Ring the bell, Lindsey wins. I can’t fight the pull and I can’t fight her words. We have lost so much.
Life can pass you by or you can hang on for every curve and bump in the road finding ways to enjoy the ride.
I choose the ride … at least to my house.
December 25th
The gift in giving isn’t always for the receiver. Tinsley Parker is a gift to this giver and one I won’t let go of.
Vermont in the winter is cold. After Tinsley and Lindsey went to the guest room, I went to my truck, grabbed my bag before going inside to the bathroom to change. Now in jeans, a flannel, my leather jacket, and boots. I open the trailer to offload my Harley Davidson Heritage Softail. Settling my ass on the leather is like coming home every single time.
Just as I roll back onto the street and settle it down, Tinsley walks out looking sexy as hell in black jeans, a leather jacket, and knee-high boots. Her blonde hair is braided back and her face of an angel is timid but excited. Reaching behind me, I unclip the helmet I strapped to the bike for her.
“Merry Christmas, Tinsley Parker.” I smile.
“I was drunk. I wasn’t serious about the letter to Santa.” She tries to explain away what is her desire.
“Do you believe in miracles Tinsley? Because I do.”
She doesn’t answer. In fact, I think she is pissed more than anything. Instead of talking to me about this connection I know she feels between us, she takes the helmet, puts it on and climbs behind me like she’s done this a thousand times before.
With her hands at my waist, I don’t pull away. She gets impatient and leans forward, her breath coming down hot on my neck.
“I don’t know what the hell to think of you. We spend this crazy night together talking about everything from favorite board games to foods that turn us on. My sister and I drunkenly write some letter to Santa and suddenly my every fantasy sits on a Harley between my legs.”
“I take it you’re pissed?” I ask over the rumble of my bike.
“Yeah, I’m pissed. I won’t disappoint my sister because she is excited for me. So you will smile, pull away and we will ride to my house. From there, I will call my sister and explain that I got motorcycle sick. Then you can return here, load up your Harley, and ride back to where you came from.”
I should be angry. The way she’s talking to me, ordering me around, and downright dismissing me. I get it though. I shouldn’t have stayed last night. The plan was to offer her a ride.
Simple enough.
One little ride, then we both go our separate ways.
Except I didn’t plan to fall so hard so fast for this woman. Kyle always talked about her. I felt like I knew her long before I actually met her.
Life is full of chances, risks, and battles. This one somehow feels like the most important one I will ever win or lose.
Her hands rest casually on my sides as we pull away. She spouts off her address in my ear along with directions. Needing her close, I twist the throttle giving her just enough of a jolt to make her lean in.
Her front presses against my back and her hands wrap around my waist with my stomach muscles flexing from the contact.
We pull up to her townhouse. I reach out and squeeze her leg as a silent communication not to just jump off the bike.
“Ryan, you played me. You played me good. I’m too old for games. I’ve had a helluva year. I get you thought it would be nice to pity me and make a wish come true. You aren’t my wish come true so drive away and don’t look back.”
She pushes my hand off her leg and climbs off handing me her helmet. As she starts to walk away, I grab her wrist so she turns to look at me.
“This wasn’t a game. The moment you put your hand in mine, I felt alive for the first time. I wanted a chance to give you an experience that was for you. Kyle told me you always gave to Lindsey, your parents, Keegan, but never did for yourself. Getting to know you last night was a gift to me because there is not another woman stronger, wiser, and more beautiful inside and out then you. If you need time to get to know me, I’ll give you every spare moment I have. If you need time to see for yourself that this is not a game, I didn’t set you up, then baby hold the fuck on because I’m in it for the long haul. Seen death, experienced life, and I fuckin’ want love. Actions speak in my world so I’ll show you, Tinsley Parker. I’ll show you the man I am and the man I want to be. I’ll lay it all out for you to not only hear but see, the future we could have together if you would take a chance and give yourself this opportunity to have what Kyle and Lindsey had … maybe even better.”
She blinks. She blinks again. “This is too much, too fast.” She pulls her wrist from me and I feel lost instantly.
“Spent months at a time in country after country where death is found at every turn. Until I met you, until I felt this connection I never thought about what kept me going over there. I always said it was fight mode. Now, though, this spark, this whatever it could become it is why I needed to come out of there alive. Before you, there was just me. I leave here today with my mind on the future. Just need you to give me the chance, baby.”
Deciding maybe I’ve pushed too hard, too fast, and for too much, I lift the helmet from behind me and hand it to her.
“My life is a ride. One full of bumpy roads, unmarked gravel, and twists before crazy turns. My life is being a Marine. This bike is my freedom. Never had someone with me in life or on this bike. The helmet is yours Tinsley. When you’re ready for another ride, you call me and I’ll make it happen.”
Tears fall from her face and I want nothing more than to wipe them from her eyes. She takes the helmet and I nod my head. As she walks away I feel the ache in my chest. Only when she is safely inside the door do I pull away.
It’s funny you never know you’re lonely until you finally feel what it is to have someone else around. I let myself think, hope, and wish for something more. Not having it, now I know what lonely is.
The future I could have is in her hands along with my war-scarred heart. I can only ride away and hope she handles it with care.
December 31st
Tonight is about saying goodbye to a year full of loss and hello to hope for a new year full of possibility.
“Happy New Year’s Eve, Lindsey.” I tell my sister through the phone.
“Did you make it there?” She asks knowing I’ve been on the road to surprise Ryan.
“Yes, it was easy to find believe it or not. He lives in a cute cabin by a lake,” I tell her as I look ahead of me.
“Have fun, sister and don’t hold back. Life is too short.” Her last words remind me of everything we have lost and yet, we’re still standing.
“Love you, Linds.” I say before I click the phone off and toss it in my purse.
Ryan’s truck and motorcycle sit out front. He had duty last night where he had to be on base overnight. I drove through the night to get here a little after he was due to get off work.
He left me at home on Christmas Day like I requested. He returned to my sister’s and told her the truth rather than my lie. After a little time with Keegan, he loaded his bike and returned to his home. The next day, flowers arrived at my house with a note including his home phone number and a reminder I had his cell, along with another apology for the way things may have come across.
Lindsey also lit into me about missed opportunities and sabotaging something good. Since then Ryan and I have talked, video-chatted, texted, emailed, and gotten to know each other more. It’s been a week since he left and a week that I’ve been twisted in knots missing him.
Actions speak louder than words, so here I am ready to see what the future could be with this biker. With the helmet in my hand, I get out of my car and make my way to the front door.
After the third knock, Ryan answers the door. “Happy New Year!” I greet. “New year is a time for new beginnings and I want to begin this one with you.”
His eyes meet mine and blaze in surprise. I lift the helmet up as I bite my bottom li
p appraising him.
He has no shoes on, a pair of loose athletic shorts that go to his knees, and no shirt. His chest is chiseled in muscles, his abs making a defined eight-pack and a tattoo on his ribs like exposing an American flag under his skin. He is sexy as sin and I crave this man in front of me.
“Tinsley,” he greets taking the helmet tossing it behind him so he can reach out and pull me to him.
His head drops, his lips press to mine and I melt. This is a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. He holds nothing back. The time is finally right in my life to have love, to have family, and to have a happily ever after of my own making.
Santa, brought me a biker and I am ready for the ride.
Valentine’s Day
“You and Ryan seem to be hitting it off, sister!” Lindsey smiles coyly at me from her desk where she stares at the roses Ryan sent to me.
“He makes me happy. It’s all so very new.” I tell her finding myself grinning just from thinking about Ryan. He is coming to visit next weekend. It’s hard with the distance, but we are making it work.
“Let’s see this year, your Christmas wish was, Santa, bring me a biker. What’ll it be next year?” She jokes.
“Who knows, maybe my letter next year will be Santa, bring me a diamond ring.”
“Nope,” Lindsey says seriously. “You aren’t a diamond rings, fancy things kind of girl. You both are all about family. I can see the letter now, Dear Santa …bring me a baby!”
I gasp but with a huge smile on my face. When I asked for a biker who doesn’t hold back, I got that and more with Ryan Causley. If he has his way, we will be married in the spring and by Christmas maybe my wish will match my sister’s for me. After all, I never expected this year of heartache to end in love.
Who knows what next year will bring!
The End … until next season!
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She’s a wife and mom, chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write about blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
Chelsea can be found on social media at:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorchelseacamaron
Twitter: @chelseacamaron
Instagram: @chelseacamaron
Website: www.authorchelseacamaron.com
Email [email protected]
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https://goo.gl/rBipK2
Other works by Chelsea Camaron
Love and Repair Series:
Crash and Burn
Restore My Heart
Salvaged
Full Throttle
Beyond Repair
Stalled
Box Set Available
Hellions Ride Series:
One Ride
Forever Ride
Merciless Ride
Eternal Ride
Innocent Ride
Simple Ride
Heated Ride
Ride with Me (Hellions MC and Ravage MC Duel with Ryan Michele)
Originals Ride
Final Ride
Roughneck Series:
Maverick
Heath
Lance
Box Set Available
Devil’s Due MC Series:
Serving My Soldier
Crossover
In The Red
Below The Line
Close The Tab
Day Of Reckoning
Paid In Full
Bottom Line
Stand Alone Reads:
Thrillers - Stay
Romance – Moments In Time Anthology
Mother Trucker
Beer Goggles Anthology
Mrs. Claus Anthology
The following series are co-written
The Fire Inside Series:
(co-written by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt)
Kale
Regulators MC Series:
(co-written by Jessie Lane)
Ice
Hammer
Coal
Summer of Sin Series:
(co-written with Ripp Baker, Daryl Banner, Angelica Chase, MJ Fields, MX King)
Original Sin
Caldwell Brothers Series:
(co-written by USA Today Bestselling Author MJ Fields)
Hendrix
Morrison
Jagger
Stand Alone Romance:
(co-written with USA Today Bestselling Author MJ Fields)
Visibly Broken
Use Me
Ruthless Rebels MC Series:
(co-written with Ryan Michele)
Shamed
Scorned
Scarred
Schooled
Copyright © 2017 Lacey Black
Editing by Kara Hildebrand
Proofreading by Joanne Thompson
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
All rights reserved.
Black Friday from Hell
I strum my manicured fingernails along the battered hardwood tabletop as I await the appearance of the honorable Judge Joseph Walker III. It’s a quarter past one, and this hearing was due to start fifteen minutes ago. The entire situation grates on my already frazzled nerves when it comes to the holiday season, where everyone is too damn cheery and there’s no escape from the forty-five different renditions of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” that’s piped into every elevator car or taxi this side of the Mississippi River.
Checking my watch again, I exhale deeply, ready to get this entire day over with. What started out as a normal Friday has turned into a mess of epic proportions. How in the world did I go from working out in my home gym, before heading into the office, to being bullied by an eighty-year-old grandma and placed under arrest?
You heard right.
Arrested.
As one of the youngest defense attorneys in Springfield, I’m accustomed to sitting in this exact position, at this exact table as a matter of fact, and staring up at the bench of one of the state capitol’s senior judges. But now? I’m stuck in a courtroom, watching paint peel on the wall, and wishing I were anywhere else but here.
I should have stayed in bed. Hell, I should have taken the day off, like most white-collared Americans when it comes to Black Friday. You know, the self-proclaimed holiday where you break out in fist fights to score a five-dollar coffee maker or mow down other shoppers with your cart to nab that final toy your spoiled kid just has to have or will die…all in the name of the Christmas spirit.
Black Friday. The black hole of holidays.
And now, a day I’ll forever associate with being arrested.
So here I sit, as the defendant, ready to plead my case as I represent myself on bogus and frivolous charges, and convince my golfing buddy to throw these accusations right out the proverbial window.
Where the hell is Judge Walker?
Glancing at my Rolex once more, I stare at the large wooden door that leads to Walker’s chambers and will him to come through the door. What could be keeping him? I just played eighteen holes with him yesterday, and he didn’t mention anything besides work on his calendar for the day.
Walker and I have played golf on most holidays since I graduated law school at the University of Chicago Law School, and started working at his former law firm. His wife of thirty-five years passed away five years ago, and with his kids out adulting
in the world, he’s left alone on most major holidays.
Like me.
My attention is pulled to the prosecution table, which also remains empty. I’m starting to wonder if I’m being punk’d. Get arrested, post bail, show up for court, and no one’s there, proving that the entire situation was one big fuck-you joke. Typical. The only thing that keeps me in my chair is the presence of the bailiff by the judge’s chamber door.
I’m giving it five more minutes and then I’m out. Even with the arresting officer seated behind where the prosecution is supposed to sit, I’m not wasting any more of my time by waiting for a hearing that may or may not even happen. What’s the worst that could happen? Contempt of court, sure, but it wouldn’t be my first offense. Warrant out for my arrest? Yeah, that would blow reindeer balls. Especially with Barney Fife Jr. ready to slap those damn cuffs back on my wrists one more time.
Yeah, so let’s talk about Junior. Has he even graduated high school? The kid can’t even grow a mustache, let alone be old enough to graduate from the academy. He’s greener than the emerald tie around my neck. I barely got a word in edgewise before he was pushing me against the squad car and throwing the cold metal bracelets around my wrist.
What did I do? Oh, that’s a great Black Friday story, full of holiday merriment.
Before I can dive into the reason for my Friday afternoon courtroom appearance, the judge’s chambers finally opens. But it’s not my ol’ golfing buddy, Judge Walker, who steps into the courtroom. Oh no. This is Judge Amelia Holiday, the old battleax who clearly hasn’t forgiven me for the time she caught me sneaking out of her daughter’s apartment. No way has she forgotten that tidbit of information if the way she glares daggers at me from behind her black-framed glasses is any indication.
Well, fuck me.
Where in the flying hell is Walker? There’s no way I’m getting off on any charge with the old broad who’d rather see me strung up by my balls in front of the Capital Building.
Could this day possibly get any worse?
Just then, the courtroom door flies open. “I’m so sorry I’m late, your honor. The Women in the Judicial System luncheon ran over,” a woman says as she scurries to take her place at the prosecutor’s bench, the clickety clank of her heels echoing through the room.
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