by Zoey Parker
No.
Flame is burning on all sides. Steel screeches in the skyrocketing temperatures. Everywhere around me, the building pops and moans. Outside, Grady’s tires squeal on asphalt.
No.
I find the bottom of the door one more time, squat, take its full weight into my hands and heave upwards as hard as possible. The metal shrieks the whole time, but inch by inch, the goddamn thing moves. I throw it to one side.
Sunlight. Air. I shield my eyes against the piercing rays. Grady’s car bowls past me. He’s headed for the water. My motorcycle is propped against the curb, a dozen yards away. I ignore the agony in my knee as I limp towards it. I’m going as fast as possible. Every motion is torture. My body feels utterly broken.
I reach the bike. Grady yanks a hard right, taking him out of view. There’s no time to waste. I have to follow him. I twist the key in the ignition. I bite back pain as I swing my leg over the seat. I’m barely on before I’ve cranked the throttle wide open.
The world begins to blur into long streaks of color. I round the corner and see Grady’s car, weaving between traffic, on the long road towards the pier. The ocean on our left is boiling gray. The sun is low, brooding. The wind is hot on my face.
This is it. This is the highest speed. Not just the bike itself, though the dial on the speedometer is tilted all the way to the right. But speed in every sense. I’m chasing the last thing that matters to me.
It’s like I’m a racer again. There’s only one thing in sight: the finish line. Everything else is background noise, irrelevant. It won’t help me forward. Nothing will. There’s only me. Me, the engine, and the target.
A memory hits me.
I’m fourteen years old. Colin and I are getting onto bikes for the first time. We clamber onto the sticky leather seats. Our legs just barely reach the pegs. He looks at me. We start the engines at the same time.
They sputter for a moment. When the roar catches, it’s like a drug. I look to Colin and I know that he feels the same. The hum of the cylinders kicking, the steady growl like we’re mounting some wild beasts—it’s addictive. I’ve never felt so powerful before.
The road before us is long, dark, and empty. There are no streetlights. No sign of life. There’s only this: stars overhead, an engine below me, my brother by my side. I push up the kickstand, twist the gas, and we explode into the night, leaving behind a world that doesn’t care about us and never will. I have everything that matters right here. I have family. I have speed.
I’m free.
Cars are honking as I zoom around them, slicing through openings barely wider than my bike. The wind is yanking on my hair and my clothes with strong fingers, trying to hold me back, trying to stop me from going this fast.
But there’s no stopping me. Not when there’s a reason for the speed. My old lady is up ahead, and she’s pregnant with my baby, and there’s not a damn thing in this world that can come between me and her. A broken body can’t stop me. A crooked cop can’t stop me.
Nothing can.
I’m closing the gap between us. Grady must see me in his rearview and panic, because he twists the wheel to send his car across the median. I curse as I follow him, squeezing tight onto my handlebars to stop myself from being thrown off the back of the bike. Somehow I manage to stay on it as I bounce over the concrete bump.
Looking up ahead, I see the pier swim into view. We’re a quarter mile from where it begins, but approaching quickly. Oncoming traffic lays on their horns and peels off to the curbs as we fly down the wrong side of the lane. I’m still fifty yards back, but every second brings me closer.
The bike is moaning under my grasp. I’ve never pushed it this fast before. “C’mon, baby, keep it together,” I whisper to it. It can’t fail me now. I can’t allow that.
Barely five hundred yards before the beginning of the pier. It stretches out across the water, decrepit, weighed down with tourists and shitty restaurants begging for foreclosure. The wooden barrier lining its edge is soft from years of exposure to the elements.
I can’t hear anything over the roar of the wind in my ears. I’m hunched low over the handlebars, urging the machine on ever faster. Twenty yards behind. Fifteen. The speedometer is nudging close to two hundred miles per hour.
People scream and dive out of the way as they see us coming. What a sight this must be—a police car being chased by an outlaw on a motorcycle instead of the other way around. I imagine this is some sort of first.
We slam off of the asphalt road and onto the wooden planks of the pier. There’s only a couple hundred yards left before we explode out over the open ocean. At this rate, that distance will only last us a few seconds.
I’m close enough to touch the taillight of the cruiser. I can see Kendra, slamming her fist into the back window, screaming at the top of her lungs, although no sound can reach me through the ripping wind. Grady is behind the wheel.
I inch forward. Ten seconds until we reach the barrier.
I don’t even know what I have in mind. Pull Kendra from the car? At this speed, she’ll be killed. Try to shoot Grady? The car will crash, and she’ll be killed.
I look up. Five seconds until collision. He’s going to have to stop. There’s no way he’ll just keep going over the edge, right? He’s a murderer, not suicidal. He won’t take her down with him. He won’t.
Three seconds. He’s not stopping. I touch my fingertips to the glass. Kendra presses hers back against mine. I’m helpless to save her.
Two seconds.
One second.
If he’s going over, I am, too. I’m not letting this bastard take my woman to the grave with him. Where she goes, I go.
After all, I made her a promise. And I never break my promises.
* * *
We break through the barrier and soar out over the water. Time stops. I’m already floating off of the seat of my bike, weightless in the air. The waves crash fifty feet beneath us. The mass of a police cruiser flying off the edge of a pier would be ridiculous if it didn’t have my wife in it. But the man behind the wheel is determined to kill her, whatever the cost.
I see her face behind the plated, wire-reinforced window. She’s as gorgeous as ever—sharp cheekbones, the pink slash of her mouth, those eyes, so open and trusting. Her skin is the same dusky black as it was when I first saw her, gleaming and soft against the fabric of that white couch. The memory feels centuries old, despite how little time has passed since I first walked up to her and told her she was beautiful.
I think back to what she’d told me in the studio. I love you, Mortar. I couldn’t keep denying it. There was no more running away from what I felt. This wasn’t just a pact anymore, no longer just some silly compromise we’d made. It was real and vibrant and alive.
The salt air filling my lungs is tangy and perfect. It clears the vestiges of smoke from my body. But a moment later, we plunge through the surface of the ocean, and water rushes in to take its place. The water is cold, sloshing, writhing with bubbles and frothy wave caps. I open my eyes and immediately cringe as the salt stings me. Every cut on my skin is burning in the briny slush.
I can’t figure out which way is up. The waves knock me around. I’m disoriented, thrashing around in the water. My leather jacket is soaked. The weight of it and my heavy boots drags me towards the sandy ocean floor.
Squinting through the whirling darkness, I see the car, nosing into the soft silt. Bubbles erupt from the tailpipe. I’m already running out of breath, but I can’t risk going back up for air. I need to find Kendra.
I take two hard strokes, propelling myself towards the submerged vehicle. The taillights glimmer in what little sun manages to pierce this far to the bottom. My chest is burning and my hurt knee dangles uselessly to the side.
I’m swishing water aside with my hands as I work my way towards the car. I reach it and feel my way towards the back door. My hand finds the door handle. I yank hard, but it won’t budge. The fall must have damaged part of the mechanism. Planting one foot on the tr
unk, I kick away as hard as I can without letting go of the handle. It gives with a metallic groan.
Kendra’s limp body floats up.
Her hair is a swirling cloud of black. The lazy ocean tides pluck at her arms where they float by her sides. She’s unconscious.
Stars are popping in front of my eyes. I’m about to run out of air. If I pass out, we’ll both die down here. We need to reach the surface. I pull Kendra towards me, sinking to the bottom. I find purchase in the soil, lean down, and then launch myself up.
We shoot ten feet up, but it’s not enough. I start to kick, flail, anything to move us closer to air. My muscles are seizing without oxygen. The light is starting to fade from my eyes. A few more strokes. Almost…there.
We break the surface of the water. I gasp. Air never tasted so good.
Slowly, excruciatingly, I tow Kendra in towards the beach. We reach the sand and I pick her up in my arms. She still hasn’t woken. I carry her away from the waves until the exhaustion takes over and I can’t walk anymore. I fall to my knees, careful to keep her head from knocking against the ground.
I lay her out. “Kendra, wake up, please,” I whisper to her. I smooth the wet bangs back from her face. She’s deathly pale. The water was so cold. “Please, Kendra,” I repeat. “Come back to me.”
Now that I’ve had her, a life without Kendra is not something I’m interested in. There’s no need to keep going faster when I have her. I don’t want to go anywhere, in fact. I want to stay. I want to grow roots with her, to see what kind of a child comes out of her womb and raise him to be my own, the one who carries on my legacy and my name. I want to hear her crying out my name in pleasure for the rest of my life. I don’t want to go anywhere, not a single place without her next to me. She belongs in my arms and nowhere else.
Her eyes flutter and open. She sucks in a deep breath. Her chest rises to its fullest, then gradually falls back down. Her pupils focus in on me. The faintest smile crosses her mouth. “You kept your promise,” she whispers. Her hand wraps around my wrist.
“I always do. I love you, Kendra.” She smiles again as I lean down to kiss her.
It’s like we pulled this scene straight out of a movie and brought it to life in the middle of Galveston, Texas.
But this isn’t a movie. This is my business. My life.
My girl.
Epilogue I
Kendra
“Kendra!” calls a voice from the back. “He wants you!”
I rinse paint off my hands under the rushing sink faucet and dry them on a towel before I hurry towards the back room. Stepping through the doorway, I see Nancy, my assistant, with a swaddled bundle of blankets in her arm. She smiles as she sees me walk in.
“He’s been making a bunch of noise. Desperate for his momma,” she says with a wink. She offers the bundle to me. I reach forward and take it gently, settling the blankets against the crook of my elbow. I part the blankets and look in on the laughing face of my son.
“Such a good boy, aren’t you, Tucker?” I coo, pressing a soft fingertip against his rosy cheek. He wraps his chubby hands around my index finger and opens his mouth to cry out softly. The wordless gurgle rising from his throat is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I turn to Nancy, who is standing to the side and looking on with an adoring grin. “Do you mind shutting the door, please?” I ask her politely.
“Sure thing. I’ll go get the kids started on the next lesson while you wrap up in here,” she says with a smile before sauntering out. I sigh gratefully. “Thanks, Nancy,” I murmur.
I turn back to Tucker in my arms. He’s starting to fuss now. With my free hand, I slide the strap of my dress off my shoulder and free one breast. I lower him to my nipple and he latches on, suckling happily. The painful pressure of his mouth took some getting used to, but it’s been long enough now that I know what to expect. I settle back in my chair and look around.
The back office is cluttered with stuff, as per usual. There is never enough time in the day to take care of everything that needs doing. Between taking care of Tucker and running the art school, I’m busy around the clock. Stacks of papers totter on the desk, desperate for my attention. I’ll get to them in due time, but for now, I just want to enjoy this moment with my son. It’s rare that I get the chance to sit back and watch him grow, flex, and thrive the way he’s doing now.
It’s crazy to me how little he needs. It’s the same few basic things, over and over—a touch from his parents, some milk, a comfortable bed to sleep in. Just a few simple pleasures are enough to make him happy.
Of course, I’m not all that different from him in that regard, not anymore. I have everything I need: my job at the art school, my son, my husband. Right on cue, Mortar sticks his head in the back door. Seeing me alone, he grins and walks through, careful to shut the door behind him.
“Busy day?” he says as he comes to sit next to me, taking my hand in his.
“Wild,” I tell him. “You have no idea.” I lay my head on his broad shoulder as Tucker continues to feed. Mortar rubs a teasing finger around my lips.
“Hm, no time for a quickie then?”
I smack him on the chest. “In the school? You’re unbelievable,” I say with a laugh.
He grins again, dipping his fingertip between my teeth. I nip at it. “Whenever, wherever, baby.” He chuckles.
Tucker whimpers. I hand him to Mortar to re-adjust the blankets while I fix my strap back on my shoulder. Mortar presses his lips to his son’s forehead, eyes beaming with pride.
“Look at this strong man,” he brags, holding his son up high. “Look at that smile! Look at those eyes! He’s gonna be a lady-killer, this one.”
“It’s his nap time,” I remind him, giggling.
“Shh, this is a male bonding moment,” he jokes
I laugh and give him a glare as he whispers to Tucker while walking him over to the makeshift crib we keep in the back office so he can nap during the day while I’m at work. As gently as possible for a man of his size and background, Mortar lays our son down in his crib. He tugs the blankets carefully around his face and then straightens up.
Turning to look at me, he says, “Now about that quickie…” There’s that irresistible glimmer in his eye, the one I saw the first time we met, the one that has drawn me to him ever since. He steps towards me, slow, biding his time.
“Remember when we met?” he asks me.
I eye him. “Of course,” I fire back. “I thought you were an asshole.”
He wags his finger at me. “No, no, no, you thought I was charming,” he corrects.
“A charming asshole, then.”
He sidles up to where I’m standing and puts his hands on my hips. “As long as you admit I was charming, you can call me any other name in the book.”
“Fine, I will, you handsome son of a bitch.”
He puts his hand on his chest in mock surprise. “I’m handsome, too? You are just full of compliments today.”
I grab his shirt with two hands and pull him close enough to me that the tips of our noses touch. “I’d rather be full of something else,” I hint.
“Naughty teacher.” He laughs. “Well, I might know someone who can help you out with that.”
“Who might that be?” I murmur as he brushes his lips against mine.
He nibbles my ear. “Close your eyes and let’s find out.”
His hand slides around the back of my waist to touch the exposed skin there as he leans down to kiss me deeply. My fingertips flutter up his biceps to dance across his neck and nestle in the roots of his hair. I’m on tiptoes as I strain upwards to meet his mouth. The warm pressure of our lips together coaxes a long sigh out of me.
It’s hard to believe how long it’s been since everything with Grady happened. I shudder at the thought of it. Eight months is a long time, and lots has happened since then, but there’s no escaping the things I saw: Grady’s wild eyes in the rearview mirror as he sped towards what he hoped was our mutual death; the darkne
ss underwater that I was convinced was some kind of purgatory, until Mortar’s hands pulled me to the surface; the bloody, bloated body of the man who tried to kill me, washing up onshore. They are images that won’t ever leave me.
Mortar, though, is doing his damnedest to make sure I have enough on my mind to occupy me. Like, for instance, taking me to bed every chance he gets ever since the doctor gave us the go-ahead to start having sex again in the wake of Tucker’s birth. Not that I’m complaining. We suffered through a long enough stretch of not being able to hold each other close. Now that we’ve got the greenlight, I’m certainly not going to stop him from peeling off my clothes and putting his mouth to work all along my body.
He moves his lips to my neck, trekking warm and wet down to the curve of my shoulder blade. His other hand slides around from my back to sneak down the front of my dress, pausing at the bottom hem just long enough to flip his hand underneath and glide back up. I feel his fingertips, gentle and roving, on the fold where my hip meets my leg.