une 7th, 1990
The boardwalk creaked under our feet as we made our way along the sandy planks. Small local shops had their doors open to let in the warm ocean air and passing customers. The smell of hotdogs and popcorn drifted by, and music played softly from the inside the shops.
"I'm starving. You want something to eat? My treat." Dean let go of my hand, eyeing the food stand.
"Sure. I'll take a hotdog. Thanks!" I flashed him a big grin as he hurried over to the line. I was about to follow him, but something caught my eye.
On the edge of the boardwalk, facing out toward the ocean, a street vendor was selling his paintings. They were amazing. The seascapes caught my attention, particularly one of a storm about to roll in. A woman stood silhouetted in the foreground, tiny against the powerful thunderclouds and swelling waves. I could feel the surge of the water, the light fading quickly into the clouds as the storm threatened to overcome her. Despite the storm, she stood strong and ready to survive. I stood mesmerized by the play of colors and the use of light, exploring the nuances of the art.
"There you are," Dean said, coming up behind me. "I turned around and you were gone. What are you looking at?"
He handed me a hotdog, ketchup and mustard in clean lines down the middle. I pointed to the painting that had captured my attention.
"This painting is spectacular." I stepped closer, almost forgetting about the food in my hand. The painting was small, about the size of a hardcover book. I could see it siting on a bookcase or a mantle. I could also see the price tag and that it was more than my meager budget could afford.
Dean peered at it, tipping his head to the side as though a different view point would help. He shrugged and looked back at me. "What's so special about it? It looks like just another beach scene to me. There are hundreds of stupid beach vendors hawking this same picture all over."
I rolled my eyes. "No, there are no vendors with this painting. I've never seen one like this before, and I've been looking. I have a degree in art; I know this stuff. This is really good."
Dean gave me a skeptical look, biting into his hotdog. I turned back to the painting and began to point out the features.
"See the light here? How it contrasts with the dark of the sky and the water
"No." The idea of getting back on made me want to throw up. James's voice echoed through my head, the moans of pain any time he moved calling out from my memory.
He sighed, then held his hand out. "I'll take the helmet, then. Wait here and I'll be right back." I leaned forward and picked up the helmet. Dean took it from me and winked before putting it back on. "Don't get on the bike with those other guys. They're crazy."
That finally made me smile. Dean's engine growled to life and he took off. I watched him go, my hands still shaking a little bit. Still, I was happy that he listened to me. Within a few minutes, Dean was jogging back up the road to where I was at.
"I'm sorry," I said immediately. "I know you wanted to ride your motorcycle."
He just shrugged. "I did that already today." He took my hand in his, pulling me gently to start walking with him. We traveled quietly for a moment, away from the house and the motorcycle.
"I'm sorry I freaked out on you like that," I said quietly. Dean just nodded as the tension between us broke. He didn't say anything. "My cousin and I were really close. He was in a really bad motorcycle accident last year."
Dean gave a quiet "mmm-hmm" and squeezed my hand.
"He was in the hospital for three weeks. The doctors said he was lucky to be alive, but he was never quite the same after that. I've never liked motorcycles since."
"I'm sorry I pushed you, then," he said softly. "You doing better now?"
I nodded and rested my head against his shoulder. He felt good against me. I bent my arm behind me, pulling his hand so that it wrapped around my waist. My world felt right again.
Chapter 11
J une 7th, 1990
The boardwalk creaked under our feet as we made our way along the sandy planks. Small local shops had their doors open to let in the warm ocean air and passing customers. The smell of hotdogs and popcorn drifted by, and music played softly from the inside the shops.
"I'm starving. You want something to eat? My treat." Dean let go of my hand, eyeing the food stand.
"Sure. I'll take a hotdog. Thanks!" I flashed him a big grin as he hurried over to the line. I was about to follow him, but something caught my eye.
On the edge of the boardwalk, facing out toward the ocean, a street vendor was selling his paintings. They were amazing. The seascapes caught my attention, particularly one of a storm about to roll in. A woman stood silhouetted in the foreground, tiny against the powerful thunderclouds and swelling waves. I could feel the surge of the water, the light fading quickly into the clouds as the storm threatened to overcome her. Despite the storm, she stood strong and ready to survive. I stood mesmerized by the play of colors and the use of light, exploring the nuances of the art.
"There you are," Dean said, coming up behind me. "I turned around and you were gone. What are you looking at?"
He handed me a hotdog, ketchup and mustard in clean lines down the middle. I pointed to the painting that had captured my attention.
"This painting is spectacular." I stepped closer, almost forgetting about the food in my hand. The painting was small, about the size of a hardcover book. I could see it siting on a bookcase or a mantle. I could also see the price tag and that it was more than my meager budget could afford.
Dean peered at it, tipping his head to the side as though a different view point would help. He shrugged and looked back at me. "What's so special about it? It looks like just another beach scene to me. There are hundreds of stupid beach vendors hawking this same picture all over."
I rolled my eyes. "No, there are no vendors with this painting. I've never seen one like this before, and I've been looking. I have a degree in art; I know this stuff. This is really good."
Dean gave me a skeptical look, biting into his hotdog. I turned back to the painting and began to point out the features.
"See the light here? How it contrasts with the dark of the sky and the water
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