Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Sorry?” Ryan laughs. “Does that mean you’re going to stop? Does that mean you’ll let her go?”
Even in the dream, I can’t lie. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
As Ryan slices with the blade, my eyes snap open. I suck in a trembling breath, feeling like I just almost drowned. I’m covered in sweat. It takes me far too long to realize that Kay is gone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kayla
I sneaked out of the tent as Kai slept, using my phone as a flashlight to find my notebook. Sitting on the log where we ate our cold dinner, I read over the lines, the desperation, the silly girl who believed her crush would notice her, want her. Those happily-ever-afters in the bedtime stories—she thought—weren’t just for her characters. I read what I wrote the other night, too. I’m unsure why I even added to it after all these years.
I try to tear out the pages, but they seem special. They seem to justify this somehow if I let my mind dance in that direction. Surely, that means something if I knew I wanted him since before he could ever want me. Surely, it has some significance. Or maybe I’m just clawing for reasons.
Ryan’s at home, involved in a biker war. The last one was before I was born, and I remember the stories about the lives lost. I remember the faraway and deadly look Dad got in his eyes the rare times it was mentioned in his presence.
There’s nothing I can do, no way home unless I steal Kai’s keys or a car. Or find somewhere with enough civilization to have a car rental place. Then what? Drive home, fight the war, or convince Ryan to leave? He’d never leave the club.
“Kay,” Kai calls out softly from the tent.
“I’m okay. I’m out here.”
“Get in the tent.” He sighs as if tired of bossing me around. “Please.”
“I’m coming.”
Quickly replacing the notebook, I return to the tent.
Apart from anything else, this trip has shown me how beautiful the country is. We’ve gone from the dusty landscape of Cali to yellow grass prairies in Nebraska, miles and miles of them all around us, gleaming golden in the sun.
I wrap my arms tightly around Kai, knowing we’re going in the wrong direction. We should turn around and start speeding home. Instead, we’re going to collect the most beautiful gift anybody has ever thought to give me.
I can feel Kai’s passion burning through his jacket, his muscles pressing through the leather. I know I can’t, but I’m almost convinced of it each time we go over a bump in the road. He’s tense as hell and has been all morning.
We didn’t speak much as we ate a light breakfast of crackers. We did kiss, wordlessly moving closer together, captivated with each other as we sunk into the pleasure. We gave ourselves to it completely for a few minutes, with me rocking on top of him. Then he groaned, grabbed my hips, and lifted me as though I weighed nothing.
I yell when the animal darts from the tall grasslands. Some grass is over four feet tall, and the animal appears from the shadows. It looks like some kind of fox. It runs straight in front of Kai’s wheel like it has a death wish.
“Fuck,” he grunts, adjusting and rolling straight into a large stone that bucks at the momentum. We judder up and down and speed toward the edge of the road. “Relax, Kay. I’m not going to crash.”
He adjusts again, jerking the bike, his casual tone entirely at odds with the high-speed driving he’s performing. Once he’s leveled out, he slowly stops the bike.
“It’s like some animals want to die,” he says, pulling up at the side of the road.
“I know. That was crazy.”
“I’m going to give the bike a once-over.”
We step off the bike, taking off our helmets. The fox—if that’s what it was—is gone. This time, I can’t resist the urge to reach up and brush his wild hair from his forehead. He acknowledges it with a brief smile, and I wonder what a romance this would be.
A lifetime made of tiny moments,
Rarely acknowledged but brighter.
Each time they go unspoken,
And blinding the few times they reach our lips.
“Storage opened when I was jostling us around,” Kai says, nodding down the road.
He starts walking before I spot it. It looks like the pink cover of the notebook, but I hope I’m wrong because he already has it in his hand when my slow mind catches up to what’s happening. It’s already fallen open to the page it always falls to—the one I’ve read the most over the years, the declarations.
He carries it to the edge of the empty road, staring down. His entire body has become even more tense than before. I keep expecting him to tear the notebook clean down the middle, his hands trembling.