Page 8 of The Biker's Secret Claim
After years of reckless choices and men who were nothing but heartbreak wrapped in charm, Aaron was the answer to the chaos. He had routines, plans, a future that didn’t teeter on the edge of uncertainty. He showed up. He remembered important things, and he felt steady.
I’m not asking for the turmoil back, but it turns out… steadiness is a cage.
I stare at the water beading against the windshield, watching how the wipers erase each droplet in one smooth sweep as Aaron pulls into the diner. I’m not sure how I forgot that tonight was diner night, but I did. Every Friday, we sit in the corner booth in the back, stare out onto Main Street, and watch the world pass by. Aaron orders the bacon cheeseburger and a strawberry milkshake, and I order grilled cheese and fries. For dessert, we do sky high apple pie.
I consider asking him to try the new farm to table place that opened up on Highway Twenty. The owners turned theirbarn into a really cute café with reclaimed wood and warm lighting. I hear they serve southern dishes family style. I bet Aaron would like the place, but I hesitate to ask.
I don’t feel like an argument. The last time we had a talk about routine change, he damn near lost his mind. So, I let the thought filter into the back of my head unspoken, and instead head into the diner for our usual booth in the back.
Who knew predictability could be so exhausting?You’d think it would be easy. Every decision is already made. There’s no brain power in reordering the same meals, wearing the same clothes, having the same conversations, living the same life day after day after day.
“I was thinking we could take a ride out to the lake this weekend. There’s going to be fireworks on the pier and a bunch of food trucks from the Springs.” I twist my straw around in the bubbles of my Coke the waitress delivered without asking. “I think it sounds fun.”
He tilts his head to the side and drags in a slow, deep breath. “I guess, but I was hoping to finish up the game I’ve been working on. Plus, you know how much I hate crowds at places like that. A bunch of assholes will get drinking, start acting stupid, and it’ll be a whole thing. I’d rather you not go either. It’s not safe.”
I press my lips together and watch the ice shift and pop bubbles in my glass as pressure builds in my ribcage.Safe?It’s kind of hard to imagine he wants to keep me safe when he backs me into a corner screaming every time we get into an argument.
This isn’t about keeping me safe. It’s never been about keeping me safe. This is about keeping me under his thumb. It’s about control. Because when the world is controlled, Aaron feels secure.
“Why do you keep doing this?”
“Doing what?” he groans, taking a sip of his water.
“The same things, all the time. I tell you I want to see something new, or even just try something new, and you immediately turn it down.” I fold my arms over my chest and lean in trying to keep my voice low. “You don’t just turn it down, you make up all these crazy reasons and get angry. It’s the same way with sex.”
“Damn it, Nicole. This isn’t a conversation we should be having in public.”
“Really? Should I save it for home so you can scream at me then put me back in my place?”
He rolls his eyes to the side and darts me a stare so dark that I swear he’s contemplating my murder. “Knock it off.”
I laugh under my breath. “No, I won’t knock it off. Not anymore. I… I can’t do this!” The words slip from my lips and into the air like a leash I’ve finally untethered from.
“Always with the dramatics.”
I grip the cold cup, trying to ground myself in the moment, but my mind is fraying quickly. “Is it dramatic to want to feel something?” My tone is ragged, and way louder than I intended it to be. I need to get out of here before I make a scene this tiny little town will remember forever.
“Are you saying we’re through,” Aaron manages through clenched teeth, “because you can’t do that, Nicole. We’ve spent two years building a life together. We have a home, a routine, a plan.”
“That’s the problem. You need a routine. You like the routine. You want to eat at the same place every Friday and play computer games every night. You want to kiss me on the cheek every day at five p.m. and again at seven thirty. You like the same boring, predictable sex every Saturday night, but I don’t!” My voice shakes, and though I’m trying to keep it down, I know I’m causing a scene. “I’m sorry.” My gaze flicks toward the window,toward the dim glow of Main Street where a couple passes by wrapped in each other’s arms.
Why is it so hard to see other people happy?To see a man look at a woman like he wants her, like he needs her?I know why it’s hard. It’s hard because they have what I’m craving.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, opening them just in time to see a figure standing near a parked bike. He’s shadowed and blurred by the faint drizzle clinging to the glass. It’s too dark to make out his face, too distorted by the reflection of diner lights to be sure…but I know.
The pressure in my chest shifts, twisting into something hot and restless. I need to move. I need to get out of here.
Why do I feel guilty? I haven’t done anything wrong. The biker and I only talked. I only sold him records and sent him on his way. I only pointed to the best coffee shop in town. I didn’t follow him there, and every thought I had about him after our meeting was PG rated,mostly.
I push up from the booth too fast, bumping my knee and rattling the silverware. Aaron reaches for my arm, his reaction landing somewhere between confusion and irritation. “Nicole—”
“I need air,” I mutter, pulling away from him as I melt into the clamor of plates and the hum of diners talking amongst themselves. What am I running from? Why am I freaking out? The biker isn’t here for me. He’s just here. It’s a public place. He doesn’t even know I’m inside. Even if he did, he wouldn’t care. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy that cares about anything.
The door swings open and the cool night air washes over me as the hair on my arms lifts. I know I should leave. I should go to the car or go for a walk. Clearly, I need to get my head on straight, but my feet falter.
I glance up. I let myself look.
Why do I let myself look?
