Page 40 of Embrace

It’s Friday afternoon, and I finally convinced her I’m a great teacher, not that I’ve ever done this before. I hold back a laugh when she pouts, staring at me from under the massive helmet on her head. It’s my hockey visor from junior year, the one I dug out of the garage fifteen minutes ago.

Her hair peeks out from one of her messy braids. Earlier, when I stopped by her dorm, she was lying on the floor beneath a pile of notes. She was murmuring definitions under her breath. The moment I stepped inside, she gave me a look—halfGo away, halfSave me. Still, she didn’t say no when I asked her to take a break.

Now we’re both outside the hockey house, standing in the driveway. She’s perched nervously on my old bike, and I’ve got a firm hold on the handlebars because she made me swear I wouldn’t let go.

I reach up and straighten the helmet. “You don’t look stupid. You look brave.”

“Did you read that off a cheesy shirt?” Her eyes widen, and she tilts her chin toward me.

“Nope. If I ever got into a bar fight, you’d be the first person I’d call.”

Scarlett tilts her head. “Knowing you, you’d probably become best friends with the guy trying to punch you before I even showed up.”

I shrug, grinning. “You ready?

“No!” Her hands tighten on the handlebars. “Can we just go to Lola’s? Pancakes on me.”

“Onyou?” I joke, cringing as soon as it’s out of my mouth.

Scarlett waves a hand like she’s swatting away the moment, then clutches the handlebars again. “Sure. Yeah, that too. I just really don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me do this.”

Her voice cracks slightly, and my stomach pulls tight. She probably doesn’t even realize the way she sounds when she pleads, as if the words were dipped in honey and made just for me.

“One loop around the driveway,” I say softly. “That’s all. Just one.”

Earlier I made sure the guys parked on the street or in the garage so we had more space.

She narrows her eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

There’s a long pause. Then, almost in a whisper, she asks, “Is it left foot first, or right? Wait—how do I stop? Kian, how do I stop?” Panic creeps into her voice.

I crouch down so I’m eye level with her.

“Scarlett. Breathe. Okay? Doesn’t matter which foot. Whichever one feels natural. And if you want to stop, just squeeze the right handlebar.”

Her foot finds the pedal and pushes hard. Too hard. The bike jerks forward and my hands slip. I wasn’t expecting the sudden speed, and before I can grab her again, she’s shrieking.

“Scar!” I sprint after her. The bike tips sideways, wobbling toward the edge of the pavement. I reach her just in time, wrapping both arms around the handlebars from behind and steadying herweight with my chest against her back. We’re both breathing hard, her body trembling against mine.

“I’m gonna die,” she whispers, her eyes squeezed shut.

I rest my chin lightly on her shoulder. “You’re not gonna die. You’re just riding a bike.”

“Same thing,” she mutters. I can feel the way she relaxes when I press a hand on her shoulder.

“You did half the loop,” I tell her. “Want to finish it?”

“Nope.”

“Lola’s, then? They have croffles now.”

She turns her head just enough to glance at me. “Extra whipped cream.”

I help her off the bike, and when her feet hit the ground, she breathes a sigh of relief.

“You okay?” I ask, steadying her.