Jay Crownover - Riveted

It made me want to cry for what could be and for what should be. It made me hurt for both of us because even though my heart was invested and his wasn’t I knew Church deserved more than a life spent alone staggering through the dark.

By some miracle the bike stayed upright and neither one of us went flying off the seat and into a field of corn. Church pulled the motorcycle over onto the shoulder of the highway and propped the heavy machine up on the kickstand so that we both could climb off and catch our breath. Big trucks continued to zoom by oblivious to the near-death experience that left us both shaken and rattled.

Church ripped his helmet off and glared down the highway like his fury alone was enough to stop the reckless driver in his tracks so that vengeance and quite possibly an ass kicking could be doled out. He shifted his furious gaze to me and put the helmet on the seat of the bike so that he could catch me when I started to wilt to the ground. My legs wouldn’t hold me up anymore and my spine felt like Jell-O as I folded towards the asphalt.

I was shaking so hard that he had to struggle to find a good grip on my arms to keep me upright. “It’s okay, Dixie. I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

I couldn’t do it anymore. The space was too much. I needed his strength and his quiet confidence to keep me from falling apart on the side of the road.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face into the center of his chest. I could hear his heart beating just as fast as mine was but while I quaked and quivered, struggling not to cry, he stood sturdy and strong, unruffled and as cool and calm as always. He was like a tree standing tall and unmoved after a terrible storm. There was so much comfort in that steady self-assurance that my legs quit trembling and my lungs remembered how to work.

I breathed him in and exhaled the terror and panic out. I thought he was going to stand there immobile and immovable but his hold shifted from my upper arms so that one arm wrapped around my shoulders clutching me to him almost as tightly as I was clinging to his waist, while the other moved so that one of his hands was cradling the back of my head, helmet and all. He held me to him letting me know that if pieces started to break off if I did indeed shatter, he was there to catch them and put them back in place. It was singularly the most important and most impactful hug of my entire life.

After a few minutes of headlights hitting us and exhaust fumes choking us I gave him one last hug for good measure and pulled back enough that I could look up and barely make out his features in the shadows.

“I totally believe that it’s in your best interest to keep me alive, Church. I’m having serious doubts other motorists feel the same way. That was way too close for comfort.” My voice was slightly shaky and the humor I attempted was forced at best.

He gave a little nod of agreement. “Way too close. If I hadn’t been paying attention that would have been bad … really bad.” I appreciated the fact he didn’t sugarcoat things for me. I hated the fact that he seemed to be taking some sort of responsibility for the poor driving habits of someone else when he told me, “I shouldn’t have asked you to take this trip with me. I should have just bought you a plane ticket and met you at the airport. I’m used to the risk and I was being selfish and shortsighted as usual.”

I lifted a hand from his waist to the side of his face. His cheek was warm despite the chill from the night air around us. He also had the start of a golden scruff that made him look even more attractive … if that was possible. His jaw felt like steel under the tips of my fingers but the curve of his bottom lip was soft as I ran the pad of my thumb over it. The touch must have startled him because his lips opened on a soundless sigh and his breath whispered out to touch my fingers.

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