"Then why the fuck were you hanging out with them on prom night?"
"Nate said there was a cooler party and he wanted to go by on the way to the dance. I think he was trying to impress me by showing off that he had tough friends, or impress the dudes by showing off that he had me as a date, or something. I don’t even know any more. Driving around in circles with strangers like those guys isn’t my idea of fun.”
"So you never even ended up getting to the damn dance?"
I shook my head, and, to my shame, I started to cry.
“Hey, now,” the strange, bruised, scarred man said, gently.
He reached out across the table and picked up my hand as though it were were a treasure made of the thinnest glass. His weathered thumb passed across my knuckles in a gentle declaration of affection.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just, I didn’t even want to go with him, and I was really looking forward to prom anyways, you know? It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but I wanted just one night to be right and normal and fun. I’m being ridiculous.”
“No,” he said, simply. “You’re being disappointed. You wanted something, and some jackass took it from you for no good reason. It’s like he stole your candy and threw it in the dirt. Didn’t even eat it himself. Wastes perfectly good candy. Who the fuck does something like that?”
I hadn’t thought about it like that.
“Doesn’t really matter what it was. It wouldn’t have cost him anything to drop you off at the dance, or, hell, not invited you in the first place if he didn’t really want to go.”
Merle made a lot of sense.
“He probably knew your momma made you call him back and you didn’t really want to go, and was mad, and macho, and trying to show that he didn’t care.”
I’d told him the whole story over grits.
“He was selfish, and you took the time and effort and wasted all that money on a nice dress. To do what? Cry in a truck stop with some asshole like me?“
I shook my head.
“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” I said.
My hand was still in his.
“Thanks,” he said.
“I just… I just wanted to dance in my fucking prom dress,” I said.
The light glinted off Merle’s hair when he laughed. In that moment, I saw him without the bruising, without the scars.
I wanted this to be like a movie. I wanted that shining movie moment, where the scruffy guy gets up and asks the sad girl to dance and they stand there in the truck stop diner in the wee hours of the morning.
I knew better, but I wanted that.
Turns out, sometimes, you get the movie moment.
Merle dropped my hand and stood up. He pushed back a table, clearing a little space in the narrow room, and held his hand out to me.
“Hey, um, so,” he said, pitching his voice at an awkward, teenage-boy level. “You wanna, um, dance? I guess?”
I laughed out loud and stood up.
“Maybe,” I said.
He breathed on his hands and grinned wickedly at me.
“Nice and sweaty,” he said. “Sorry, not clammy. Too short-notice for the real high-school dance experience. I could go stick them in the ice for a minute if you like.”
“You are so gross,” I said, almost cheerfully.
We fumbled, trying to figure out where our hands were going, what kind of dance we were doing. I stood up expecting to bop around a little to Doc Watson, but Merle pulled me in against him, gently.
“I don’t know how to dance,” he said, and his breath was hot and close against my hair.
I shivered.
Feeling his voice rumble through his chest was amazing.
We had that movie moment then. Just the two of us in the diner, in the moment. The waitress and the clock had both disappeared again, no one else seems to exist in that bright room in that dark night.
I laid my cheek against his broad chest and felt the zipper of his leather jacket against the skin of my face, cool and remote. The leather itself warmed quickly and smelled heady rich and lush and amazing.
This was way better than a scrawny teenager in a rented suit for my prom night slow dance.
A rented suit was boring. That jacket had character, everything about Merle had character and the story behind it - and he definitely wasn’t scrawny. Even through the leather jacket his body felt hard and lean and strong.
I just wish I had a story .
I have never felt more boring than in that moment and I sorted hated myself for how ridiculous I was and sort of loved Merle for how kindly he went about give me the prom night I wasn't really going to get.
God, was there any worse sin than being boring? Was there anything I could do to be less attractive to a guy like Merle than to cry about prom night like some stupid spoiled kid?
I knew I wanted him to like me, but I didn't know how to make that happen
"Thank you," I finally whispered, pulling away from him.
I was kicking myself.
I had my movie moment and I blew it thinking about myself
If I just relaxed I could've had a real little moment of romance, why did I have to be such an idiot?
Merle straightened and I regretted pulling away from him (but also thrilled!) at the flash of disappointment on his face. I keenly felt the lack, the loss of his body against mine, the smell of him fading already.
He smelled like leather and oil and gasoline and something else, something masculine and heady.
"Let's get you home," he said. "Ever ridden on a motorcycle before?"
"Um, no," I said. I'd secretly always wanted to, but my mother would have a cow.
"Do you want to?" he asked.
"Yeah, but, can I, in this?" I asked.
He laughed.
“Nope, definitely not,” he said. “No way that’s even a little safe.”
“Sooo…” I said, trailing off.
“So, I’ll lend you some leathers. Or call your parents. Or buy you a taxi. Whichever.”
“Would you really take me home on your bike?” I asked.
He laughed.
“Sure, come on,” he said.
He scanned the menu and pulled out a twenty and a pile of ones, leaving them tucked neatly underneath the cleanest plate.
I didn’t know anything about bikes then, but I liked the one in the dark lot more than the ones I’d seen kids riding in high school, which were mostly bright yellow or green and angular.
This was a gorgeous machine, curved lines, polished metal, all black and silver and cherry red.
He took out a leather jacket and a pair of jeans from the big black leather saddlebags. Two helmets were fastened to the bike.
“Your lucky night,” he said. “I gave my buddy a ride earlier.”
I came out of the grungy bathroom a few minutes later, my prom dress hiked up around my waist, the jeans belted tightly with the green satin sash, a leather jacket over all of it.
Merle tried not to laugh.
He failed.
Hard.
“Man, you look ridiculous. Let me help,” he said, and reached out and put the big, heavy helmet on my head.
“There we go,” he said. “All better. Now you look just right.”
“Thanks,” I said, drily. My voice was muffled, of course.
“What was that? I can’t hear you,” he said, his scarred face stretched into a grin.
“Asshole,” I said.
“Yep,” he said. He eyed me critically. “Cool, we’ll be off in about ten minutes.”
“O...kay,” I said. “Why not now? I’ve told you my address.”
He pointed to my feet.
“Got a buddy bringing you some shoes,” he said. “He’s not far away.”
I was not expecting a scruffy middle-aged man to show up with a bag on the back of his ride, holding a pair of big boots and a ton of socks.
“Put on pairs ‘til the boots fit,” he grunted at me.
“Anything else, boss?�
�� he asked Merle.
They chatted while I sat on curb and pulled on big scratchy wool socks until the boots sort of fit.
Merle came over to me, still talking to the stranger, and matter-of-factly knelt in front of me, tucking my jeans into my boots, my sash into my jeans, knotting my dress up and zipping the jacket tightly over it.
“Anything loose can hurt you, me, or the bike,” he said.
Riding on a bike with Merle was amazing. I hadn’t thought about it until he showed me how to get on, but riding home with him this way meant that I was pressed right up against him, melded together with my arms around him.
It was heaven.
Scary, scary heaven.
When we pulled onto my street, and the motorcycle finally came to a stop, I climbed off immediately. Before he could help me.
I yanked off the helmet.
“Never, ever, ever again,” I said.
Merle pulled off his own, and I saw the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Not your thing?” he asked, solemnly.
“Never again,” I repeated.
I leaned against the bike. I wasn’t sure my trembling legs would support me. I wasn’t sure that I could ever walk again. My whole body felt shaken apart and put back together only half-hazardly.
“Megan!”
My mother’s voice cut through the night. The last time I’d heard her sound that frightened, she was yanking my father out of the way of a drunk driver whose Toyota was plowing up on the sidewalk.
“She’s fine, ma’am,” Merle called.
I only made it three steps toward the house before my mother had cleared the yard and hugged me close.
She grabbed my shoulders and looked me full in the face in the dim light from the streetlamp.
“Are you okay?” she asked me.
“Mom, I’m fine,” I said, trying to twist my shoulders out of her grasp.
“In the house. Now.”
She turned on Merle. The other biker had retreated a safe distance and was waiting, engine still going, several houses away.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“My name’s Merle, ma’am,” he said. “I saw your daughter crying at a truck stop, and I figured I’d see if she was okay. She was pretty disappointed about her date turning out so lousy, so I got her something to eat, and then I told her I’d give her a ride home if she wanted.”
My mother rounded on me.
“We would have come to get you! We would always come to get you! Your father is driving around looking for you right now,” she said sharply.
She turned back to Merle.
“Thank you for bringing her home safely. Do you have a phone?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Then why, on God’s green earth, didn’t one of you call me? I was worried sick.”
“I lost my phone,” I muttered. I’d left it in Nate’s car.
“I am aware of that,” she said, her voice too patient. “However, unless you were dropped on your head, you know our phone numbers.”
Merle looked uncomfortable.
“I figured if she wanted to call you, she would,” he said. His eyes darted towards his bike.
“I don’t care if she wanted to call me or not, I’m her mother!” my mother cried. “She’s still in high school! You’re clearly an adult, what the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that your daughter was eighteen and ready to make her own decisions, and I’d be a decent guy and take her home after some asshole left her alone in a shady-ass truck stop!” Merle shot back. “I didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I got her home. She’s safe now.”
“Come on, Mom,” I said. “Merle was just trying to help out.”
“Merle was just alone with my teenage daughter without trying to contact me,” she ground out. “I think I have a right to be concerned.”
“I didn’t think you would worry,” I muttered. “You knew we’d be home super late.”
“You and Nate were supposed to be out together. Nate showed up home without you, drunk. Said he wasn’t sure where you were, maybe with a girlfriend.”
Merle snorted.
I don’t think he was impressed.
“Ma’am, you’re clearly upset, and I understand,” he said. “It’s really late. Why don’t I swing back by tomorrow for my stuff?”
She looked confused for a split second and then took in my appearance again.
“What happened to your dress?” she demanded.
I unzipped the leather jacket and handed it to Merle.
“It wasn’t safe for me to ride in, and it was already pretty much ruined,” I said. “I tripped in the parking lot and landed in an oil puddle, so I just gave up and sat on the curb.”
My mother sighed.
“Let’s get inside and get you changed,” she said.
Merle said “I’ll swing by around noon. If you’re not around, maybe just put my stuff in a bag on the porch?”
I nodded.
“Thank you,” I said. “Really. Thank you so much. I’m sorry…”
I was going to apologize for, well, everything about the night, but I didn’t know where to start. I just trailed off and followed my mother into the house.
When the door shut behind us, my mother let out a breath and I watched the tension leave her shoulders.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. You’re home. Good.”
She rounded on me, and I was afraid that she would yell again, but she just crushed me in a long hug, refusing to let go.
“I was so worried,” she said into my hair.
She pulled back and grasped my shoulders again, but gently this time, and I saw tears on her face.
“I know you’re eighteen now, Megan. I know you’re about to graduate. I know you’re becoming an adult. Right now, though, you’re still my baby girl.”
She ran her fingers through her hair and picked up her phone from the table by the door.
“You’ll always be my baby girl.”
“I love you, Mom,” I said, suddenly.
“I love you too,” she said, tapping at the screen. “Josiah? She’s home. She’s safe. It’s okay.”
I didn't know what to do. Everything seemed ruined. Everything seemed to be falling apart around me - just because I went to prom with Nate.
Or, well, tried to go to prom. Never actually did get there.
Of course, I did get my slow dance... That counted for something.
Now, though, I was left staring at the consequences of my actions. My mother was standing in her pajamas, eyes red-rimmed and leaking tears, looking exhausted.
"Would you like me to, um, make you some tea?" I asked.
She slumped forward a little.
"Sure."
She followed me into the kitchen and I turned on her operating-theater lights. We both blinked at the hard lines and deep shadows that they made.
I set the water on the stove as she sat on the kitchen table, fiddling with her phone and staring at me, looking hard, as though if she didn't take her eyes off of me again I'd always be there.
When the tea was ready, I pressed the mug into her hands and sat across from her.
It was time to wait for my father and explain myself all over again.
It was going to be a long night.
The next day, as it edged closer to noon, we all drifted into the living room.
I picked up a pillow and spun it in my hands.
“Why don’t we go out to lunch?” my mother suggested again. “He said we could leave his stuff on the porch.”
“No, Mom!” I said. “That stuff’s expensive, I’d feel terrible if someone took it.”
I didn’t admit that I wanted to see Merle again, but my parents exchanged looks and I knew that they weren’t fooled for a minute.
“I think I’d like to meet this young man,” my father said, his voice deep and solemn.
“You guys could go out to lunch,” I said. “I have homework to catch up on.”
“Mm-hmm,” my mother said.
Longest Night (New Adult Biker Gang Romance) (Night Horses MC Book 1) Page 2
