Detour: A Creekwood Novel (Creekwood Series Book 1)

I look that fucker right in the eye before leaving.

I see you, asshole.

As soon as he walked up to my window, I knew I recognized him. I just wasn’t sure from where exactly. It wasn’t until I asked for Angela and he started acting cagey as fuck that it hit me. He’s the guy I’ve seen cruising through Creekwood. More than once, too.

Maybe it’s work-related. Some car wash emergency.

Yeah. Right.

No, dude looks like a real piece of work. I’ve been to this car wash a few times over the years and it’s never been short on hot, young girls as employees. It’s not hard to guess he uses his bogus authority to his advantage.

I’ll put an end to that shit if I see him creepin’ again though. I doubt Angela even knows he’s been pulling drive-bys right outside her open windows at night.

Jumping on the highway, I take the long way back to the shop.

I’m so wired right now, I need the extra time to work out some of this energy.

Damn, that girl is fiery.

She set my whole body ablaze in less than five minutes. I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time, if ever.

She pushes me every step of the way, refusing to give in and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to fight that much harder. I don’t want her to give in though. That’s who she is. Who she needs to be for whatever reason. I’m not trying to break her. No, I’m trying to bow with her. She’s got to realize she can bend without snapping first though.

My mind flashes to having her on my bike. She was molded to me like a second skin and I loved every minute of it. When we tore around that hairpin, she let me take over, trusting me to guide us safely through the curve. It was beautiful. I worried she would fight for control like she’s been doing since I met her. When she didn’t, it was like taking a hit of the most potent drug. Addictive. Getting her to let go, even for a second, was heady shit.

For her, letting go means giving someone else power. She’s made it obvious she’s not letting that power go either, no matter how small it might be. Angela keeps everything in her life wrapped up tight to ensure that power can’t be taken, so for her to hand me a small piece for those few moments meant something. Something significant.

She just needs to learn it’s okay not being so headstrong all the time, and I want to be the one to teach her. Show her what it’s like to let loose a little. Explain she’s worthy of more than just existing. Prove that life can be more than working to just work some more.

I’m not gonna lie, seeing her come close to losing her shit back there was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. The fact that she kept her head while I was losing mine shows just how much restraint that girl possesses.

Damn.

I had no intention of pulling her inside the car today. I really did just want to drop off some food for her. Getting a good look around her place the other night, I could tell she doesn’t cook much. Beck mentioned the way she devours the food he’s gotten her to eat, almost like she’s not used to having any. She makes it clear that she won’t accept a handout, so we’ve been trying to find excuses to feed her without her taking offense. A fine line to walk, but I think I can manage. Hopefully anyway. So far, it’s worked out.

After my meeting, I was near someplace she’d talked about wanting to try, so I stopped off to grab her some dinner. Little did I know I’d be the one ending up ravenous.

My car getting new tires today ended up working in my favor and Beck’s SUV gave me just enough room to work up my own appetite.

Angela can get me hard with only a few smart-ass comments, never mind the grinding on my dick she was doing. I adjust myself again, groaning from the stiffness in my jeans.

Drew and his actual girlfriend eating at the same place wasn’t what I would call luck, but I’m glad it worked out that way. Once I found out she wasn’t really with the dude, I couldn’t resist teasing her. She may not have lied about him being her boyfriend, but she knew damn well what she was doing not telling us the truth. I should’ve known though. When we pushed, she shoved right back, never backing down.

When I pulled her onto my lap, I thought I would give her shit for trying to make me jealous. We haven’t been the best neighbors so far, so I understood when she explained why she let us believe she did have a man.

She’s had me tangled up since I first saw her. I tried to tell myself to stay away if Drew was in the picture, but then I’d catch sight of her and that effort flew right out the same window I would see her from. I’ve been going crazy with this friend-zone bullshit. Truth be told, I’d take whatever she’s willing to give. I look forward to any interaction I have with the girl. Her smile alone pulls me in and wraps me up like a hard-won victory. She doesn’t give them freely, so when she lets one loose it feels like an accomplishment.

Every exchange I have with her is better than the last. I thought riding with her plastered to me was pretty fucking incredible, until I felt her in the pool. It would’ve been too easy to push against her in that sexy bikini and show my appreciation for her swimwear. I was already so worked up from seeing her swimming that I almost lost it when Tony touched her. Dude pissed me off. She’s too good for a loser like him. Fucker deserved the jab he got to the jaw that night when he bragged about the easy access Angela could provide. Not to that asshole. Not to any asshole—if I can help it.

Then today having her so close, breathing her in—strawberries mixed with sunscreen—almost proved to be too irresistible. It took everything in me not to take a bite to see if she’s as sweet as she smells.

That kiss though.

That kiss will haunt me. Plain and simple. It was over before it even started and yet I felt more passion in that small taste than I would’ve thought possible. All that sass could have Angela flaunting her sexuality with pride, instead she tucks it away to wield as a weapon when needed. Funnily enough, I never saw myself as a masochist—until now.

The urge to wait at her door to finish what we started has me getting off at the closest exit.

Sam Tinnesz’s “Play With Fire” infuses the interior making me long for open air. Fuck it. I’m not going back to work today. I need to ride.

I voice out a text to Beck, asking him to drive my car home. He’ll talk shit but whatever. He can kiss my ass. Beckett’s always teasing, always picking at weak spots, hoping nobody can turn the spotlight on him, but he’s kicked it up a notch since Angela moved in. I swear the dude is trying to rile me up.

I haven’t even tried to hide my attraction for her. They see the way I’m drawn to her whenever she’s near. Hell, I think we all are. All three of us can admit she’s hot.

Even Marc. Oh, I’ve seen him looking. He’s cautious around her like he is with everyone but I’ve caught him checking her out just the same.

Where Marc feigns indifference, Beck all out plays with her. The thing is he likes to play with every chick. Raised by a single father for most of his life, he thrives off female interaction. He craves it. Any and all. Only on his terms though. He’s careful to keep his playful demeanor front and center around the opposite sex. He never keeps them around long enough to see his other personality traits. Hell, he barely lets us see them.

The other night in the hallway he came close to revealing some of his more prominent childhood issues though. At first, I thought Beck hated Drew because he was interested in Angela, but after seeing him almost pummel the guy, I figured it out—Drew reminded Beck of the asshole that stole his mom away from him and his dad when he was ten years old. He doesn’t talk about her or the fuckhead she ran off with, but the constant stream of women in his life says enough. He’ll never let a woman close enough to do that kind of damage again. Doesn’t stop him from basking in their affections though.

With Angela, it’s different. Before we even realized it, it was starting to feel like she belonged. And not just with me, but with all of us. While we were busy trying to crack her barriers, she slipped past ours. So, when another man threatened to take her away, memories flared and Beck lost his shit. I can tell it took everything in him not to straight drag the dude. Luckily, his love for hybrid drinks won out and Angela’s friend lived to see another day.

Pounding up to the apartment, I pause when a woman passes by, going the opposite direction. She’s older, late thirties or early forties, and beautiful. Something about her has me doing a double take. She holds herself with a faux superiority that screams insecurity. She’s wearing a black tank with no bra, her nipples almost piercing through the thin shirt. Her short, wavy auburn hair mixed with her provocative shirt makes her appear younger than she is. Her flashy flip-flops slap against the concrete as she makes her way past. She looks up, our eyes connecting for a split second. The color immediately reminds me of Angela’s, having just spent time gazing into her stunning hazel eyes. The most mesmerizing eye color I’ve ever encountered and now I’m seeing it on somebody else.

Ready to ask who she’s here for, I frown catching her already crossing the lot to a shiny, red Honda Civic.

I catch a whiff of an unfamiliar scent, floral and nauseatingly strong. It’s extremely unpleasant and has me quickening my steps just to avoid it.

There are only three apartments on the top floor of this building: mine, Angela’s, and old man Gary’s. I think I know exactly who she was here for though. Those eyes were too familiar to ignore. I should know, they’ve had a starring role in my dreams for weeks now.

In my room, I change into some jeans with the knees blown out and a white tee with my moto jacket thrown over top. Once my boots are laced up, I hurry out to my first true love—my R6.

On my baby while adjusting my helmet, I turn the key and rev the throttle, feeling my bike come to life. I never get tired of this. The loud purr of the exhaust, the rumble of the engine, the wind against my front, floating over the road, feeling untouchable and exposed at the same time. Out of the lot, I ride to the middle of nowhere, ready to lose myself in more ways than one.

I fell in love with riding at a young age when my dad first introduced me to dirt bikes. That was when I was still naïve and didn’t know he was only spending time with me to appease his guilt. Back then I thought my mom and dad were happy. In love. How stupid I was.

Eventually I caught on, albeit too late, a fact I feel guilty about to this day. I wish I could’ve been there for my mom sooner but she chose that life. She chooses it even today. She’s always been okay with turning the other way when my father pulls late nights with his students. Always female. Never the same one twice. Always the same story though—they’re lacking inspiration and don’t know where to find it. Dad, playing the compassionate professor, is always there to lend a hand for the good of the arts.

Right.

Over the years I’ve begged my mom to see what he’s doing. To leave him. I’ve even offered to help support her just to get her out of there, but she won’t. She’s too afraid to change what’s always been her normal—the only life she’s ever known. I thought after the university stepped in with disciplinary action, she would finally be forced to acknowledge his habitual cheating, but no. She’s weak.

Not me though. I don’t have to sit there, watching that piece of shit make a mockery out of his marriage, out of my mother, out of our family. I’ve stayed away for years, making it clear if my mother wants to see me she’s welcome, as long as she doesn’t bring him along. I refuse to be around the guy anymore.

Learning my father was banging his students made me pull away more and more until the dirt bikes became my cherished reality rather than the childish escape they started out as.

I learned to lean on others when I couldn’t handle the tension at home. Beckett and Marc were both dealing with their own issues but out there we could leave it all behind. We could be strong. We could be brave. We could push ourselves past the point of fear until we lost all the other worries trying to drag us down. We could laugh, forgetting our home lives had lost humor long ago. We could be young and stupid, ignoring the demand from our families to grow up.

My dad was no longer welcome at the track the second he made the mistake of inviting one of his conquests to pose as a spectator. My mom might’ve turned a blind eye but I wouldn’t. Both my boys backed me when I told Dad and his side-piece to leave, then made me take it out on the track when he listened.

We all used that track as our safe place, our home away from our own dysfunctional homes. It became like a fourth friend. We needed it like we needed each other. Graduating, then moving out, gave us the freedom we’d been desperately seeking on the track. Marc and I got our street bikes first, with Beck following soon after. Dude didn’t like being left out. Hell, he still doesn’t. Not that I blame him. We’re closer to brothers than friends, all of us still having rocky relationships with our own families but not with each other. Never with each other.

Beck at least talks with his father, having only the one parent for most of his life. However, they just keep it all surface, nothing too deep for the Meyers’ boys. He and his dad have a close bond, living through what Beck’s mom put them through together, but a strained relationship all the same. They have a mutual understanding, a respect for one another, but they didn’t heal together and I’m not sure they ever will. That woman fucked them both up when she vanished out of what seemed like thin air. Beck’s always been the most reckless of the three of us. Sometimes I thought he pushed limits harder than anyone else hoping his mom would come home if he did something notable, something to make him worthy. Hell, I even held out hope for a while. She never did though. Good riddance. Except, of course, at night when she returns to him in his dreams. That though, that’s a different story.

I pull my front tire into a quick wheelie before coming back down on both tires, opening her up on the deserted road ahead. The apple orchards to my left are just showing small bits of color but aren’t quite fragrant enough to smell from here. To my right are barren hills just begging to be developed.

When I settle down, I want a big chunk of land. Space for kids, room for my toys, maybe even some crops of my own. The silty soil makes for good crop-growing in this area. That’s what Marc’s father figured out early on and took a huge chance on a large piece of property. He planted every kind of crop he grew up around and it paid off. Watermelons, cantaloupe, apples, grapes, mint, corn, even Washington’s beloved cherries. Pumpkins and squash for the fall. His produce is the most sought after in the Columbia Basin. He wants Marc to take over one day but that’s never been Marc’s plan. Sure, he loved the miles of orchards, but for different reasons. One being the liberation it provided from the man who ran it. He would ride anything with an engine as far as he could to avoid his father’s overbearing presence and the sheet of disappointment that always cloaked their labored relationship.

Cutting between the tightly lined trees over the years on our dirt bikes, I became fascinated with the colors, the smells, the way there was a purpose for everything. The exact spacing between fruit trees, the perimeter of conifer trees used as windbreak to prevent fruit drop, the perfect timing to harvesting the crops. I can’t say it’d be a bad life running a family farm, but I might revolt, too, if it were forced upon me at every turn, especially given his father’s heavy-handed approach.

Marc and his father don’t talk at all, they yell. They cuss. They even throw blows when things get too heated. They’re two hot heads that can’t get along long enough to even attempt a civil conversation with each other. Marc’s father has always had high expectations for his only son, never willing to let Marc forget that either. The fact that Marc walks his own path pisses his father off immensely. And the fact that it pisses his father off pisses Marc off further making them both royally pissed off most of the time. Marc’s mother stays out of it, loving both men equally but separately. Marc’s younger sister, Maggie, has never been held to the same standards, being treated like the princess of the family instead. It was tough for Marc constantly being put down for not meeting his father’s insane criteria while watching his sister get away with damn near everything. Marc’s never taken it out on her though. He knows it’s his father causing all the damage and aims his rebellion where he sees fit. Joaquin’s sole heir working as a part-time mechanic and semi-present manager is disappointing to say the least, never mind the fact that it’s what Marc loves.

Well, working with cars and motorcycles is his passion. Managing people? Not so much. That’s why he leaves most managerial obligations to me—like today’s meeting.

Beyond the small orchard, I take a wide bend in the road, leaning with my bike then slowly straighten out of the curve.

The meeting was a long time coming. Working at the garage has been great for so long, especially having my best friends there every day, but something’s been missing lately. It has for a while. We can all sense it. Like something major needs to happen to wake us up from the complacent life we’ve come to enjoy. Working, riding, the occasional race to make some side cash, it’s starting to feel a bit…ordinary. We’ve been on this path for years, with no complaints, but what if there’s more? I want to see what else there is. Working under someone else’s rules with no room for growth has become downright suffocating. That’s why we set up the meeting in the first place. It’s the first of many steps in the right direction for where we all agree we want to go.

As for our home life, we’ve lived together since graduation and it’s been a fun ride all on its own. Since Angela moved in next door, the dynamic has shifted. There’s an unsettled feeling that wasn’t there before. Almost like that’s what’s been missing. Like she’s been missing. From my life or ours, I don’t know. I do know having her in our apartment—the couple times she ventured over—was peaceful, and when she left it felt like she took something important with her. I wanted nothing more than to keep her where she was the night she passed out on our couch. To keep her where I could ensure she’d be safe from everything and everyone. I ultimately moved her back over to her place knowing she’d be angry for allowing herself to be vulnerable in front of us. Angela doesn’t do vulnerable. Her sleeping form in my space was a sight I could get used to though. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a rule to never sleep anywhere save for her own bed. Knowing she felt comfortable enough to sleep there makes me grow all kinds of warm and tingly. I might be breaking through some of her barriers already. And I can’t wait to see how much closer she’ll let me get.

* * *

The sun long gone, I meander back toward town since I lost track of time a while ago. I found a few new places for us to try out on our next group ride though.

My earpiece chirps with an incoming call.

Beck.

“Yeah?”

“Still riding?”

“Yup. What’s up?”

“I just saw your bike was gone and noticed neighbor girl wasn’t home either. Just seein’ if my newly washed truck had something to do with that.” I can imagine the shit-eatin’ grin he’s no doubt wearing.

“She’s not home yet?”

It’s dark as hell. She never works this late.

Yeah, we all know her schedule at this point. The girl’s got us by the balls and doesn’t even know it yet.

“I can go check her door to make sure.”

Next, I hear a series of knocks that sound suspiciously like the tune of “You Are My Sunshine.” What a tool.

I wait for his response while steadily increasing my speed. Angela could have a whole life that we don’t know about. Hell, we barely know the life she has right next door. The little we’ve observed and managed to piece together points to her not really having anybody in her life. She walks into school with her head down, refusing to even acknowledge her classmates. She doesn’t party, not even with us, which most people her age would jump on. The only person we’ve seen her with is Drew, but I just saw him tongue deep in his girlfriend.

“Nothin’. Did you get her number yet?”

“No. I didn’t really think I’d need it.” Lie. I tried. Many times, to be exact, but she never gave it up.

“I don’t know, man. Maybe she had a school thing. Or maybe she’s on a date.”

Always talking shit.

“I just saw her a few hours ago. She didn’t say anything,” I snap.

“Uh huh. Because if there’s one thing Angie’s known for, it’s sharing her business.”

Angie? The previous warmth seeps out hearing my friend’s latest nickname for her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Listen, I get it, you like her, but you’re gonna scare that girl off. You need to take it easy with your approach.”

“Are you kidding me? You, of all people, are giving me relationship advice?”

“You in a relationship now?”

Whatever.

“Coming from the guy that has more of a relationship with the toilet than an actual woman.”

“We’ve been over this! I like that toilet. It’s the perfect fit for my ass.” My lips purse at the corner. “Besides, who the fuck has time to pursue women? They come to me, bro. By the dozen.”

I’m about to argue when he speaks again, saying, “Baker’s dozen.”

Against my will a laugh escapes. Dude never disappoints.

“I’ll swing by her work. Maybe she got held up.”

“Alright,” he sighs.

I click off, speeding toward the last place I saw Angela, hoping she’s there as much as I’m hoping she’s not.