Her Rider His Rebel

Chapter 7

She steps into their shared hotel room to find him working diligently on his phone. Upon seeing her, he presses the 'Off' key and sits his phone on the table.

"You're back late." He mumbles, looking at the floor. She knew that look as soon as she saw it.

"What did you do?" She asks softly, fearing he might be angry. Tipping his head to the side, he looks up at her with tears in his tired eyes. 'How could I forget?' Her mind shouts at her.

"It's today, Ali." He whispers, standing and making his way towards the bed.

"Dammit, I'm so sorry." She croons, tracing his large steps and attaching herself to his back.

"What are you doing?" He asks, turning to face her. She loosens her grip enough for him to move, but as soon as he faces her, she tightens her arms around his abdomen again.

"Hugging you, dumb ass. What does it look like?" She asks, and feels him chuckle, the deep rumble makes her smile.

"Well thanks." He murmurs, looping his arms around her and hugging her impossibly closer to him. He could never believe he had ruined so much and degraded her to make her feel less than human. This hug, her holding him together when he so desperately wanted to fall apart, missing his dad, and hers, both died the same day. One saving the other.

"LB, I miss them." She sniffles, and suddenly tears spring from her green eyes as she buries her face into his shirt.

"Me too." He whispers roughly, smoothing her back while helping her sit down.

"Why couldn't they have switched seats? Dammit! I miss them so much. I'm glad you're still here. I don't know what I'd do if you had died too." She cries, squeezing his shoulder and shuddering as she begins to cry harder.

"Hey, you were there too. Remember? You held my hand and kept saying my name, and holding me close to you. We were sixteen. I remember earlier that day, I insulted you, called you a stupid whore for bumping into me. Why did you worry about me? I insulted you, made you feel like shit, I could see it in your face. I hated that look. You would look up at me through your eyelashes and tears would make your eyes shiny, and then you'd start doing the bottom lip thing, and I shook my head and shoved you outta the way and told you if you did it again I'd never let you ride again." There are the tears, falling down her cheeks again as if it were just yesterday that he had been so stupid and tried to ruin the only true friendship he possessed through high school.

"You did. And I was always worried about you. When you'd stay home from school, when you would come home after midnight, when you were late to school, when you got in the driver's seat of that big ugly Ford of yours I was worryin' myself over everything." She whispers, giving him a soft smile. He reaches up, swiping the little droplets of salty water from her face.

"Why? I tried to hate you!" He raises his voice a decibel or two.

"Because, you didn't worry about anything, I had to worry for you. And you had a reputation of gettin' stuck or crashin' into something." She smiles, tears falling as she did so.

"You know, I dare say you were the sweetest to me even when I was the most rancid damn person." He pulls her up onto his lap as she chokes on another sob and holds her like he has always dreamed he would hold her; close to his chest, whisper into her ear how beautiful she is, hug her impossibly close and comfort her until she falls asleep.

"Well, when we weren't at school, you weren't too bad. Prob'ly only 'cause o' your daddy, but still." She drawls, looking at him with a look he had never seen before. It was childish and smiley and bright and beaming, he feels heat rise to his heart. She burrows her head back into his chest.

"We need to talk about what happened today. I think you ought to take a little break. Just recuperate. And I'll quit too if you want! Just take a break! You need to stop Ali. You're not invincible, dammit." He murmurs, smoothing her back still, holding her legs up. "Ali, look, you can't ignore me." He whispers, tipping her head a little to find her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling in a soft, regular pattern. He shakes his head, carefully lifting her up and placing her on his bed.

His mind plays tricks on him, the little devil on his shoulder whispering, "crawl up next to her. She'll love it!" And the sweet little angel consoling, "you know you shouldn't do this. She is very vulnerable. You don't deserve this and neither does she. Go to your own bed." So he chooses the latter, giving her a peck on the cheek and pulling her hair over one shoulder the way she slept every night before this one.

She jolts awake to find herself looking at the most awful, disgusting sight. The woman, Tabby, laying across the floor, LB rocking his hips into hers, head tipped back, mouth open, eyes closed, face flushed.

"Jesus Christ!" Ali shrieks, shoving the blankets back and stomps around the two naked figures, snatching her coat and stalks out, slamming the door.

"Damn! Ali!" He shouts, scrambling to get his clothing on, he jumps into his jeans and buckles his belt as he yanks open the door and jogs down to the T in the hallway, looking both ways for her but nothing. Both halls are empty, and guilt sparks through him. Sprinting to the front desk, he gives the large Latino woman a heart attack wen his large hands smack the counter. She gives him a dirty look and curses at him in Spanish. Flipping a section of platinum blonde hair over her shoulder, she looks at him with a very disturbed look.

"Ayudeme-"

"No. I'm not the maid. But the bonita señorita went that way." He nods, flashing her his camera smile.

"Graciàs!" He drawls in a very close Hispanic accent before sprinting in the direction she had pointed in.

"Denada!" She calls after him laughing hysterically at a something he did not care to know. Wheeling around the corner he realizes he's at the twenty-four hour café. Scanning the room, he sees her at the two-person table, phone in hand.

"Ali?" He asks loudly to get her attention. Many people glance up, a young, teenage girl choking on her beverage before spewing it everywhere. Ali lets out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth.

He knows that laugh. That has to be her. He storms over to her table and pulls out a chair; flopping into the wooden seat.

"Go. Away." She bites, staring at her phone screen.

"Ali, please, I'm sorry, okay? But we still need to talk about--" she looks up, giving him a hard glare.

"You know what? Don't. After what you did, you have the nerve to console me on being tough? Get away from me. Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't cross the room inked you're going to the balcony. I'm done with you. Just when I think we connected you so something heartless and sick right in the room like I'm invisible. Don't talk to me." She sniffs, standing and pushing her chair in before walking away.

He did not know how to approach this. This sickening, gut feeling that she was gone for good. He tried so hard to talk to her, after their fathers died they were all the other had. He would come home after school, drop his bag at the door and run to her house. When he got there, she would let him in and they would hold each other and cry for hours. She had been there for him when all else failed. She was there when his world fell apart and she picked up every last piece of his broken heart; she hugged it back into place.

She was the glue that held him together; the missing piece he only found in her. Now he managed to piss her off and ruin the only chance he had at apologizing because for the first time, he was worried; terrified for her life. If she didn't stop soon she would be like his father. That thought causes him to swallow hard and stand up; now he was determined to get her to talk.