I pack my bag and check the room over to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything as Pax hands me his jacket.
“You have to wear it until you have one of your own.”
“Fuck that, you said one condition and I’m good in my sweater, thanks, now let’s get moving… I want to meet your family so bad!”
He grabs my wrist and stops me abruptly.
“Wear it, or I am not taking you to meet them, it’s that simple.”
I can tell by his tone he means it, so I snatch the jacket from his hand, throw it on and follow him out to the bikes.
“Just be careful on the back roads and ride behind me… oh and make sure you don’t hit the throttle too hard, the Ninja has a strong kickback to it, unlike the Hog.”
I lift my visor and stick out my tongue.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve ridden on the back a million times.”
“That’s not the same and you know it. And you’d better not get the urge to try to race me either, Vix, understand?”
I nod and roll my eyes, not that he can see me through the tinted visor as I climb on the Ninja and start the engine. Pax looks hella hot on the Harley, his tattered t-shirt and inked sleeves make him look like even more of a man-beast than usual.
I wait for him to pull out in front of me and then hit the clutch and ease up on the throttle as the bike jolts forward scaring the shit out of me, and I slam hard on the brake. Stopping, Pax walks the Harley backward, gets off, and removes his helmet.
“See… I told you, and I think you need a lesson.”
“I don’t need a damn lesson. Just get on the Harley before I make you walk!”
He growls and knocks on the side of my helmet like an ass but finally gets back on his bike as I follow him very slowly. He’s doing less than 20mph, and it annoys me, so I rev the engine, hoping he’ll pick up the pace.
I feel like he’s screwing with me, testing my patience, so I speed up and go around him, flipping him the bird as I do.
He speeds up, his engine’s deep rumbling vibrates through my head as he passes and wags his finger at me.
I give in and let him take the lead, satisfied he’s going 50mph now as we head down a heavily tree-lined road. I wonder what his family will be like and hope they will like me. I have no clue what to expect, although it’s crossed my mind that they could live in tents since that’s how Pax used to live. I’m fine with whatever I’m heading into; as long as I’m with Pax I’m sure it will be okay. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I watch the right signal on Pax’s bike come on as he turns onto a dirt road barely visible from the street. It’s thick dense bush all around us and if I’m honest, it’s kind of creepy. We travel another forty minutes until we hit a field and up ahead, I see a cabin just as weathered as everything else in this town.
It’s small and looks abandoned, with tarps half covering the windows and sleeping bags hanging on a clothesline. I’m positive it’s straight out of a horror movie, but then again, so was his childhood. All of theirs was.
Eight
Welcome Home
Pax pulls over just outside the fence and hops off his bike as I park mine and remove my helmet. My heart is pounding with excitement. Or fear… could be both as I take in the smell of the campfire smoke that rises from behind the cabin.
“Are you ready?” Pax asks, offering his hand.
“Am I ever not ready? As long as I don’t have to dodge liquor bottles or vases, I think I can handle meeting your family.”
He smiles as if I’m in for a surprise and drags me through the field until we reach the entrance and then he stops and pulls my lips to his. The kiss is like nothing I’ve ever felt; he’s gentle and controlled with his tongue. It’s a different connection with him almost as if he’s showing me a different side of him.
I inhale sharply when he stops and he smiles wide. I can tell he’s proud. I don’t know if it’s me that makes him proud or his family, but seeing him so happy is riveting.
He opens the door and glances around as I step in behind him and take in the surroundings. It’s small and scattered with mismatched furnishings, blankets, and décor. To the left is the kitchen. It’s falling apart, literally. The cupboards are hanging off the hinges and the stove looks like it’s from 1950 and rusted badly. The living room is to the right, but it also seems to serve as a bedroom with a curtain dividing it down the center, and straight back is a hallway with two rooms.
“They must be out back cooking breakfast. Come,” he says, dragging me down the hall. “This is the washroom,” he informs, nudging one door open, “and this is Ken and Verna’s room.”
I peek inside and hold my composure, trying not to cringe at the mattress that sits on the floor. It too is surrounded by old worn-down furnishings that look like they were hauled from the dump.
“It’s lovely… antique-ish,” I say, trying not to sound judgmental.
“We both know it’s a pile of shit,” he laughs, “just be honest around them, Vix. No one here holds any judgment.”
“Good to know.”
I smile at his humorous face as he shows me to
