Ride With Love (Triple R Book 3) Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2016 Jules Dixon

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-058-1

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To those who are selfless and never ask for support, please know that people want to help you. We can’t do it all ourselves, so like Willow and Kanyon, you just have to ask and be saved. This book is dedicated to all those who seek balance, both on the motorcycle on and off.

  Keep on riding!

  Love, Jules

  RIDE WITH LOVE

  Triple R, 3

  Jules Dixon

  Copyright © 2016

  Chapter One

  Willow

  I’ve seen extraordinary couples and how they are together. Laughing at secret jokes. Acting like teenagers around each other. Touching so effortlessly. Their emotions, spirits, and physical presences complement each other’s on a molecular level. From the outside, their relationship appears as if their shadows hold hands during the darkest times and share one beautiful heart during the most intimate times.

  That’s who I thought we were.

  At least, that’s who I was with him.

  “Hey, are you going to use that machine or just continue to stare into the future?” The familiar jesting male voice heaved me from my daydream.

  “Hey, Mitch.” I stood from the bench and tagged my water bottle and towel from the floor. “What’s going on?”

  “Not much. What’s up with the hair?” He pointed with a jut of his dimpled, stubble-covered chin.

  “I’m trying something new.”

  Half-truth, part-lie, and mostly self-dishonesty, to protect me, not hurt anyone.

  The truth was, when I met that other guy the strands were colored lavender, almost purple. He said the color reminded him of the lilacs that had started to bloom. While we were at our best it was colored sapphire blue to match my eyes that he said he could gaze into forever. When we started to hit tough times I colored the strands a silvery gray, and his silence about the change said everything. Then the end happened. I colored my long locks a jet black, and that was where the color stayed.

  “I don’t like it,” Mitch said.

  “Yeah, I hear that a lot. Did you need something?”

  He leaned down, bringing his lips to my ear. “I was wondering if you were interested in getting together for a study session tonight.”

  What the…? Oh, yeah…

  “Study session” had been our secret language for hooking up when we were in high school, to fool our parents. Mine definitely weren’t fooled. His looked the other way. Like so many men, the “glory days” were only two words away for Mitch.

  I pulled back and took in what usually roused my lady parts—Mitch’s wavy hand-styled hair, the kind you could really grab a hold of—well, that alone was enough to spur me to want to say “sure,” but I wasn’t in the mood.

  I was in a mood, but not the mood.

  “No, but thanks. I’ll be studying by myself tonight.” I patted his arm and turned to move away.

  He slid in front of me. “Very funny, Harper. I may use that vision to do a self-exam myself.”

  Mitch stepped closer and the same cologne he wore in high school seared my nose and brought back involuntary memories, ones where he was emotionally and intimately involved. My first date, my first time telling a boy I loved him, my first time making love with a boy, and my first heartbreaking end to a relationship.

  I slid backward two steps, giving myself room to breathe. “I’m just getting over a guy. I need time to work some stuff out.”

  Getting over him … right. When’s that going to happen?

  Mitch’s brow furrowed. “Sorry, Willow. I didn’t know that.”

  “Didn’t expect you to. Have a good day.” I plastered on a smile and walked away.

  When I reached the elliptical machines, my best friend’s boyfriend, Jude, was training in the row in front of me with one of his clients. They were finishing up, and the client appeared sufficiently worked-out. Dripping with sweat and flushed beyond red, the late-forties gentleman was wandering into the purple zone.

  Jude patted the man on the back. “Good job, Jack. That’s the effort that will get the doctor off of your back. I’ll see you next week, and hopefully a couple of times in between?”

  “You will. Can’t believe I’m down forty pounds. I owe you, Jude.”

  “You owe it to yourself. You did the hard work. I’m just along for the journey.”

  I shouldn’t have been listening in, but the way Jude worked with his clients was inspiring. His supportive nature was what my friend Presley needed in her life. They were one of those special couples.

  Jude strutted to me, his signature hair trailing over his shoulder. “Hey, Willow.”

  “Hi, Ponytail. How are you, and how’s Presley?” I’d given him the nickname the night I first met him.

  “She’s doing gr … um, okay.”

  “Jude!” I huffed. “I’m happy for you and Presley. She deserves happiness. Because it didn’t work out for me and…” I swallowed. I couldn’t even bring myself to say the guy’s name to his friend. “Well, that’s no reason for you to hide your happiness.”

  Presley moved out of the townhome we shared to live with Jude about two months ago. Presley was worried I’d turn into a hoarder when she moved out. I didn’t. I made myself do the things—cleaning, laundry, organizing—that would take my mind off of other things.

  I started the machine and settled into an easy pace.

  “Presley worries about you, and so do I. Will you come over tonight?”

  “I’m studying tonight.” I stared straight ahead.

  Jude stepped into my eyesight and his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know you were taking a class. What subject?”

  “It’s more of an independent study in human behavior. But thanks anyway. Tell Prez I’ll see her soon.”

  “Oh, well, good luck. Hope you get an A.”

  Me, too, Jude.

  Jude brought my machine to a halt with his foot and a firm grip on the rocking upper body arm. He gave me a peck on my cheek and said, “I will see you later, Willow.”

  The fact Jude took my side, when his friend came to the conclusion I wasn’t the forever one, made me like Jude even more. Normally, it was “bros before does.” That he didn’t blindly follow that ridiculous bro-code confirmed to me that he was the one for Presley. She needed that kind of sensible thinking to balance her sometimes out-of-control nature.

  I finished my routine at Run-Ride-Rock Gym, or Triple R as the local workout crowd nicknamed the tricked-out gym without the ‘roided up crowd, then made my way back to what was currently home. One side of a brick-fronted duplex in Omaha, Nebraska, on the west side of the city, but soon it wouldn’t be home. The rental contract was up for renewal. On my days off, I’d seen studios, one-bedroom’s, flats, duplexes, high rises, fourplexes, single-family homes, and shacks not fit for anyone. Just couldn’t find something I wanted to live in. Or more accurately, something I wanted to live in alone.

  When Presley moved out to live with Jude, I’d dealt with the discomfort because I’d had him to distract me. But when he left my life, too, the double hurt crippled me. Him, he, that guy. His name was never said in my head or my heart because when I did, it echoed like I was screaming into a profound and bottomless … hole … in my psyche.

  If I didn’t find something, the duplex landlord was more than willing to keep me on as a tenant if I would sign a two-year contract. He’d even lower the rent twenty-five dollars!

  Lucky me!

  He was nutty and way out of touch when it came to the rental market. I barely wanted a month-to-month commitment. Signing away my name for twenty-four months wasn’t going to happen. But every time I walked through the front door, although the place was way too big for just one person—and definitely too expensive—I cherished the rush of emotional connection.

  That was where we’d begun, where we’d grown and where we’d loved each other.

  I spent the evening online searching apartment ads and requests for roommates. At almost twenty-five, I wondered if I really wanted another roommate. It seemed a little bit … tragic?

  And a lot pathetic.

  I found a roommate ad that looked promising, and a duplex side that was really close to Presley and Jude, only a few houses away. I wasn’t sure that was a great idea, but figured it didn’t hurt to check the place out.

  The next morning, Saturday, I was slated for a stretch day, which entailed a six a.m. to eight p.m. shift as sous chef and assistant manager at the coffee shop/bistro, Early to Latté Café. It was called a “stretch” for a reason. The hours stretched patience and energy to the limit.

  I arrived at the same time as the newest hire, Frazier. Girl, not guy. The barely eighteen-year-old leaned next to the door while I retrieved my shop keys from my purse.

  “How are you today, Frazier?”

&
nbsp; “Meh.”

  I chuckled. “That bad, huh?”

  “My boyfriend is being a jerk.”

  “Hmmm. Been there.” I flipped on the lights and opened the blinds.

  Frazier shook off her troubles and set to work starting machines and changing the daily specials board. “What are the soup, sandwich, and salad specials?”

  I relayed what I was thinking and changed the sandwich from a turkey club with pesto aioli to a grilled ham and quad cheese, before she started writing. I passed through the swinging kitchen doors and started my morning routine, making a list of products that needed to be baked today. It appeared my afternoon/evening coworkers had done little actual work last night. I set on a mission to preparing scones and breads and desserts.

  An hour later, Frazier’s face ducked in the swinging kitchen doors. “Hey, you have a friend out here.”

  I washed my hands and walked out of the kitchen.

  “There’s the friend I never get to see anymore.” Presley’s voice hit me before I saw her.

  “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah, I heard you’re taking some online class on human behavior?”

  “Um … not exactly.”

  Presley’s head tipped in question. “What exactly?”

  “Matt tried to set up a ‘study session’, I told him I was currently ‘studying solo’.”

  Presley knew about the sex euphemism and giggled.

  I continued with a smirk, “I just carried the excuse over to Jude when he asked me to come to your place last night. I really was tired, though.”

  “All right, but I want to see you more. I miss you, Willow.”

  “I miss you, too. I’ve just had a lot on my mind. Plus, I need to find a new place to live here in a few weeks.”

  “Oh, I forgot about that. Any leads?”

  “A couple.” Telling her about the house down the street from hers sounded ultra-needy in the blaring light of the morning so the specifics stayed in my head.

  “We’re having a Labor Day cookout. Save that weekend for me, please.”

  “Sounds good. Will everyone be there?” My voice cracked and Presley’s hand grasped my elbow.

  “I doubt it. Jude hasn’t spoken to him since when we met at a park to play with Grace. That was over three weeks ago.”

  “How was she?”

  “Entertaining and as beautiful as always. She still carries around that stuffed animal you gave her.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Tore a little piece of my heart, but I did like hearing that she was doing well. “I’ve got tomatoes roasting in the oven for the soup, so I’ve gotta get back there.”

  “Let’s go dancing next weekend.”

  “I’ll check my calendar and let you know.”

  Presley sighed but brought me into a hug. “I’ll assume you’ll be studying solo.”

  “Probably.”

  Studying solo? Haven’t even opened the “How to Get Yourself Off” manual in months.

  Chapter Two

  Kanyon

  “Daddy, look at this one!” A tiny hand waved a crayon, calling me from the kitchen to view the fifty-second drawing of Jude and Presley’s dog, Foo-Foo, today.

  “I like it. She does have gray eyes and a pink tongue. I like that you have her riding a bicycle. That would be a good trick to teach her. Good job, Grace.”

  Her huge grass-green eyes twinkled up at me. “Can we bring this one to Willow?”

  Willow.

  Her name survived like breath in my lungs and endured forever in an innocent child’s brain.

  “You can send it to her. I’ll make out an envelope and we’ll walk it to the mailbox in a little while. Your mom should be here in a few minutes, so you need to get your room cleaned up.”

  “’Kay.” Grace haphazardly folded the drawing into something that looked remarkably like origami of a dog. I shoved the paper in an envelope, scribbling out the memorized address before writing her name …Willow Harper.

  The front door opened, and I stood upright to address the person coming through without asking permission. “Moriah Weston, you need to use the doorbell. This is my house, not yours.” I stepped in front of her in the entry.

  “Kanyon Hills, you have my child so I’ll come in whenever I please.”

  “Our child,” I snarled for the thousandth time. She rolled her eyes and pushed past me.

  I was always correcting her on that fact. She’d kept the news of “our child” from me for over five years—granted, there were some extenuating circumstances—but still, she could’ve done a better job of searching me out.

  “Daddy, where’s my Foo-Foo?” Grace called from upstairs.

  “I think she was on your bed, or maybe you carried her into the bathroom to brush your teeth?”

  I heard her shoes on the bathroom tile.

  “I found her!” Grace bounded down the stairs, her bag overflowing with crumpled clothes. “Mommy, hi!” She dropped the bag and hugged her mother.

  “Hi. Ready to go to stay with Papa Joe and Mama Ginny?”

  “I thought you were taking her to the Z-O-O?”

  “Zoo?” Grace asked with a huge smile, her hopeful eyes darting between us.

  I grinned at my daughter. “You are so smart.” I ruffled her hair and she shook away from me with a giggle.

  “Papa Joe says I’m smarter than Alfred Einstein.” She giggled again.

  “Albert Einstein,” I corrected her.

  “Albert Einstein.”

  “Enough talking about the guy with a huge head. Let’s go, Gracie.” Moriah spun our daughter to the door. “Now!”

  Grace stared over her shoulder at me, her huge doe eyes conveying that she was torn about leaving. But it was time, and I hated that time, every time. Plus, I didn’t always like Moriah’s methods of talking to or around our child, but I tried to pick my battles. Otherwise, I was positive Moriah and I would constantly be at war.

  I squatted to Grace’s level. “Have a good time with Papa and Mama. Tell them I say hello.” I hugged her and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Button.”

  “Love you, too, Daddy.”

  Moriah snorted.

  I guided Grace toward the door. “I’ll see you Wednesday after school.”

  Moriah grabbed my arm to stop me, but flinched away as if my skin was acid. “About that. Yeah, I think it would be better if Gracie didn’t spend the night here during the week anymore.”

  My jaw burned with a clenching anger. “Moriah, we had a deal. Every other weekend and two nights a week.”

  “Well, here’s the new deal, if you want it that way, take me to court.”

  “We’re not going to do this again.” I stopped and inhaled a long breath. I altered my attitude because our daughter didn’t need to be in the middle of two people who should act like adults, even if only one of them ever did. I plastered on a smile. “I’ll call you later to talk.”

  “Good luck. I have plans tonight.”

  “Then I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Let’s mail this before you leave, Grace.” I waved the envelope, grabbed her bag, and walked her out the door.

  “What is that?” Moriah’s eyes narrowed as Grace tugged the envelope from my hand and placed it with care in the mailbox.

  “I drew a picture of Foo-Foo for Willow. I’m sending it to her.”

  Moriah said nothing but she’d already made her opinions about Willow very clear. So clear that I was forced to pick between having Grace or Willow in my life. It was plain to see Grace cared about Willow, and that tore at me.

  And the tear is a wound that won’t heal.

  Chapter Three

  Willow

  Another week crept by. I was still on a hunt for the next place to live. It was Wednesday and a management company representative had just shown me what could only be considered a shoebox, for a two-year-old’s shoes. I told the woman with blood-red-tipped fingernails that I was looking for something I could do yoga in and have room to “downward dog” without having to stand on the couch. She laughed my comment off and said my budget was unrealistic for what I wanted.