Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

brIAR

S taring sightlessly at the ceiling, I realize I won't be sleeping tonight. I don't know why I even bothered to lie down when so much has happened. Even though it's one in the morning, my mind is wide awake, going over and over and over my new memories. I feel like I'm on a playground spinner that's tossing me around until I'm ready to puke.

After talking with Xander, we came back and decided just to have dinner at Saint's house. None of us felt like going out again, so we spent the evening talking, playing board games, and watching a cheesy action movie. It was perfect, and it kept my mind busy for a while.

Now, though, lying in bed is just giving my mind time to overanalyze everything to death. Sighing, I shove the covers off and reluctantly leave the warm bed. Anything is better than sitting here drowning in it all, so I pad to the door to my room in one of Malachi's black T-shirts and the stretchy shorts I wear under skirts at school.

Malachi and Saint are each in their own rooms, and Bastian and Xander are sharing a room. I decided to sleep alone so my restlessness wouldn't wake up anyone—and because I didn't want to have to choose between the Wyldharts and Saint. I was shocked when Malachi didn't put up a fight, but I think he could sense how much the day had affected me.

Quietly inching the door open, I slip out into the hallway. I move on silent feet down the stairs. I plan to head out the French door to the backyard. Something about being outside at night always calms me. When I reach the main floor, I see light spilling in from under the door to the garage. Curious who else is up, I creep toward it. As I get closer, I hear Hozier's "Work Song" playing.

Pushing open the garage door, I have to blink a few times to adjust to the bright lighting after being in mostly darkness for hours. When my eyes adjust, I see Saint lying on his back working on the underside of a motorcycle. He's shirtless, only wearing faded jeans streaked with grease and black boots.

I almost swallow my tongue as I get a good look at his ripped six-pack, defined pecs, bulging biceps, and drool-worthy V that disappears into his jeans. His muscles are flexing and bunching as he works, which is quite the show.

Saint also has two full sleeves of tattoos. From here, I can make out that one arm is covered in a black and gray winding vine with roses and thorns. The other one seems to be a collection of animals, with a howling wolf as the centerpiece. Cardinals, ravens, spectral dogs, and even an elephant are woven around the wolf. My heart squeezes at the rose and thorns tattoo. I'm pretty sure Saint got that one for me, but I wonder what the others mean.

Tearing my gaze away from his tattoos, I notice the large chunks of black, gray, and green plastic pieces scattered to the side of him. Wandering closer to get a better look, I wince as my weight causes the bottom step to creak loudly.

Saint bolts upright at the sound. Red magic glows in one of his hands as he hunts for the source of the noise. He lets out a relieved breath when he sees it's just me. I give him an awkward wave, which I regret instantly.

"What are you doin' here, little shadow?" Saint climbs to his feet and moves over to me. He stops when we're toe to toe, forcing me to tilt my head back to look at him. I feel the heat radiating off his naked chest. I unintentionally sway closer until we're practically touching. My cheeks burn when I realize I'm practically shoving myself into his bare abdomen.

I take a small step backward, trying to put distance between us again. "I couldn't sleep. Sorry if I'm bothering you."

"You're not. I was just surprised to see you is all. Do you not sleep well or is everything from today keeping you up?"

"A little from column A and a little from column B." I give him a small shrug. "What about you? Is working in your garage at one a.m. a normal thing for you?"

"Yeah. I haven't been able to sleep well for… a while." Saint rubs a hand over the back of his neck as he avoids my gaze. I can fill in what he's not saying, though. He hasn't been able to sleep since I left.

"I'm sorry, Saint," I whisper. He clearly doesn't want to talk about it, so I switch topics. "Whatcha doin'?"

He holds out his hand for me to take. I put my palm in his, enjoying the warmth on my cool skin. Saint tugs me over to the motorcycle that's in pieces and points to the large plastic pieces. "I took off the fairings and the gas tank to get a better look at some of the wiring. I've been having some weird issues with the bike. I want to see if I can fix it, or if I have to take it to a mechanic."

I nod like I have any idea what a fairing is or what it does. "What's a fairing?"

Saint grins at me. "It's those big plastic parts. They're on sports bikes to make them more aerodynamic. They cut through the wind and reduce drag. Some sport bikes have a naked variety without fairings."

"That's cool," I respond lamely and barely hold in a groan at myself. Can I respond not awkwardly to anything? "I didn't know you rode motorcycles."

Saint leans against the seat of the bike that's in pieces. "I didn't before you left."

"Oh. Why'd you get into it?"

He gives me a wry smile. "I had nothing else to do and wanted to feel something other than what I was feeling."

"I'm sorry, Saint." My heart hurts for him and how alone he must've felt. It's strange knowing him but not really knowing him. I have all these memories of the kid Saint used to be, but I don't really know who Saint the man is. I want to find out, though. "What type of bike is it?"

Saint gives the bike an affectionate pat on the handlebars. "She's a Kawasaki H2R. She's a liter bike with an inline four supercharged engine that tops out a little over two hundred miles an hour."

My jaw drops in shock. "Jesus fuck, that's fast."

Saint snorts. "Yeah. Very fast."

"Would you ever let me ride it?" I ask, even though I have no clue how to ride a motorcycle. Even if I did know, let's be real here. I'd probably suck so hard at it. Coordination isn't really my strong suit. Need someone to speed read a book? I'm your girl. Need someone to play a team sport? You're better off with a soggy potato chip as a teammate than me.

"Hell no," Saint replies automatically. My eyebrows rise at his vehemence. I can't decide if I'm offended or agree with him. "She's an overpowered death machine. There's no way I'd let you get on her, little shadow. Do you want to learn to ride?"

"Why do you get on it if it's a ‘death machine'? And, I mean, bikes are cool. I wouldn't mind knowing how to ride one." I can see it now. Briar the badass biker chick. Also known as Briar the absolute menace on the road. Same thing really.

"Because when I bought her, I wasn't concerned with safety. I just wanted to go as fast as I could to see if that could numb everything. I don't ride her too much anymore." Before I get a chance to ask him what he was trying to numb, he grabs my hand and pulls me along behind him further into his garage. We stop in front of a bright green bike and a slightly larger metallic dark gray one. Saint points to the florescent one. "Now this one, I'd be happy to teach you on."

I wrinkle my nose at the obnoxious color. "Why does it look like it escaped from a neon marker pack?"

Saint cracks up at my description. It takes him a moment to get his laughter under control to answer my question. "It's Kawasaki Racing Team green, also known as the KRT version. When I got a new Ninja 400, I figured I'd try the classic Kawasaki green. Lots of people love this color."

That's surprising because it's horrendous. I bet they can see this thing from space with how bright it is. "Well, I'm not one of them."

"Noted." Saint grins at me and shakes his head. "You wanna get on it?"

"Sure," I tell him with a shrug. There's probably not too much havoc I can cause by sitting on it.

Hopefully.

"All right. Go over to the left side of the bike and put a hand on each handlebar." I walk over to and do what he says. When I'm in position, he stops in front me and gestures to the lever in front of the right handlebar. "Now squeeze this lever. It controls the front brakes, which are around seventy percent of your stopping power. I park it in neutral in the garage, so you want to be on the brake to make sure it doesn't roll away while you try to get on. Then you can swing your right leg over the side."

I grab the lever and hear a clicking sound. Hoping I didn't hurt the pristine bike, I lay my stomach on the tank and swing my right leg over. Once I'm on it, I'm surprised by how big it feels under me. "Is this one smaller than the other one? Because it still feels like an absolute beast of a machine."

"Oh yeah, it's a ton smaller," Saint assures me. "It has a two-cylinder four-hundred-cc engine that tops out at around one hundred and twenty miles per hour. It's still a lot of fun to ride and makes for a great little track machine." It's endearing listening to him geek out about bikes. He was the same way about basketball when we were younger. He could rattle off basketball stats and plays crazy fast, and he always lit up when I'd listen to him nerd out about it.

"Track, like racing?"

"Yep. I'm obviously not a Moto GP racer or anything, but track days are a good way to learn new skills. The track and backroad twisties are my favorite places to ride now."

"That's still really cool." He gives me a crooked grin at my praise, which makes my heart skip a beat. Looking back down at the bike to hide my blush, I ask, "So, how do I ride this thingamajig?"

He points to the right handlebar first. "So, on the right you have your front brake lever and your throttle. You twist toward you to open the throttle and away to close it. By your right foot is your rear brake pedal. When you stop, you want to smoothly apply both the front and rear brake at the same time."

I experiment with twisting the throttle and applying the brakes. Saint lets me mess with everything for a moment before moving over to the left side. "Your left lever controls the clutch, which disconnects power to your real wheel. You have to pull it in to shift and to get the bike moving. By your left foot is the shift lever. This bike is one down five up, so you kick it down for first gear and up for second through sixth. Neutral is a half click down from second gear and half up from first."

I don't attempt to shift the bike, not wanting to mess up the gears when it's not moving. Giving the clutch an experimental pull, I think about trying to manage all the inputs at once. Good thing I heal fast because there's no way I could do all of that and not fail at it. "That's a lot to think about when you're riding."

"It is," Saint agrees, "but you get used to it with practice. I don't really have to think about shifting, rev matching, cornering, body position, trail braking, or any of the other technical stuff now. As a beginner, I dropped and laid down my bike a bunch trying to get everything right."

I awkwardly shift side to side on the bike a little, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do now. "So, should I turn it on and give it a try?"

"No, definitely not. You need a helmet and gear before you get on any of my bikes, either as a passenger or rider." He raises an eyebrow like he's daring me to disagree with him.

I'm not planning to. His terms are reasonable. I heal pretty fast, but I imagine road rash is still really painful to heal. "Fair enough. Do I get off the same way I got on?"

"Mm-hmm. Just lean the bike over to the left so it's resting on its kickstand." He waits for me to follow his instructions. "Now, turn the wheel to the left. That gives the bike more stability so it doesn't fall. Then you can swing your leg back over and dismount."

I carefully dismount, keeping my hands on the handlebars to prevent it from tipping over. Once I'm off the bike, I hesitantly let it go and blow out a relieved breath that it didn't topple to the ground. I'd feel so bad if I messed up his bike.

Straightening up, I almost run into Saint. He grasps my hips to stabilize me, and everything in me lights up at the contact. Meeting Saint's hooded gaze, I watch his eyes flick down to my mouth. He searches my face before leaning down slowly, giving me plenty of time to move away. I don't. Instead, I lift onto my tiptoes to meet him halfway.

As soon as our lips meet, Saint hoists me up by my waist. After a moment in the air, my ass touches what I'm pretty sure is the passenger seat on the bike I was just on. Saint steps between my spread legs, and I hook them around his trim hips. He wraps one arm around my waist to hold me to him. The other he tangles in my hair, tilting my head where he wants it. I run my fingers through his short locks.

It feels like I've been waiting my whole life for this. I never felt like this toward Saint when I was a kid. But as a teen, before I lost my memories, I fantasized about kissing Saint a lot. Probably way more than was healthy.

When he pulls away long moments later, my lips feel bruised in the best way, and I'm panting hard, trying to catch my breath. Saint's chest is rising and falling rapidly, so I know I'm not the only one affected by the kiss. He leans his forehead against mine. "Was that okay?"

"What?" I ask, confused. "The kiss?"

"Yeah. I've never, uh, kissed anyone… or done anything else. I'm a virgin," he blurts. He rubs the back of his neck as he searches my gaze for a reaction.

"What?" I repeat, shocked that he's a virgin. I mean, he's hot as hell. I'd jump his bones, no questions asked, if things weren't complicated between us. I'm surprised none of the lady mages were lining up to get in his pants.

"I was never really interested in anyone before my magic came in. Once I realized you were my mate, it made sense why. Even though you left, I've never been with anyone else. I've just been waiting for you."

My stomach drops, and shame slithers through me. I hang my head as I realize I basically cheated on him. "Saint, I'm not… I didn't… I'm sorry." My words are all jumbled as I try to find something to convey the crushing guilt I feel about not waiting for him. With my other mates, I had no idea they even existed, but I knew Saint. And I still slept with other guys. That makes me a pretty shitty person.

"Hey, little shadow. It's okay. You didn't know. I'm not upset at you, baby. I promise." He tilts my chin up with his thumb until his eyes meet mine. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I did. I cheated on you." The tears I'm holding back make my voice come out rough and scratchy. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see hatred in his.

"No, you didn't," he rumbles. He doesn't say anything until I peek my eyes open. "You didn't fucking cheat on me, so get that thought out of your head."

"How can you say that?" I whisper.

"I can say it because it's true. You didn't remember me or anything about your life here. There wasn't any way for you to know you had a mate waiting for you. And, from what I've heard, you were going through a lot." His mouth presses into a thin line as he thinks about what all I was dealing with. For his sake, I hope he never learns all of it. "It's understandable that you wanted to connect with someone that way."

I give him a disbelieving look. "Not remembering seems like a cop-out."

He huffs a laugh. "It's not. It's just the truth. Now, I don't particularly want to know any of their names or hear details, unless you want me to go on a killing spree, but knowing you've slept with other men doesn't make me love you any less, little shadow."

I choke on my spit. "Love?" I squeak.

"Yeah, love. I've loved you as long as you've been alive. The love's changed and shifted over the years, but I never stopped loving you, Briar. Not for a single beat of my heart." I open and close my mouth as I try to figure out what to say. It's been a long time since I've said I love you to anyone other than Ava, at least before returning to Hawthorne Grove. Saint presses a kiss to my forehead. "I don't need you to say it back right now. I just want you to know that even when you felt alone, there's always been someone who loves you so goddamn much it physically hurts."

Do I love Saint?

I mean, yeah, I always have, but I don't know that I love him like he loves me. Yet. I can see myself being there soon, but I need time to get to know him again.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Don't apologize, little shadow. My love's not conditional. It doesn't depend on you reciprocating. It'll always be there. If you ever feel the same, great. If you never do, that's okay too," he assures me.

"I can see myself loving you like that, Saint. But I can see myself loving the Wyldharts like that too," I admit.

"Good. Your heart's too big for just me. It has enough room for them too. Maybe some rugrats, one day." My eyes widen at the thought of kids. Oh God . I would make a terrible mother. I'm so clumsy I'd probably drop them and hurt them. I'm also way too fucked up to mother anyone. Saint chuckles at my expression, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. "Far, far in the future, little shadow. I'm sure as hell not ready to be a dad yet."

Jesus Christ . How the hell did this night turn to talking about kids?

I haven't even really thought about kids much. Sure, when I was younger, I always wanted a big family. I wanted a house full of laughter, a gaggle of kids, and so much love it could make even the grinch smile. But it's been a long, long time since I've let myself think about that.

Do I still want that future?

With the way my heart squeezes at the thought, I think I do. As Saint said, sometime far, far, far in the future. I'm only twenty-one. There's no need to rush into anything. And I still have a metric shit ton of problems to figure out before I'd ever consider starting a family.

There's also the matter of the Wyldharts. I have no idea if they even want kids. It's not like that topic has really come up. We've just been trying to survive, so there hasn't been much time to ask them about their hopes and dreams.

"Oh" is all I can force past my tight throat, no longer constricted from just panic. There's longing mixed in there too.

"It's also completely fine if you never want kids." His forehead wrinkles in concern as he stares at my probably panicked expression.

"It's not that," I try to explain. "It's just not something I'd thought about for a while."

"Fair enough. You're looking like a deer in the headlights, so how 'bout you help me put my bike back together? That should help take your mind off everything."

I give him a small nod, and Saint rewards me with a broad smile. Picking me up by my waist again, he gently sets me on my feet. He then tugs my hand and leads me over to the bike he was taking apart. He teaches me the ins and outs of his bike until the sun comes up, shining through the windows at the top of the garage doors.

He's right. It does distract me, at least a little. But in the quiet moments, my mind can't help wandering to what a future with the Wyldharts and Saint would look like.

Will it look like how I envisioned it as a kid, a life filled with as much love as I can handle?

Or will it look like the utter heartbreak I've dealt with for the past seven years?

I don't know, and that not knowing is almost more difficult to deal with than the constant beatings from Patrick.