Grabbing Hold (The Motorcycle Kid #1)

18. Birthday Bombshell, Part One

The flight to Florida was a good two and a half hours, and counting the three-hour commute from West Virginia to J.F.K. International Airport earlier that day, it was no surprise Emma was already exhausted. She stopped to grab some KFC on her way to the arrivals hall before dialing her father's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey Dad," she said through a mouthful of popcorn chicken, her phone balanced between her ear and her shoulder while her other arm pulled her carry-on forward.

"Hey, baby. Just saw your message. I'll be there in five, say ten minutes. You hungry?"

"I got popcorn chicken," she replied, and Derek chuckled.

"Alright, kiddo. I'll see you soon."

Emma popped another piece in her mouth as she hung up the phone.

Flying to Miami once a month had only become a usual routine about five years ago. Before then, Derek and Charlotte had split their children between them; Elliott, of course, stayed with Charlotte, while Emma and Emmett would rotate every six months or so.

When constantly switching middle schools became an issue, their parents tried the every-other weekend method. That wasn't much more effective. More often than not, Derek was out of town and in some cases, out of the country. Charlotte, as his business partner, faced a similar fate.

The summer before Emmett started high school, Derek and Charlotte finally came up with an arrangement they could both agree on. Every month, Emmett and Emma would spend a week in Florida, except during schooltime, when they'd only fly down for holidays and long weekends.

Elliott, unquestioningly loyal to his mother, never set foot in Derek's house after the divorce. He stayed in Misty Vale right up until last year, when he'd given into his father's pleading to attend business school in Orlando. When that went south, so did his and Derek's relationship.

Elliott and Emmett were both considered adults now, though, which meant Emmett was no longer obligated to fly down every month, though he popped up every once in a while to say hi. Emma didn't have a choice. She wouldn't be eighteen till next July.

Emma didn't mind Miami. She'd lived in West Virginia for most of her life, and coming from someplace as small as Misty Vale, it was nice to go out into a big city and experience something new every once in a while.

She'd gotten used to people making fun of her accent, something most called "southern twang", which, if you went by actual geography, was grossly incorrect. In her small town with many different people from many different cultures, there was no such thing as having an accent. You just talked the way you talked, and if people didn't understand you, you explained.

Miami was similar but different, mainly because Emma didn't have any more than a very basic command of the Spanish language. Even years of being around Natalie couldn't fix that. She could tell you hola and gracias and buenos días, but that was it.

At least the music was good.

The car's radio was blasting Pitbull's Fireball when Derek pulled up outside the arrivals terminal a few minutes later. He was singing along, tapping to the song's infectious beat.

"I'm on fii-iiii-iiree, I'm on fire! FIREBALL!"

"Dad!"

Derek grinned widely as he locked eyes with his daughter. "Hey, baby!"

He hopped out of the SUV, pulling Emma into a giant hug. "How was the flight?"

"It was okay, I guess. They didn't have any Snickers, can you believe that?"