Own the Wind(22)

His eyes changed direction and came to mine. He pushed away from the counter, pulled the top paper off the pad and, shoving it in his back pocket, he said, “Yeah, Racine’s. Ready?”

It hit me then he said he was taking me to Racine’s on his bike.

I liked this.

First, Racine’s was awesome, especially for breakfast.

Second, he was taking me on his bike.

I had to admit, as much as it killed, that was something I had missed with Jason.

Bikes.

I loved riding on the back of a bike, always did. Loved the growl of Harley pipes. I loved even looking at them.

Jason didn’t do bikes, and as our wedding drew nearer, I’d begun to plot how I was going to talk him around to getting one.

I hadn’t held high hopes for my plotting.

This was because he’d once declared, though gently, “I know that was your life, sweetheart, how you grew up. It’s just not my thing and, no offense to your family, it also isn’t real safe.”

Well, he was in a car when he died, so apparently they weren’t real safe either.

“Tab, babe, you ready?” Shy asked, and I looked at him. He’d come closer during my minitrance, but he took one look at my face, dipped his close and asked quietly, “Hey, you okay?”

I sucked in breath, nodded, and answered, “I will be when I’m on the back of your bike.”

His eyes moved over my face, then his lips turned up, and, finally, he caught my hand and moved me to the door.

He held my hand as we moved to his bike. He climbed on. I climbed on. His Dyna Glide roared to life, and I found I was right.

I was okay now that I was on the back of his bike.

I was even better when the wind was rushing through my hair, my front tight to his back, my arms around him, feeling the same things I felt when he came and got me out of trouble six weeks before.

Free.

Right.

I didn’t let my mind go to how free and right I felt or why. I just let myself feel it, let the wind whip away my worries, let the pipes drown out anything in my head. I held on and enjoyed the ride.

We got to Racine’s all too soon. Shy parked, I swung a leg over, he swung a leg over, and he grabbed my hand. He held it as we walked to the restaurant, and he kept hold of it as we were shown to our table. He only let me go when we were seated.

We got our coffee and ordered before Shy spoke.

“So what was it?” he asked.

I put my coffee cup down on the table and asked back, “What was what?”

“You feelin’ shit,” he said. “Headache, flu, what?”

I looked him in the eye and decided on honesty.

“It was nothing. Tyra made excuses. I just didn’t feel up to a hog roast and I didn’t feel up to anyone poking and prodding about why I wasn’t up for a hog roast. So I stayed home.”

He held my eyes a beat before he said softly, “That’s cool.”

It was cool he thought that was cool.

He was just plain cool.

And sweet.

Him being so cool and sweet, I decided it was time so I went for it.

“Now that I’ve got you, I just wanted to say, belatedly, thank you for dropping everything and coming to get me that night. You… I… well, I needed that night to go a certain way, it was going the wrong way, and you were there for me. I… everyone… well, I needed to get drunk and play pool and sing songs from musicals and you made that safe for me. It was what I needed, and ever since you gave it to me, I’ve wanted to say thank you and now… well, now I can. So thank you.”

There.

Good.

I’d finally gotten the chance to say what I needed to say, and although I mostly stammered, I still said it and I was glad I did.

Shy took a sip of his coffee, put his mug down on the table, sat back, looked at me, and commenced with rocking my world.

“Pleased I could give that to you, Tabby. It’s what you need, it’s what I’m here to give you. Know that. Wish I had someone to give me somethin’ like that when my parents were murdered, so I’m glad I can give it to you.”

Luckily I wasn’t taking a sip of coffee or I would not only have spit it on him but I also would have choked on it.

“Pardon?” I whispered and his head jerked slightly but his eyes grew sharp on me.

“You didn’t know?” he asked.

Heck no, I didn’t know.

“No, I didn’t know,” I answered out loud.

He looked to the side and muttered, “The brothers didn’t share.”

The brothers certainly did not share.

I didn’t express this, I stayed silent.

Shy didn’t.

He told me his heart-wrenching story.

“New Year’s Eve, I was twelve. My brother and me were at the babysitter’s spending the night there ’cause my parents were goin’ out. Mom was home gettin’ ready. Dad was at the liquor store pickin’ up a bottle of champagne. Guy came in to rob the store, popped the clerk, popped my dad. Took the cash from the register, the clerk’s wallet, Dad’s wallet and keys, and he took off in Dad’s car. Don’t know for sure but I figure no one’s luck is that f*cked up so I also figure that means some other random motherf*cker didn’t do my mom. In other words, it stands to reason the same guy used Dad’s license to find our house, his key to get in. He got in, popped Mom, took everything he could shove into our car, and took off. Cops got a lock on the shit he pawned a few days later. Found our car three weeks later two states away. Never found him.”