Chapter 26: JOSLIN

Chapter Twenty-Six

JOSLIN

T he old Joslin died the night I killed my husband. I didn’t know who I was when I stumbled out into the middle of the desert. For all I know, the old Joslin burned up in the desert sun. For all I know, she really is dead and this reborn Joslin doesn’t feel like anyone I ever met before.

She killed the man who abused her, she refused to return to the mother who never put herself first, and she’s about to ride off on the back of a mad man’s motorcycle…

If there’s one thing I learned about being a so-called “church girl” is that I don’t have all the answers.

I just know that I don’t want to be alone.

This man could have easily killed me, but he didn’t. More than that, he wants to protect me. And I want to trust him, even if it might be crazy to trust anyone after what I’ve been through.

I don’t have enough experience to know what happens next. I look at Ryder, and it’s like he can read my mind.

“I have a plan, church girl. You, me, Las Vegas.”

“You haven’t had a Vegas wedding before, have you?”

“Nope. But I’ve dreamed of one and been a biker long enough to know how it works.”

“We just walk in with no identification and get married?”

“If you know where to go… yes.”

“Is it seedy?”

“I would never bring you anywhere seedy, church girl. Now… let’s get your ass on that bike before I do something else with it…”

He squeezes my ass with such possessive firmness that a shiver runs straight through me. Why the hell does Ryder make me feel like this? He’s everything I learned to stand against in church… yet I want to throw myself into him with all the force I can. I want to marry him. Strange as that decision might have seemed to my past self.

I don’t know about this tattoo thing but… he hasn’t reached for the flask in his pocket yet, which might be a record.

We don’t have much to pack, but Ryder doesn’t allow me to lift a finger. It feels strange compared to how things were with my first husband. I can’t stop myself from watching him as he packs documents up in the safe, sends a few text messages off and packs some clothes in a black duffel bag. He takes the flask out of his cut once he’s done and hands it to me with a serious expression on his face.

“The flask is an heirloom, but I won’t need it anymore. I meant what I said…”

I hold onto the flask, looking down at the inscription.

Randall Sinclair.

“Did this belong to your dad?”

“Yes,” he says. “He died.”

“So did mine.”

Ryder stops moving towards the door. He can’t allow me to have an emotion that he doesn’t acknowledge. I’ve never felt so seen. He wraps his arm around me and kisses the top of my forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know how it hurts.”

Then he slips his hand in mine and we leave the motel together, saying a brief goodbye to the lady at the front desk. His bike sits out front, ready to take on the highway all the way to Vegas. Once we’re outside, Ryder keeps looking over at me. Like he’s thinking of something.

“What?”

“Before we get married, we’ll need proper clothes. I want to see you in a wedding dress.”

I roll my eyes. He can’t be serious. We’re eloping in Las Vegas. The best I hoped for was a tiara. I didn’t get to pick the wedding dress for my first marriage, so it doesn’t make a difference to me.

“I don’t need a wedding dress.”

“Bullshit,” Ryder says. “What did you wear for your first wedding?”

“The church picked.”

“See?” Ryder says. “This time… It’ll be your choice. Helmet.”

I take the helmet from him and put it on. I feel like a goofy bobblehead at a county fair, but I also feel like my identity is a secret — which makes me feel a lot better. And I’m glad we aren’t going to Sedona…

Ryder puts his helmet on and mounts the bike. I struggle to get my legs over, but nestle against him. My heart pounds as I grab onto his back. Motorcycles scare the crap out of me. After what I’ve been through, nothing should scare me, but getting thrown off the back of Ryder’s death machine does. My grip on him tightens instinctively. His broad, muscular back moves and I can tell he’s trying to comfort me. His hips move backward into my body, giving me more of him to cling onto. He starts the bike and the vibrating between my thighs gets my fear started up. I cling to his cut and press the helmet into his back.

His scent calms me down — and how large he is. Ryder picks his feet up off the ground and the bike moves forward with smooth acceleration that perfectly aligns with my mounting fear. I grip him like a bug’s legs on a windowsill hanging on for dear life as he turns out of the motel parking lot and his speed rises from our dead stop to thirty miles per hour and then forty-five miles per hour as we get closer to the interstate.

Ryder maintains his speed for the next ten miles, which gives me time to adjust to being on the back of the bike. I have to lean with his turns and he moves slowly enough that he teaches me how to hang tight without me getting scared enough to pee my pants. The signs for Interstate 40 get larger as we approach the on ramp.

My heart feels like a giant toad leaping up and down my esophagus. We fly over a bump and I nearly squeeze the breath out of Ryder entirely. He can’t slow down and he definitely won’t now that we’re a mile away from the highway on ramp. Ryder speeds up slowly, but I can’t help my reaction. I have never experienced anything like this before.

After twenty minutes on the highway, I get used to the speed. And I like it. The drive to Vegas is only six hours long. I’ve never been to Nevada and even if it isn’t Denver… it’s far enough away from Arizona that each mile of highway feels like it puts me closer to freedom.

Two hours into our drive and I feel soothed by the rhythm of Ryder’s ride up I-49. He jerks me to attention when he leans the bike towards an exit that doesn’t look like it leads anywhere in particular. I see a highway sign for a Flying J… so it must be a chain of gas stations. That explains the stop…

Trusting Ryder so far has proven to be almost too good to be true. But maybe this is it — the end of my troubles. He slows the bike down to exit the highway and parks us behind the gas station. I don’t see any other bikes — just an eighteen-wheeler and an old maroon Chevy Colorado with a homeless man sleeping in the driver’s seat.

I hop off the bike first and take that helmet off because it’s making my head and neck hot as hell. Ryder follows, towering over me and casting some much needed shade over me. He smiles as he watches me fix up my hair.

“Did you get too scared?”

I shake my head. “Aren’t you stopping for gas?”

We didn’t park anywhere near the pumps.

“Nope,” he says. “I have no liquor in me. I’m going to try one of those energy drinks so I don’t kill us both.”

My eyes flash to his, but Ryder doesn’t seem like he’s joking. He has a solution to the drinking problem, so I guess it’s better that he does whatever it takes to stay awake.

“Okay,” I tell him. “That was pretty crazy.”

“I didn’t want to go too hard on you.”

He grabs my cheeks and kisses me. Finally. I didn’t know I would be so relieved until his lips touch mine. All the adrenaline built up from the ride rushes through me as warmth spreads from Ryder’s body straight through mine. I grab his jacket and pull him closer to me.

Ryder grins, cupping my cheeks and making me feel so damn good about this crazy ass adventure.

“We have a couple more hours to make sure we love each other enough to do this.”

“We barely know each other. We can’t be in love.”

“What’s it called when I knew from the second I saw you that I wouldn’t let you out of my sight? If you don’t call it love.”

“You call it being crazy.”

“Then I’m fucking crazy for you, Joslin. Now come on, church girl. I don’t want to leave you out here alone.”

He grabs my forearm and leads me into the Flying J. I’m strangely nervous, but I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the bike ride. Ryder strides confidently over to the fridge with all the energy drinks. The guy working at the gas station barely looks up from his phone and he doesn’t have the same energy as any of the bikers I’ve seen since meeting Ryder.

Ryder picks up three energy drinks.

“Do you need three?”

“Yes,” he says. “Otherwise, I’ll polish off a thirty rack and fuck things up between us. Can’t have that.”

I appreciate his determination, but three energy drinks still seems excessive. Ryder cracks one open before he checks out. The guy behind the counter doesn’t push back. Ryder looks like he’s been to jail and most people show him appropriate fear. He buys me chocolate milk and a bottle of water too before we walk outside.

“Finish that,” he says. “We’ll get proper food once we get to Vegas.”

I’ve never had chocolate milk before, but I’m too embarrassed to tell him. I crack the bottle open and try it. This tastes like candy. Really good candy. I keep drinking it as Ryder holds the door open for me. The homeless man in the Chevy stares at us dead on with a creepy, dead-eyed expression on his face. Ryder glares at him and he looks away again.

By the time we get back to the bike, I’m done with the chocolate milk and Ryder, to my dismay, has already polished off two energy drinks. Has he ever had one of these before?

“Helmet,” he grunts, handing me the helmet before I can get the words out. “We have enough gas to get to the Nevada border. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Did you finish that third drink?”

“Nope,” he says. “But I will.”

Ryder is about to be so high on caffeine that I almost wish I’d kept him on the liquor. He cracks open the third energy drink and my worry surges. This man…