more than one motorcycle at a time to pass through. Ian slowed down, allowing me to pull ahead of him. “When are you going to stop trying to protect me?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied with what I was sure was his trademark smirk across his face.
He was lucky. There was no time to argue, or for me to make any kind of evasive move to counteract his chivalry as I had done on occasions too numerous to describe. No, there was only time to let him do what he did best. Protect me. Love me. And the only thing I could do was the one thing I had been preventing myself from doing all along. I would let him.
I gunned it, forcing the motorcycle to lurch forward. In front of me, I could make out the dirt path we would take on our way to the roadway; the silhouettes of the pine trees appeared like shadows in the night. Closer, closer, closer. The chilled air streamed in, hitting my nose. Breathing it in, I caught the smell of the earth, of fresh grass, of pine. It’s funny how you fail to realize how much you miss even the little things in life.
When the front wheel of my motorcycle rolled over the threshold, a shot rang out. Almost immediately, my bike gave way underneath me, throwing my body into the air. The instant I struck the ground, I felt the wind being knocked out of me as momentum caused my helpless body to tumble over the ground, where I struck tree roots and rocks before I came to rest.
“Celaine!” Ian shouted.
My head spun, my body ached, but a part of me didn’t mind. We’d made it. From here on out, any amount of pain, any agony we would endure would be because of the choices we had made and not because our strings were being manipulated by some demented puppet master. Our lives were ours again; our triumphs would be our own; our mistakes would be in our own hands. I heard Ian’s frenzied footsteps pounding the ground as the ringing in my ears subsided, and the world around me stilled.
“Are you okay?” he asked, stooping down on the ground next to me. All I could do was cough in response as the air returned to my lungs. “Celaine, are you injured? Try to speak to me.”
“See,” I made out between coughs, “this is what happens when you try to protect me. So I suggest you stop trying.”
Ian rolled his eyes, chuckling softly. “That’s never going to happen, so I suggest you stop fighting me.”
He held out his hand, which I took. Slowly, I sat up and assessed myself, unable to find anything critically wrong, yet knowing that I would probably wake up to various bumps and bruises the next morning. “Where’s the bike?”
“It’s over there,” Ian motioned with his head. “Near mine.”
“Is it still drivable?” I asked, concerned. “Did you see how badly it was damaged?”
“No,” he answered. “I was a little more concerned about you at the time than I was about the motorcycle.”
In a great deal of pain, I stood up and half-jogged, half-staggered over to my motorcycle and lifted it up to inspect the damage. A bullet hole was evident in the plastic trim on the back, with yet another near the seat. Neither looked as though they’d been capable of disabling it. Relieved, I mounted the bike and typed in my code to start it, practically jumping for joy when it roared to life without fail. Beside me, Ian started his motorcycle, revving its engine. We glanced at each other, nodding in unison.
Moments later, we tore through the trees to destinations unknown. There was no time to reflect back on where we’d come from, nor was there really a strong desire to do so. No, we would never look back again. From this point on, there was only room for forward momentum, where the past was left to rot in the past and the future stood on the horizon to greet us.
Chapter Twelve
The Game-Changer
“We have The Woodland Lodge booked, the caterers picked out, and the invitations have been mailed,” Paige said, going down her task list. “We still need to decide on a
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied with what I was sure was his trademark smirk across his face.
He was lucky. There was no time to argue, or for me to make any kind of evasive move to counteract his chivalry as I had done on occasions too numerous to describe. No, there was only time to let him do what he did best. Protect me. Love me. And the only thing I could do was the one thing I had been preventing myself from doing all along. I would let him.
I gunned it, forcing the motorcycle to lurch forward. In front of me, I could make out the dirt path we would take on our way to the roadway; the silhouettes of the pine trees appeared like shadows in the night. Closer, closer, closer. The chilled air streamed in, hitting my nose. Breathing it in, I caught the smell of the earth, of fresh grass, of pine. It’s funny how you fail to realize how much you miss even the little things in life.
When the front wheel of my motorcycle rolled over the threshold, a shot rang out. Almost immediately, my bike gave way underneath me, throwing my body into the air. The instant I struck the ground, I felt the wind being knocked out of me as momentum caused my helpless body to tumble over the ground, where I struck tree roots and rocks before I came to rest.
“Celaine!” Ian shouted.
My head spun, my body ached, but a part of me didn’t mind. We’d made it. From here on out, any amount of pain, any agony we would endure would be because of the choices we had made and not because our strings were being manipulated by some demented puppet master. Our lives were ours again; our triumphs would be our own; our mistakes would be in our own hands. I heard Ian’s frenzied footsteps pounding the ground as the ringing in my ears subsided, and the world around me stilled.
“Are you okay?” he asked, stooping down on the ground next to me. All I could do was cough in response as the air returned to my lungs. “Celaine, are you injured? Try to speak to me.”
“See,” I made out between coughs, “this is what happens when you try to protect me. So I suggest you stop trying.”
Ian rolled his eyes, chuckling softly. “That’s never going to happen, so I suggest you stop fighting me.”
He held out his hand, which I took. Slowly, I sat up and assessed myself, unable to find anything critically wrong, yet knowing that I would probably wake up to various bumps and bruises the next morning. “Where’s the bike?”
“It’s over there,” Ian motioned with his head. “Near mine.”
“Is it still drivable?” I asked, concerned. “Did you see how badly it was damaged?”
“No,” he answered. “I was a little more concerned about you at the time than I was about the motorcycle.”
In a great deal of pain, I stood up and half-jogged, half-staggered over to my motorcycle and lifted it up to inspect the damage. A bullet hole was evident in the plastic trim on the back, with yet another near the seat. Neither looked as though they’d been capable of disabling it. Relieved, I mounted the bike and typed in my code to start it, practically jumping for joy when it roared to life without fail. Beside me, Ian started his motorcycle, revving its engine. We glanced at each other, nodding in unison.
Moments later, we tore through the trees to destinations unknown. There was no time to reflect back on where we’d come from, nor was there really a strong desire to do so. No, we would never look back again. From this point on, there was only room for forward momentum, where the past was left to rot in the past and the future stood on the horizon to greet us.
Chapter Twelve
The Game-Changer
“We have The Woodland Lodge booked, the caterers picked out, and the invitations have been mailed,” Paige said, going down her task list. “We still need to decide on a
Similar Books
