Page 84 of Grace

I flap the jacket around a bit. The black leather has soaked up the merciless sunlight and clings to the heat. I don’t want it to burn my skin.

I touch the jacket, and when I find it cool enough, I shrug it on quickly. I yank up the zipper so fast it snags several strands of hair, but I don’t care about the sting on my scalp. I slam the door of the Pontiac, nod goodbye to Tom, and hurry over to Cyrus. The happiness and joy vanish from his face.

“Are you okay? You’re as pale as a ghost.” He touches my face and cups it in his warm palm.

“Yeah. I just got dizzy for a second. So, are we taking off?” I try to glance around without making Cyrus suspicious.

I flinch when he presses the helmet against my face.

“No!” I stop him. My heart is in my throat. “It makes me claustrophobic. Can’t we just go slowly?”

“I don’t want to put it on, either. I’ll take it back to the garage. But don’t ride off without me!” He winks at me. The pressure in my chest eases a little. When he kisses my brow, I force a warm smile and don’t take my eyes off him for a second as he walks to the garage.

He walks leisurely, with a certain grace. When it comes to men, Cyrus is as good as it gets. He’s nothing like the boys the media is obsessed with these days.

I slowly exhale the air trapped in my lungs. My face relaxes, and so does my body, as the adrenaline drains from my system. A wave of hazy weakness hits me.

I turn my head toward the bike. A strange feeling spreads through my body—something cold, blood-curdling. I’m trembling even though it’s July. I lift my gaze and look him over, inch by inch.

Chase is leaning against a thick tree, watching me. He’s far away, but I feel it in my bones that it’s him. I could recognize his body, his posture, anytime, anywhere.

My legs grow heavy, my heart races, my pulse throbs beneath my skin, and my blood surges with adrenaline and fear.

What would happen if I ran for it? Would he come after me? Would he catch me? Or would I make a complete fool of myself?

Chase seems to read my mind. He pushes off the rough bark of the tree and pulls his hands from the front pocket of his hoodie. His fingers curl into fists. I swear he’s smiling. He’s toying with me.

I take a careful step back. As long as Cyrus is with me, he can’t hurt me. Although our conversation this morning seemed to suggest that Cyrus thinks I’m the one who should solve our problem. Chase is a deep, deadly chasm between us, one that cannot be bridged. He wants me to kill him. He’s hoping that once I do, I’ll be normal. But he has no idea that it’s myself I’m afraid of. Because that chasm is calling to me, luring me closer. It wants me to leap into it.

Chase Baker is rotten to his core. And he corrupted me, too. He broke me into pieces, then stitched those pieces back together into someone who accepts him. He changed my outlook on life—it had once been too black and white.

“You look fucking amazing next to that bike.” Cyrus’s deep voice is like thunder, rattling the windows. I turn back to him and watch, blinking, as he pulls a black bandanna from the back pocket of his dark jeans and ties it on. He looks… stunning.

When I first met him, I could’ve sworn he was a bad guy. At this moment, I also feel he belongs much more to the bad than the good side.

He hops on the bike and starts it. Clumsily, I climb up behind him, wrap my arms around him, and stare straight into Chase’s eyes until we leave the street behind.

When we get back to Tom, I sink into the soft seat of the Pontiac. Riding a bike for the first time was a novel experience, and this eventful day has drained me.

We took Road 44, and after picking up dinner at Aby’s Diner, we drove to Draper Marina at Lake Stanley. We chose a spot overlooking the water, arriving just in time to catch the sunset. We strolled along the promenade with the other couples. The blue-grey waves lapped at the rocky shore as twilight spilled a riot of color across the sky, and a gentle breeze pushed the sailboats across the darkening water.

The marina was quiet. Peaceful. Unlike my soul, where a storm was raging. While I was sitting on the bike, I didn’t think about my past. I didn’t think about Chase. More importantly, I felt free. But the moment I saw the young and old, the families scattered along the lakeshore, I wanted to throw myself into the water and sink to the bottom.

I squeezed Cyrus’s huge, sweaty palm as we walked toward an empty bench, greasy paper bags with food in our hands. I wanted to silence the hunger in my heart. I partly succeeded—the greasy, unhealthy food sat in my stomach like stones. I was so full I no longer felt the urge to let go of Cyrus’s hand and run to meet my fate, my end. To surrender to the eerie, seductive, endless dark whirlpool.

While I was eating, I didn’t take my eyes off the water. I kept wondering what it truly feels like to be drowning. Is it anything like when food refuses to go down because you’re fighting the urge to scream and cry at the same time, when your chest aches, when you can’t get enough oxygen into your bloodstream even though you’re breathing?

“You have to keep living,” the waves whispered to me.

I crushed the greasy paper bag in my fist angrily, threw it in the bin, then tore off the red bandanna. I let the wind whip my hair into my face. Neither of us moved. My heartbeat pounded like a war drum. My mind recoiled from my darkest desire. The moment stopped the flow of time. I was carving him into my memory, my heart burning with hatred. Because Chase has always had this vile gift—looking into your eyes and seeing straight through you, uncovering your deepest desires when he looked at you.

His imposing figure stood in the twilight, legs slightly apart, hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie. He tilted his head back, but most of his face was hidden beneath the hood. I clenched my hands at my sides and pounded my thighs.

“I hate you!” I mouthed.

His lips curved into a tight, icy smile as he stepped closer, dragging the horrible truth with him. Step by step, he closed the distance. My emotions threatened to swallow me whole.

My wandering thoughts come back to the present.