He looks gorgeous.
“Now I’m really starting to think you’re not joking about being a stalker,” I say, and even I can hear the exhaustion in my voice.
“Went to your house, Rae said you were working, so I came and waited for you.”
I blink. “You went to my house?”
“Sure, I wanted to take you somewhere.”
He does?
Why?
“Can I ask why?”
He rolls his eyes. “Do you question everything? We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“I’m not really sure, considering I still barely know you.”
He winks. “Well, you will after this, so saddle up, we’re going for a ride.”
“It’s midnight, Jack,” I say, stretching. “Where could you possibly want to go at midnight?”
“Come on, Baylee, where’s your sense of adventure? There has to be one in there somewhere.”
It used to be in there. Wild. Crazy. I was as free as they came, until him. Until York. Now I’m just Baylee. I don’t remember who I was. I don’t know how to let go of the fear that keeps its hold around my heart. I don’t know how to let anyone in. Honestly, I’ve forgotten what trust feels like.
“I’m not the girl you think I am, Jack,” I say softly, holding his eyes. “Believe me when I tell you that.”
He keeps my gaze when he says, “I don’t care. You can come and not say a word. You can never laugh. You can be whoever it is you’ve convinced yourself you are. I’m just asking for you to come with me, and give me a chance to be your friend.”
I study him. “That’s it?”
I could swear I see something flash in his eyes, something that looks a little like disappointment, but, instead, he holds his smile and says, “That’s it. Now come on, I don’t get to take the bikes out often, are you up for it or what?”
I stare at the candy-apple-red bike, and my heart stutters. I’ve never been on a bike. Never. Not once. I’ve always wanted to. Who hasn’t? The sleek, gorgeous machine sits perfectly on the curb, screaming to be ridden. I look back to Jack. “Okay,” I say, letting my guard down just a little. “I’ll come with you. But if you kill me on that thing, I’ll come back to haunt you.”
He laughs. “Sounds like a fair deal. Here.”
He tosses me a helmet, and I catch it, staring down at the ugly, chunky thing. “I’m supposed to wear this? I feel like my head won’t even be able to hold it up.”
He chuckles. “I promise it will, and I promise you’ll look amazing in it.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
He grins, pulls a helmet on and turns, throwing a leg over the bike. God he looks good on it, his lean, muscled body just seemingly right at home on the black leather seat. He crooks a finger at me, and hesitantly I move towards the bike. “You promise you’re not a serial killer, rapist, or any other such scum of the earth?”
He puts both hands up, holding the bike up just with his legs on the ground. “I promise. A stalker is the only thing I am, and you can’t say you didn’t know that. I’ve been fairly honest about it.”
I want to laugh.
God, it feels good to want to laugh.
“Okay, but just know, I can fight. I might be little, but I will beat you if I have to.”
He nods, and I can see his eyes flash with humour, even beneath his helmet. “I’ll keep note of that.”
“Okay.”
I tuck my phone and keys into my pocket and climb onto the back of the bike, putting myself as far back from him as possible without it seeming like I’m purposely trying to not touch him. But truthfully, I am. I can smell him, even from here, and he smells amazing. His body seems bigger this close up, and it scares me. Everything about him scares me.
“Arms around my waist,” he says, reaching back and tugging my arm forward, forcing my body closer until I’m basically pressed against him.
He reaches back, taking my other arm and pulling it around him, too. I’ve got no choice. He’s going to make me hang on.
“I know it’s weird,” he says, his voice full of way too much humour. “But you have to hold on, otherwise you might come off, and we don’t want you haunting me, now do we?”
I smile beneath my helmet.
He’s smooth—there’s no denying that.
I hang on, even though everything inside me is screaming that this is a bad idea and I should get off this bike. Everything except my heart, the tiny piece of it still intact, is peeking out and begging me to just give this a go. Just one chance. I might just be surprised. Maybe Jack can heal the hurt.
I push that part back down.
But I keep hanging on.
I need a friend; above all else, I need a friend. Someone who doesn’t know. Someone who is looking at me through innocent eyes. Someone who is just going to accept me for the person I am right now, and no one else. Yes, I need a friend like that. I came here for a new life, and that’s what I’m going to try and do. Even if it’s hard.
And it is hard.
It terrifies me.
But I have to at least try.
~*~*~*~
It takes me a few minutes to get myself feeling comfortable on the back of the bike, mostly because I’m nervous about my hands being wrapped around what is, without a doubt, one of the best looking men I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. His body is hard and warm, and it feels incredible pressed against my chest.
Safe, even.
When I finally ease up and exhale the breath it feels like I’ve been holding for more than a few minutes, I realise how incredible this feeling is. The bike hums beneath me, rumbling with an angry, yet beautiful sound. The road is quiet, it’s dark and there is no one around. It’s just Jack and me.
And nothing else.
This is what I imagine being free feels like.
Just the bike, the road, and the man that makes your heart skip a beat.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the worries of the world disappear from my chest. They live there most days, like a weight, wearing me down until it feels like I can’t cope any longer. I’ve forgotten how it feels to not have them there, to just feel free. To breathe without pain.
Here, on this bike, it feels like nothing can touch me.
I close my eyes, and for a moment, I just let the sensation take over. I let it penetrate deep, relishing in it for as long as I possibly can before reality comes crashing back down. And it will—the second Jack drops me home, my reality will come flooding back. But for now, in this moment, it’s just me, Jack and this bike.
And nothing or no one else.
It’s a moment I’ll never forget.
Jack comes to a stop after about twenty minutes, turning onto a smooth but dirt road. He goes slowly down it, and I realize we’re going into some sort of bushland. He keeps riding until we come to a clearing and an empty parking lot. A look out of some sort, perhaps? He stops the bike, and with a long exhale, I climb off and pull my helmet from my head, placing it on the seat.
Jack does the same and then turns to me. “Shoes off.”
I stare down at my shoes. “Pardon?”
“Shoes, kick them off.”
“Why?”
He grins. “Trust me?”
I narrow my eyes, but I kick my shoes off anyway. He winks and then holds a hand out to me. I stare at it, for a beat too long, and in a careful voice, he says, “I promise you can trust me, Baylee. I’m sure plenty of people have said that to you before, but I promise you, you can believe me when I say it.”
I meet his eyes, then I extend a shaky hand and place it in his. Smooth, calloused fingers curl around mine and he tugs gently, pulling me in step beside him. We walk towards the trees and I see a small, worn path ahead. He leads us to it, and we make our way down it for a few minutes, coming out on a cliff top.
“Are you going to throw me off this cliff?” I say, my voice light.
He laughs. “No, but I am going to tell you to close your eyes.”<
br />
I stare at him again, skeptical. “Seriously, we’re on the edge of a cliff and you want me to close my eyes? I don’t know, Jack.”
I’m teasing him, because, somewhere deep inside, I feel like I can trust Jack and I know he won’t do anything to hurt me. Nothing screams at me that he’s a bad person, or an untrustworthy person. The only thing I feel around him is surprisingly safe.
“Trust me,” he says, squeezing my hand.
I do as he asks, and I close my eyes. He carefully walks us forward, one hand in mine, the other across his body, holding onto my arm. He leads us a fair few metres, then he says to me, “This is my happy place. We all have one, I guess. When I used to get angry, or I ever needed to think, I’d come here. But it only works on nights when the moon is full. You’ll see why. It’s showing up tonight, sometimes it doesn’t.”
“You bring all your friends here, then?”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “You’re the only person I’ve ever brought here.”
My heart flutters. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay.”
He releases his hand, and I stare forward, all the breath being sucked from my lungs. The view in front of me is ... spectacular. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen in my life. The most beautiful, breathtaking thing I’ve had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.
The cliff drops off to a long, narrow stream of water. It runs for as far as the eye can see, and the moon, as if it knew we were coming, is sitting right at the end of where the water disappears, big and round, beautiful and full, resting on the water like it’s floating there. It casts its glow down over the water. Trees run up either side of the river, streaming their shadows down over it, too.
What is presented is, without a doubt, the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.
“Jack,” I breathe, pressing a hand to my heart. “It’s ... it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and soft. “It is, isn’t it?”
“How did you find this place?”
“We used to swim down there—” he points a thumb down at the water. “And then they created a lookout back where we parked, but not many people know about this track that leads down. Believe it or not, I was drunk one day and stumbled down here for a piss and nearly died.”
I smile, shaking my head softly. “Of course you’d have to nearly die to find this kind of beauty.”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “It would have been worth it, though. Sit.”
He tugs my arm lightly and we both sit down. I shuffle away just a little when my leg grazes his. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, he just stares straight ahead with a thoughtful look on his face. I glance at his profile, loving the way his face seems so chiselled and masculine in the moonlight. He’s a picture of perfection, without a doubt.
“Tell me something,” he says, finally turning and looking at me. “Tell me a story.”
I purse my lips for a moment, and then answer with, “What kind of story do you want to hear?”
He shrugs his shoulders just slightly. “Anything. Tell me something funny, or serious, or crazy. So long as it’s about you, I want to hear it.”
I’m smiling huge on the inside.
“Well,” I begin, crossing my legs. “I don’t have any family.”
He glances over at him. “You have your sister?”
I give him a sheepish expression. “Actually, she’s not biologically my sister,” I tell him, feeling bad that I let him think she was.
“Oh. Is she a cousin or something?”
“Or something,” I say softly. “Anyway, I lost both of my parents, and I didn’t have any siblings. So I don’t have any family.”
“God. Baylee.” His voice drops low. “That’s terrible. My family drives me crazy, but I’d be lost without them.”
My chest tightens. I can only imagine what it would be like to have a large family and all the craziness and fights and drama that come along with them. The cookouts, the birthday parties, all of it. I’d do anything to feel that. Anything to experience that. I press a hand to my stomach, knowing there might be a chance I never will.
And that really sucks.
“Yeah, it’s hard,” I admit, tucking my legs up to my chest and hugging them close. “Especially around Christmas, you know?”
“Yeah, I can imagine. You should come to the cookout my family is having tomorrow night.”
I glance over at him. “At the club?”
He nods. “Yeah, we have one every few weeks. It’s a way for everyone to get together. All my friends will be there, they’re amazing. You would like them, and they may or may not have heard a bit about you.”
I stare at him. “Me? Why?”
He grins. “Well, you tortured me for a while when I was chasing after you trying to get you to talk to me. They heard about it. They thought it was a bit funny, to be honest, because I don’t get rejected often.”
I blink at him, then roll my eyes. He laughs. “It would have done you good, then.”
“It did, believe me.” He chuckles. “But anyway, now you’re finally letting me in—”
“As a friend,” I point out.
“As a friend,” he confirms, his voice a little tight. “They want to meet you.”
“Okay, well, I have to check my schedule,” I say quietly, feeling strangely bad that I seemed to have upset him. It shouldn’t matter that I said we’re friends. Because we are.
That’s all I can be to him, even if he doesn’t like it.
“Shoot me a text and let me know. Come on, I should get you home. You’re probably exhausted.”
He stands, dusts off his jeans, and reaches down, offering me his hand. I stare at the long, calloused fingers, and my heart flutters. Then I reach out and take them, letting his warmth close around my palm as he pulls me up. I stumble forward and my hands instantly go out, landing on his chest to stop myself falling.
And I swear, it feels like the world stops.
I look up at him, and for a long, incredibly intense moment, we just stare at each other.
What is this feeling? It’s like my heart is asking for me to trust this man I barely know, and yet everything else inside me is telling me my heart is wrong. I know it’s wrong.
Right?
How can it be asking me to trust a perfect stranger?
I step back quickly, letting my hands drop to my sides. Then I turn, walking far too quickly out of the path that leads us here. Jack follows, not saying a great deal, but I can feel the intensity between us. It’s out of this world. I can barely breathe, the air is so thick. We reach his bike, and I lift the helmet, jerking it down over my head before he manages to get a look at my face.
Will my face tell him what I’m feeling?
He stares at me for a second. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and then he climbs onto the bike, and I quickly slide on behind him.
The ride home is a good deal tenser than the ride in, and when we pull up at my place, I just want to get inside and get away from this nagging feeling tugging at my chest. But when I glance at my house, I can hear voices coming from inside. I instantly go on high alert. What is that? Better yet, who is that?
“You expecting someone?” Jack asks, his eyes fixed on my house.
“No.”
That’s the truth.
He takes my hand and tugs me forward. “Best we see who is in there, then.”
God.
This can’t be good.
CHAPTER 9
NOW – BAYLEE
“What the hell, Rae?” I snap, glaring around the trashed house.
Rae sits on the couch in front of me, shooting daggers at Jack instead of me. He’s shooting them right back, big arms crossed over his chest. There are two other girls sitting beside her, completely wasted, and two men leaning against the back of the couch, also wasted.
I fear from more than just alcohol.
My stomach twists. Drugs. Something I’ve tried so hard to run from.
&nb
sp; “You’re pregnant,” I hiss. “Did you think of that?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not fucking drinking, Baylee. I’m just having friends over.”
A familiar feeling rises in my chest, it’s the same feeling I used to get when York told me nothing was wrong. It’s that feeling that shrieks at you that something is wrong. That they’re not telling the truth. That you shouldn’t just overlook it. But right now, I have to. I need to get these people out of my house, and I need to clean it up.
“This is my house,” I snap, tired and irritated. “I work my ass off for this place, to keep a roof over your head. For crying out loud. Can you think of anyone else but yourself for a single, god damned second?”
She blinks at me, her mouth dropping open slightly. I’m angry. I can’t stop the bubbling feeling in my chest. The one that wants to spill over and just be done with the young, frustrating girl sitting in front of me.
“You’re hot,” one of the drunk girls slurs, looking at Jack. “Want to take me home?”
Jack gives her a dirty look, and mutters, “Rather lick a fucking toilet seat. You got a ride home?”
He asks the last question to the group in general.
“No,” one of the men says, giving Jack the stink eye. It’s probably his girlfriend hitting on him.
“Well, I suggest you call a cab,” Jack says, keeping those arms crossed. “Now.”
“Got no cash, bro.”
Jack shoots the man a look that has even me taking a step back. “Well, that ain’t my problem. This isn’t your house. I’ll give you ten to get out, or I’ll make you get out.”
The man straightens, and I flinch, fear coursing down my spine. “What did you say to me?”
Jack doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t back down. “I didn’t stutter. You’ve got nine minutes left, now.”
The man eyes him, and for a moment, I feel like he’s going to start a fight, but surprisingly, he just mutters a few curse words and pulls out a phone, calling someone. While he’s doing that, Jack looks to me. “I’m making a call, get someone to help clean this mess up.”