by Sybil Bartel
Clearing my throat, I turned away. “Thanks.” I grabbed some rags, chrome cleaner and Armor All, reminding myself what I’d set out to do today. “You got a dollar?”
“A dollar?” She asked skeptically.
I turned back to her. “Yeah, a dollar.”
She eyed me a moment then walked to where she’d dumped her bag and pulled a dollar out. She handed it to me. “Cost of Saturday morning mechanics lesson?”
“No.” I pocketed the bill and handed her the Armor All and a rag. “Do the tires.” I did a quick and dirty job on the chrome then wiped the rest of the bike down. Reaching in my pocket, I pulled the key out and handed it to her. “Crank it.”
“I get to do the honors?” She grinned and did as I told her.
The bike started right up.
“Let it run a minute and I’ll put some fresh gas in. It’s been sitting awhile.” I went to get one of my gas cans, making a quick stop in the office, smiling to myself when I heard her throttle the engine.
We let it run a few more minutes then I shut it down and filled the tank. I set the gas can down and looked at Carly. “Promise me something?”
Her blue eyes—innocent, honest, and kind—stared back at me. “Okay.”
“Never stop smiling.” I handed her the title.
Without taking her eyes off mine, she took the paper and smiled tentatively.
I kissed her cheek. “Enjoy.”
She glanced down at the title. “What? Graham!”
“She’s yours. Take better care of her than you do the dirt bike,” I teased.
“I’m not taking your bike! Graham!”
“No, you’re not, you bought it.” I pulled the dollar out and held it up, smiling. Jesus, she was cute when she was flustered.
“You gave me a motorcycle? For a dollar?”
I nodded. And it felt fucking fantastic.
“A new motorcycle...for a dollar?”
“It’s not new, it’s an ’06. But its clean, has low miles, and with all we did to it today, she should be good to go for awhile.”
“A dollar.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “I told you you’re an opportunist.”
She launched herself at me, arms around my neck, legs around my waist, she threw herself into the hug. “I love it! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
I chuckled. “You’re welcome.” I didn’t want to but I set her down. “C’mon, take her out. Make sure she’s riding okay.”
Carly hopped on the motorcycle effortlessly and backed it out of the bay. She wasn’t bullshitting, she could handle a bike.
“Who taught you to ride?” Hopefully she didn’t drive the bike like she did my car.
“My dad.”
The cop. Of course. “What else did he teach you?”
“Oh, the usual.” She started the bike again.
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Drinking, shooting, fighting, poker.” She smiled mischievously. “Motocross.” She winked. “Back in a few.” And she took off.
Her grin was contagious. I stood there like an idiot as she rode down the street, her hair flying free behind her. She stood slightly on the bike, reached in her pocket, then to my horror, took both hands off the handlebars and tied her hair back. Christ. I’d hate to see her drive the Ducati.
I went back in the shop, washed my hands, dumped the coffee and listened to a few voicemails. Ten minutes later, it wasn’t the bike that pulled up, it was Myles’s 4Runner. I walked out to meet him.
He cut right to the chase. “We need to talk.”
“Yeah, ’bout what?” I wasn’t in a talking mood.
“Half the club saw you last night. Word got back to Neil. He’s pissed. I can’t run interference forever.”
So I fucked a chick, so fucking what. “Then don’t.”
“You know his deal,” he warned.
“Yeah, his deal,” I said sarcastically.
“Damn it, Graham, I’m trying to help you.”
“Quit trying.”
Myles stared at me, hard. And I stared right back. Piss away, he wouldn’t get shit for an apology out of me.
Carly pulled up, all smiles, and cut the engine. “Hey, Myles.” She got off the bike looking flushed and sexy as hell.
“Hey.” Myles glanced at the bike, looked at me, then back at Carly. “Graham fix up the Rebel for you?”
“Myles, you remember Carly,” I said dryly.
Carly grinned. “He gave it to me.”
“Really?” Myles looked at me then smiled his all-knowing smile, the dumb fuck.
“Yeah, really, I love it but it tops out at seventy.” She almost pouted.
“Jesus Christ, Carly. It’s for around town, not the track.” I could only imagine what she’d been doing all this time.
She stepped over to me and patted my shoulder condescendingly. “He’s like the father I never had,” she stage-whispered.
Myles, the fuckhead, laughed.
“It’s a fucking 250, not a Ducati.” Women.
“He won’t let me drive the Ducati.” Carly rolled her eyes.
“I’m over both of you.” I walked back into the shop.
Chapter Nineteen
Fighter
Myles left and I pulled the Super Bee back in.
“Want to get breakfast—or lunch? It’s almost lunchtime. My treat.” Carly dangled the Rebel’s key.
“Yeah, okay, but I’m driving.” I didn’t need to have a heart attack before noon watching her open the throttle on the Rebel.
“Not the Rebel, you’re not. It’s mine. I bought it, fair and square.” She grinned.
I snorted. I wouldn’t be caught dead on the Rebel, I’d look like a fucking tool driving that small-ass bike. “I’ll follow you home. You can drop off the dirt bike and we’ll come back for the Rebel after we eat.”
“Okay, but I’m gonna drop the bike at my dad’s.” She hopped on the dirt bike and kick-started it. “Try and keep up!”
I followed Carly way out into the country, past horse ranches and low rolling hills, wondering where the hell we were going. She drove even faster on the bike than she had in the Barracuda. I would’ve been worried if the bike didn’t seem like an extension of her. She handled it like she’d learned to ride before she could walk.
She finally pulled onto a dirt lane that led to an old but well-maintained farm house. She pulled the bike to the side of the house and had just walked back in front when two small blond kids tore out of the house and ran to her. She scooped them up, one in each arm, and peals of laughter ensued.
If I didn’t think it’d look so conspicuous, I wouldn’t have gotten out of the car. I didn’t do kids.
“Graham,” Carly called over the kids’ ruckus. “Want to meet my brother and sister?”
I neglected to register the obvious. Small kids equaled adult nearby. I hoped it wasn’t her dad. “Yeah, sure.” I didn’t count it as a lie.
Two sets of matching eyes suddenly noticed me, both blue like Carly’s.
“This is Jenny and Max. Jenny and Max, say hi to my friend Graham.” She set the twins down. They couldn’t have been more than five.
“Is that a muscle car?” Max eyed the car.
“Yep, it’s called a Barracuda.” Okay, so maybe kids weren’t so bad.
The little girl walked over to me and looked up. “Are you Carly’s boyfriend?”
Shit. I did hate kids. “No. Are you old enough to ask those questions?”
She smiled wide, just like Carly did. “I’m five and a half years old!”
The front door swung open and a male version of Carly walked out. He looked barely thirty.
“Five going on fifteen. Jenny, mind your manners,” he scolded her cheerfully then held his hand out to me. “Cash Sullivan.”
Up close, he looked a little older. “Graham Allen.” Although his demeanor was friendly, his expression told a different story. He sized me up in about half a second. Yeah, he had cop written all over him.
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“Hi, Daddy.” Carly threw her arms around him and Cash melted.
I knew the feeling.
“Hi, baby doll, did you come for lunch? Maribel’s got chili.” Eyes sparkling just like his daughter’s, he looked at her with love.
“No, can’t stay, just dropping one of the dirt bikes off. Graham’s giving me a ride.”
Cash eyed Carly. “If you broke something, you’re fixing it. I am not doing your dirty work again.”
Carly laughed. “It’s fine.”
“I doubt that.” Cash looked at me. “Have you seen her ride? She’s hell on wheels. Hey, speaking of which, nice ’Cuda.” He nodded at my car.
“Thanks. Seventy-one.”
“Yep, double headlights. You do this yourself?”
“Yeah.” So she learned cars from her dad.
“Daddy, Graham owns Custom Classics.” Carly winked at me.
“No kidding? I always wondered whose shop that was. You have a good reputation. I can see why.” Cash ran his hand along the hood.
“Can I go for a ride?” Max tugged on my pant leg.
I looked to Carly for help.
“Maybe next time, Max, we have to go. Graham’s working today. He only took a break to help me bring the dirt bike back.” She patted his head.
“Are you having lunch with us? You can sit next me to me.” Jenny looked at me with big doe eyes.
“Not today.” Damn. Who said no to that? Oh yeah, I did.
“Ooo-kay, we have to go.” Carly hugged her dad and the kids.
I said my goodbyes, barely escaping a five-year-old’s hug, and started the car. Carly got in and rolled her window down.
Cash leaned in. “You coming to the gym this afternoon, sweetheart?”
“Probably not.” She kissed his cheek.
What the fuck? She worked out with her dad too? I should’ve known she was a Daddy’s girl.
“I’ll be there at two if you change your mind.” Cash stared at me for a few seconds. I knew the look but I was too old and too cynical to be intimidated by it. “Drive safe, Graham.”
“Always do.” I stared back so he knew I wasn’t a pussy.
Cash slapped the roof of the car and we left.
The curiosity was killing me. “You work out with your dad?”
“Not exactly.”
Oh Jesus, this ought to be good. “Care to elaborate?”
“Well, I mean yes, I do, but today I was going to watch.”
“A workout?” Seriously?
“No, sparring.”
“Sparring?”
“Yeah, a couple of hopefuls at FBC are sparring.”
Florida Boxing Club? Where fighters trained? “You work out at a boxing gym? You box? With your dad?” Holy fuck.
Carly laughed. “Yes, I work out there. No, I don’t box—well sorta, I do MMA. My dad boxes, or did, or tries to, take your pick.”
Mixed martial arts? She wasn’t fucking kidding, she did fight. She probably could kick my ass. “I’ll remember never to piss you off.”
“Good idea. When I do get mad, which isn’t often, it’s not pretty.”
I didn’t even know what to say to that, I couldn’t tell if she was kidding. “Where do you want to eat?” We were almost back in town.
“Bobby’s?”
“Yeah, okay.” Diner type place, shit for atmosphere but decent food.
I didn’t say anything else the rest of the drive. Honestly, I was reeling from the MMA thing. My perception of Carly was sweet and innocent and fragile. She was those things, but she was a whole lot more. And fuck if it wasn’t a total turn-on. Watching her ride today, with easy confidence, I got the impression she could do anything. She looked so fucking capable on that bike, like she’d been absent the day they dished out limitations and fears. I was almost intimidated by her. Worse, I liked her more every minute I spent with her.
I pulled up to the restaurant, we walked in and grabbed a booth without speaking.
Carly picked up the menu but was looking at me. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“No, you’re thinking about something. Spill it.”
Why the fuck did I promise myself I’d be honest with her? “Why are you single?”
“Being a cop’s daughter isn’t conducive to dating.”
Yeah, not it. “He wasn’t that intimidating. Try again.”
“Hey, he has his moments.”
“Uh-huh.” Sure, he did. They both smiled more than any stoner I knew. “Try again.” I didn’t know why I was pushing this but I was.
“Tell you what, I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine. Honest and true, one for one, no holding back.”
She’d pretty much witnessed everything there was to know about me last night. What else was there? “All right.”
Carly looked surprised for a second, then she took a deep breath and looked down. “I’ve never had sex, except that once. And for a few years, I never wanted to. I wanted no part of it—boys, dates, the whole thing. As I got older and time gave me distance from some of the worst of it, I realized even if I did want it, it was too late. I’m damaged. If I ever did try to...date...I’d have issues. So, I just avoid it. Happily ever after isn’t in my cards.” She shrugged.
I blinked. Damaged?
Suddenly I was so enraged I couldn’t see straight. Damaged? A waitress came up but I glared at her so hard she retreated. I couldn’t stay here. I stood, grabbed Carly’s arm and pulled her to her feet. Stumbling, she looked up at me with a shocked expression. I propelled her out of the restaurant and to the car. Pushing her back against the door, I took her face in both hands.
“You. Are. Perfect. Beautiful and sweet and smart, you’re fucking perfect, exactly as you are. There is nothing damaged about you. If a guy isn’t patient with you, he’s the wrong fucking guy, Hummingbird. You hear me? The wrong guy.” I tried to rein it in, but I was so fucking angry.
Carly’s eyes filled with tears.
“No.” I shook her. “Don’t you dare let that sick piece of shit ruin your whole fucking future. You’re better than that. You are not damaged, you hear me? You’re a fighter. You fight, Hummingbird, you fight till you win.”
The tears spilled over, she choked back a sob and I pulled her into my arms.
Goddamn it. I wanted two minutes with that sick bastard, two minutes! I stroked Carly’s back, wondering how someone could do that to a kid. “Shh, it’s okay, baby, I got you.” I kissed her soft hair, my heart crying at the injustice of this world. “Shh, I got you.” I wanted to tell her I wouldn’t ever let anything happen to her again but I knew I couldn’t make that promise. I was passing through her life, here until she wised up and moved on.
She quieted and I brushed her cheeks with my thumbs. “You’re perfect.” God, her skin was soft. She was so beautiful. “I don’t want you to cry anymore over that, okay?” I wanted her mad, not sad. I wanted her fighting.
“Okay.” She nodded, barely.
It took everything I had not to kiss her. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. I can’t fucking go back in there.” I hustled her into the car and jogged around to the driver’s side.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make a scene.” She quickly swiped at her face like she was embarrassed.
“You didn’t, I did by dragging you out of there.”
She laughed quietly. “You kinda did.”
The sound of her soft laughter was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. “It’s my specialty.”
“That and pep talks.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Thanks.”
Pep talk? Fuck. Yeah, okay, but fuck. “You’re welcome. Still hungry?”
“Starved.”
“I don’t want to go out and I’ve seen your fridge. I’ll make us something at my house, then we’ll go pick up the Rebel.”
“Can you cook?” She looked at me skeptically.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Chapter Twenty
I made us food and Carly cleaned up. Dead on my feet, I started coffee and leaned against the counter to watch her finish dishes.
“I never got my turn.” Carly rinsed a pan and put it on the drain board.
Damn, even her hands were pretty. Long thin fingers, graceful. “Turn?” I grabbed two mugs and reached for the coffeepot.
“My question.”
Shit. I’d forgotten. “I think I’ve aired enough dirty laundry in front of you already.”
“Fair is fair.”
Christ. “Go for it.”
“Who did you write ‘Break’ about?”
Suspended animation, everything stopped.
I knew I was going to tell her. I’d made this wounded bird a promise. I never made promises. I’d never told anyone. I was going to tell her and it was going to be ugly. The wound would open like it always did. And I was going to bleed.
No turning back.
I took a breath. “My mother.” The rage was instant. Impotence, humiliation, anger, it was all there. Then snap. The control was gone and I was only anger...and it made me just like her. Fuck.
Scratchy, hoarse, my voice echoed in the quiet. “She beat the shit out of me. Every day. For twelve years.” No air. I couldn’t breathe.
Carly didn’t move.
I hated my mother. Goddamn it, I hated her. “Twelve years.” I shook my head, desperate for control, but walls of shame closed in. My fists gripped the counter.
She didn’t speak.
I couldn’t breathe.
Cut.
I had to run.
Bleed.
I had to run.
Now.
God fucking damn it.
One swipe and the coffee mugs flew across the kitchen.
Hot, burning, my hands, I didn’t fucking care. I was anger. “I hit her.” I shook. My fist smashed the cupboard. “I finally fucking hit her.” Eyes, hands, burning. No air. “I hit her and I liked it.” Loved it. The one thing in my life I ever loved. Hitting her. Nothing felt that good. Nothing...
Panting, desperate, I stared at her.
And I saw it in her eyes.
The reason I never told anyone. Never.
Rage gripped every sense.
“Run.” My voice cut with steel quiet.