Red in the Blue

Chapter 21

As it turned out, clinging to Cade was, in fact, the solution to the tension I'd been feeling all night. We couldn't communicate very well on the bike so didn't try. Instead, I got to feel what it was like to slam through the air like a pinball, grounded only by Cade plated solid and warm and wide in front of me. I stayed with my arms wrapped around him, gripping his shirt, pressed against the expanse of his back, my knees tucked to his sides. It felt both ridiculous and like the most natural thing in the world that I should cling to him like this.

I didn't have to look into his eyes, and I didn't have to feel his eyes on me. I didn't have to know what to say. I could just breathe in what it was like to be near him, the reassurance of him. It was the most consistent difference I'd noticed about having a mate so far—when he was gone, I ached for him. When he was nearby, I wanted to be closer. When he was close, everything was right.

Sitting perched a little higher than him, my helmeted head hit just above his shoulder, so I wasn't cracking him in the back with the helmet the whole time. I closed my eyes and trusted that, somehow, we would move through the wind like we were supposed to. It was the closest thing I'd ever felt to running in wolf form, something I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd done.

We drove home a different way than James had brought me. On the winding backroads, I tried to mold my body to Cade's and to let his easy leans shift me gently, subtly one way, then the other, straight on. I was the trees and the night and the moon. I was the bike and the road. I was Cade and he was me and he was the bike and road and the trees and the night and the moon. He hunched forward a bit and my body was pulled with him. He reached one arm back and patted my leg. Then we gunned forward again, faster. But this time I was ready. He reached back in the same way each time we were going to speed up, and each time he brought his hand back to the handlebars when he was done tapping his warning.

Under my hands, I could feel that his shirt had draped forward, that I was fingering the highest buttoned button. A brush of my fingers and I could feel his warm, smooth skin. I couldn't keep my hands from slipping against him, but I tried to make it seem unintentional, passing it off as a regrip when we straightened out of a corner or slowed to a stop in curvier spots. I must have been too transparent, because suddenly one of his hands closed over the top of mine decisively and he left it a minute, holding my hands to his chest. My heart skipped a beat. I stiffened against him. Neither of us said anything. My hair flapped out behind us like the tatters of a kite, like it was frantic to keep up but never would.

When we reached the house, Cade carefully walked the bike to a stop and put the kickstand down, killed the motor, and stayed put while I leaned on his shoulders again to dismount. I fumbled the helmet off and handed it to him, smoothing down my hair before giving up. He watched me emerge from his jacket and took that back too. I let us into the house, switching on more lights than the lone lamp James had left on, the floodlights over the porch and garage. Cade set his jacket and helmet on the kitchen table and ran his hand through his own hair, also a little worse for wear.

My newly pierced ear was throbbing from the pressure of the helmet, and I excused myself to my bathroom to clean it and to struggle through brushing my hair out. When I remerged, Cade was sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, his elbow folded against the armrest and his other arm stretched across the back of the couch. I plopped down perpendicular to him on the loveseat, folding my legs up under me.

"I hear James funded the makeover today," Cade said to me, picking at a stray thread on his jeans. I laughed and winced.

"She insisted. I did wonder if that's what those credit cards are supposed to be used for..."

"Not officially. And not for new wardrobes either," he added mischievously, settling a look at me. So, he knew about Irene's abuse of funds too.

"I can pay it back," I said a little too defensively. He grinned.

"Nah. I already paid it."

"What? What do you mean?"

"You really thought I'd let taxpayer funds go to a bikini?" he asked dryly. I flushed and resituated myself.

"I didn't know who was paying for it!"
"Exactly. So I covered it."

"Like...personally?"

His eyes glittered at me in the low light.

"I wasn't going to leave those charges unanswered for. The last thing I need is an audit."

"Ah, Cade," I said sheepishly, feeling embarrassed and for some reason annoyed. "I'll pay you back," I repeated and got up for my purse.

"No, no," he gestured for me to sit down. "I'm just being an ass. It's already covered. Don't worry about it."

"I don't want your money," I insisted. I tried to walk into the kitchen, skin crawling at the thought of owing him anything else, at the idea that he was keeping me clothed and dolled up in some little house like a mistress. His hand caught my arm and held me in place next to the couch.

"No," he said. Then gentler but with a twitch of his eyebrows, "even prisoners get uniforms."

I scoffed and pulled my arm loose from his grip. His lap looked so inviting. I slouched back onto the loveseat.

"Speaking of," he continued, resettling himself. "I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. You're right. The council shouldn't assert its will over yours, whether it believes itself to be acting in your best interest or not."

I tried to mask the surprise on my face. He seemed so like an old friend tonight, someone I could've known in high school, sprawled on my couch in ratty boots, his hair strewn from the ride, the late hour rimming his eyes.

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"I'll take you to the airport myself."

"Really?" I quipped too quickly, shooting up straighter. I was immediately sorry when I saw the look on his face.

"If it's what you want," he said steadily. I studied his face. It was what I wanted. To go. To put this behind me. For a split second, that voice in my head whispered, no harm in a quick fuck before you leave. Those hands... I smothered that voice with an imaginary pillow.

I nodded, my eyes searching his as he held my gaze, waiting.

"Thank you," I said softly. Home, home, home. Liz and my plants, my bed, my job, my shoes, my bathtub. "And thank you for the ride," I added. "And the clothes. And for my hair." I couldn't help instinctively pulling some of it over my shoulder to fidget with. Cade's gaze fell to my fingers, and he watched me twirl my fingers through the strands.

"It suits you," was all he said. I pushed it back over my shoulder self-consciously.

I thought I heard a car pull up, saw headlights drift across the opposite wall, slipping between the slats of the blinds.

"I'm going to pursue other partners," Cade said. My eyes skidded back to him.

"What?"

"In light of your decision," he said. "To stay unmated. I wanted you to know I intend to pursue other people."

My stomach dropped, twisted, hung into my feet painfully stuffed with sand. I wanted to touch his face, to push my fingers into his mouth, to stroke his cheekbones, to tug my hands through his hair, to grip his chin and scream into his face and hurl my body against his and never let go.

"Of course," I answered. "Cade, of course."

The front door unlocked, and James stepped in, halting in the doorway.

"Hello," she said.

"Everyone home safe?" Cade asked, his voice louder, relaxed, easy as he stood to his feet and walked over to gather his jacket and helmet.

"Yeah, Boss," she said.

He smiled at her faintly, nudging her shoulder gently with his as he passed.

"Let me know when your flight is," Cade said over his shoulder, barely turning. And he walked out.