To Have It All(46)

Giving me a smirk—one that screamed he did, in fact, know me—he asked, “You ever ridden a motorcycle, Waverly?”

The answer to that question was no, but that had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Just because I hadn’t ridden on a motorcycle didn’t mean I couldn’t or wouldn’t. If I thought about it, riding a motorcycle did seem scary. Giving up control was hard for me, and the thought of putting my life in someone else’s hands like that was terrifying, but I’d be damned if I’d admit it to him.

My crutches were irritating my underarms, so I adjusted, using it as an excuse to look away from him. “I’m not scared to ride a motorcycle.”

“I didn’t ask if you were scared.” Glancing up, I found him watching me. He did ask if I was scared, didn’t he?

“Yes, you did.”

He clarified. “I asked if you had ridden one.”

“Is there a difference?” I quipped.

“Yes, there is.”

“How so?”

Scratching at his facial scruff he shrugged. “There is. People can do lots of things they’re scared of. Just because riding a motorcycle scares you, doesn’t mean you can’t, or won’t, do it.”

“Jesus, Max,” I groaned, increasingly annoyed with this conversation. “No, I haven’t ridden on one. You happy now?”

“Would you ride one?” He was relentless.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” I sputtered.

“Okay,” he acknowledged as he stepped toward me. “Then ride with me.”

I laughed, a haughty sound. “With you?”

Any happiness on his face disappeared, and his mouth flattened as he met my gaze with a look of seriousness. “Yeah, Waverly,” he stated firmly. “With me.”

“Do you even know how to ride, Max?” I snickered. The idea was just too absurd.

Taking another step toward me, he was inches away when he stared down at me, his gaze heavy with challenge. I desperately wanted to step back, to create distance between us, but I wouldn’t. I would not back down. That’s what he wanted me to do. Plus the crutches made moving backward awkward. “I’m not the Max Porter you remember, Waverly. I’m an entirely different man now. So please stop assuming you know everything about me.”

My face heated as our stares remained locked. I hated these feelings. His words made me angry, they made me bitter, they made me ashamed. I wasn’t sure why I felt ashamed—maybe because I’d been acting bitter and I hated being that woman—the scorned abandoned woman? Or maybe I was ashamed because deep down something inside of me realized amidst all the hurt and anger that Max and I were flirting. Sort of. Isn’t that what we were doing? I was flirting with the enemy, and though the banter was tainted with some disdain—at least on my part—I was enjoying it.

“Fair is fair, Max,” I quipped. “Don’t assume you know me either. I’m not the same woman you once knew.”

“Then go for a ride with me,” he challenged.

“My ankle is hurt, Max,” I argued holding my foot out for emphasis.

“It’ll be better soon. We’ll take it easy.”

Shaking my head, I asked, “Why do you want me to ride with you so badly?”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he answered, “Might be the last time I ever ride with a woman.”

Looking away from him, I blinked a few times in confusion. What the hell did that mean? “Max,” I sighed. “You are puzzle inside of a riddle. You know that?”

His body shook as he silently laughed, but when he looked down at Pim as she lurched and giggled, his laughter ebbed, and his smile faded into a subtle one. “Her first bike,” he spoke softly, his tone laced with pride and sentiment.

“That’s the closest she’ll ever get to a real motorcycle,” I stated dryly.

He didn’t look at me or acknowledge what I’d said. He was too mesmerized with Pim. Just then, Pim hit the power button and held it down. The bike whizzed forward with her holding on for dear life as she squealed.

When she finally let go, and the bike stopped, she looked back at us and said, “Whoa.”

Max and I both burst into laughter, and for a moment, I forgot to be mad at him for everything. I forgot Max Porter had abandoned us and had refused to be part of Pim’s life. For one moment, I got to share my amazing daughter with her father, without anger and animosity.

And that made that moment so much more bittersweet.





Later that evening, when I placed Pim in her travel crib, she fell asleep in under two minutes. She’d ridden the bike until the battery died, then cried for two hours until it was recharged and she rode it again. No doubt, the bike had been a hit. Pim was in love with it.

Waverly . . . well . . . for Waverly the bike lost its luster after the battery died and we had to deal with a cranky toddler. After leaving Lenny that day, I can’t deny I was tempted to buy a bike for myself and ride. I even took a taxi to the nearest Harley store, but when I got there, I just couldn’t do it. I may have been Max Porter in the physical sense, but I was still Liam inside. I couldn’t get right with the idea that it was okay for me to spend his money on myself like that. I mean, he was already footing the hospital bill, though one could argue that was for both of us—if I pulled the plug, he could die. I’d spend what I had to live, but no unnecessary or extreme expenses. Not yet, anyway. I did make one exception for Pim. I justified buying her the trike because it was something cool that would make her happy. I also told myself Max should do something nice for his daughter.