Grabbing Hold (The Motorcycle Kid #1)

41. Trust Games

Emma grabbed a bag of chips as she passed through the living room on her way to the backyard. "Hey!" yelled Brady. "No hi, nothing? We were worried sick."

"I'm fine, guys," she told him and Dickson, who gave her a concerned glance. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Quite."

"Where are you going?" Brady questioned as she walked towards the back door. She spotted Ryder in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. Their eyes met briefly before she turned back to the others.

"I'm just getting some air, guys. Really. You would think if you're this concerned, you would've been at the hospital."

She was joking, of course, but Brady frowned at her anyway. "Not fair, Emma."

"Yeah," Dickson chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. "Someone had to watch the food."

"I'm kidding," Emma chuckled. "And you're both idiots."

"How long will you be out there?"

"Yeah, when should we come look for you?"

"Give her space, guys." That was Emmett, who'd just appeared from the bathroom. "She's fine. Just - give her space."

"Alright," said Dickson.

Emma shot her brother a grateful smile as she stepped out into the summer night. There was a light breeze in the air, but still warm enough to make her wish she'd changed into something cooler. Barefoot, Emma ran her toes through the grass where she stood, pulling her hair out of the ponytail she'd tossed it into earlier. She looked at her wrist, where a thick bandage covered the spot where the IV had been attached.

Therapy.

Emma sank to the ground, cross-legged as she pulled at strands of grass like a young child would. Somehow, it calmed her. And in the midst of everything that had transpired that day, she needed calm.

Therapy. The word annoyed her more than it scared her. After how hard she'd worked to get back to normal, Emma had never seen this coming, never thought she'd have to walk into the office of Dr. Hannah James again. It had been bad enough months ago when she'd first discovered her therapist was Dickson and Abigail's aunt; now, it would be even worse.

Dr. James wasn't the worst therapist, Emma knew. The woman knew her stuff, believed in patient confidentiality like her own private religion, and had never tried to pick Emma's brain like other shrinks. Still, she'd never made the connection between Emma and Abigail, had never known just how much bad blood still flowed.

Emma was dreading the next day.

She jumped as a bag of gummy bears landed right in front of her.

"So, you're not dead."

Ryder gave her a smirk, arms folded. In the darkness and without her glasses, Emma had trouble making him out, but she knew that voice of his anywhere.

"Guess not," she sighed. "Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?"

He smiled. "Honesty policy?"

"Honesty policy."

"I can't say it didn't cross my mind."

Emma scowled at him, motioning him downwards. "Get down here. You're too tall and I can't see."

"I thought you'd never ask," whispered Ryder in a weak attempt at seduction as he flopped down beside her. He winced as she delivered a swift punch in the arm.