the highway that leads out of town.
The haze of dusk turns quickly to dark. In the distance, far behind me, I hear a familiar sound–the roar of a motorcycle engine barreling down the highway. As it gains on me, my legs feel weak, but I do not deter in my path. A light silhouettes me from behind, but I do not turn. I hear the crunch of gravel and the silencing of an engine.
“Hey, beautiful,” says a voice from the darkness.
I do not need to turn around.
“Tom,” I whisper. I look over my shoulder, and my heart rips from my chest and lays naked and pulsating on the dry desert road. His face looks strained, like the setting sun pierces his eyes, but he is my Tom–gorgeous and sexy, a beast of a man who could ravage me with a sideways glance.
“Aubrey Watts,” he says coolly. “It’s been far too long.”
I look at his leather cut and see a badge that wasn’t there seven years before–Verde Demons President.
“You’ve moved up fast,” I say to him motioning to his new title.
Tom Sully, minted president just days after his prison release, the kid who took the fall for his club, comes out a man of power and position. It’s shockingly wrong, and the sight of him and what that cut represents makes my stomach turn.
Tom’s face hardens under the lamplight. “What are you doing back, Aubrey?” It sounds like an accusation and it burns as it goes down.
“My dad is dying.” It’s all that I can manage. Tears well in my eyes.
He softens and positions to move off his bike, but I scuffle backwards, my body telling him that I don’t need his pity, that I’m fine and strong and my dad will die without hearing me say sorry. Tom retreats his advance and stays where he belongs–on his bike.
“Come on,” he says motioning me toward him.
I say nothing and climb on the back. My hands slide around his waist as if they had never left. We ride out on Route 5 as the warm night wind washes over us. I smile when I see him pull into Dee’s All Day Diner, the place we used to know so well. Memories come back to haunt me, but I hold onto only the good ones.
He silences his Harley, but I don’t get off. I crush my head into his back, “I’m sorry,” I say. “I had to leave. I couldn’t stay here without you.”
Tom doesn’t turn around. He rubs my hand before lifting it to his lips for a hard kiss. The touch of his flesh sends shocks through my body. “I know, Aubrey,” he says softly. “I never really expected you to wait.”
I don’t say anything because there is nothing to say when a bad girl turns good.
Inside the diner, we settle ourselves in our favorite booth in the back, far away from the prying eyes of Sheriff Watts’ cronies. To my father, Tom Sully wasn’t true love, he was jail time not yet served. He got his wish when his department participated in the bust that sent Tom away. How my father gloated when he delivered the news. There was no fatherly concern in his voice, no regret over ripping his daughter’s first love from her troubled young arms. Instead, Sheriff Buddy Watts retired to the backyard with his whiskey, chain smoking and shooting off his guns until the wee hours of the morning. I left home the next day and didn’t return until a year later when my arms were marked with tracks and my body stained from over a hundred different men and women. Fleeing to Maine was a salvation and a penance. To soberly remember how every hardened line on my father’s face got there, that I was the reason, the cause of his decline, was a punishment befitting my rotten, dirty crimes.
The waitress brings us menus that we memorized ten years prior, and I’m anchored back to Tom sitting across from me, looking grown up and more sexy than I had ever thought possible.
“I heard that you went to Maine,” he says pretending to look at the menu.
“With my Aunt,” I say. “In Boothbay Harbor.”
“Population a thousand?” he teases.
“Close. Twenty-two hundred.”
“Jesus,” Tom says.
The haze of dusk turns quickly to dark. In the distance, far behind me, I hear a familiar sound–the roar of a motorcycle engine barreling down the highway. As it gains on me, my legs feel weak, but I do not deter in my path. A light silhouettes me from behind, but I do not turn. I hear the crunch of gravel and the silencing of an engine.
“Hey, beautiful,” says a voice from the darkness.
I do not need to turn around.
“Tom,” I whisper. I look over my shoulder, and my heart rips from my chest and lays naked and pulsating on the dry desert road. His face looks strained, like the setting sun pierces his eyes, but he is my Tom–gorgeous and sexy, a beast of a man who could ravage me with a sideways glance.
“Aubrey Watts,” he says coolly. “It’s been far too long.”
I look at his leather cut and see a badge that wasn’t there seven years before–Verde Demons President.
“You’ve moved up fast,” I say to him motioning to his new title.
Tom Sully, minted president just days after his prison release, the kid who took the fall for his club, comes out a man of power and position. It’s shockingly wrong, and the sight of him and what that cut represents makes my stomach turn.
Tom’s face hardens under the lamplight. “What are you doing back, Aubrey?” It sounds like an accusation and it burns as it goes down.
“My dad is dying.” It’s all that I can manage. Tears well in my eyes.
He softens and positions to move off his bike, but I scuffle backwards, my body telling him that I don’t need his pity, that I’m fine and strong and my dad will die without hearing me say sorry. Tom retreats his advance and stays where he belongs–on his bike.
“Come on,” he says motioning me toward him.
I say nothing and climb on the back. My hands slide around his waist as if they had never left. We ride out on Route 5 as the warm night wind washes over us. I smile when I see him pull into Dee’s All Day Diner, the place we used to know so well. Memories come back to haunt me, but I hold onto only the good ones.
He silences his Harley, but I don’t get off. I crush my head into his back, “I’m sorry,” I say. “I had to leave. I couldn’t stay here without you.”
Tom doesn’t turn around. He rubs my hand before lifting it to his lips for a hard kiss. The touch of his flesh sends shocks through my body. “I know, Aubrey,” he says softly. “I never really expected you to wait.”
I don’t say anything because there is nothing to say when a bad girl turns good.
Inside the diner, we settle ourselves in our favorite booth in the back, far away from the prying eyes of Sheriff Watts’ cronies. To my father, Tom Sully wasn’t true love, he was jail time not yet served. He got his wish when his department participated in the bust that sent Tom away. How my father gloated when he delivered the news. There was no fatherly concern in his voice, no regret over ripping his daughter’s first love from her troubled young arms. Instead, Sheriff Buddy Watts retired to the backyard with his whiskey, chain smoking and shooting off his guns until the wee hours of the morning. I left home the next day and didn’t return until a year later when my arms were marked with tracks and my body stained from over a hundred different men and women. Fleeing to Maine was a salvation and a penance. To soberly remember how every hardened line on my father’s face got there, that I was the reason, the cause of his decline, was a punishment befitting my rotten, dirty crimes.
The waitress brings us menus that we memorized ten years prior, and I’m anchored back to Tom sitting across from me, looking grown up and more sexy than I had ever thought possible.
“I heard that you went to Maine,” he says pretending to look at the menu.
“With my Aunt,” I say. “In Boothbay Harbor.”
“Population a thousand?” he teases.
“Close. Twenty-two hundred.”
“Jesus,” Tom says.
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