Page 71 of Redline Baby

I close my mouth.

"If that noise starts building and you want to get on the bike, you call me." He doesn't sound angry. "We can ride together. Normal road riding. You don't have to give up the thing you love every time you're having a bad day." That matters. It matters so much I almost can't look at him. "But if what you want is speed—actual speed—or you want to push lean, traction, braking, any of it, we go to a track."

I look back at him.

"No testing your limits on public roads." His fingers tighten around mine. "And you do not take that bike out alone because you're trying to find out how close you can get to the edge without falling over." My throat tightens. "That's a hard rule, baby. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Do you agree?"

Another thing we've apparently started doing. Making me say it. Making sure the answer belongs to me.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good. Rule three. Communication."

I brace instinctively.

"You answer my texts."

I make a face.

"Within reason,” I say.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Within reason. I'm not expecting you to respond while you're working, asleep, or otherwise occupied."

"Reasonable."

"I try," he says. I chuckle softly. "You show up when you say you will. No disappearing acts." His expression grows serious again. "If you need space, you tell me you need space. You can ask me not to contact you for a while. You can tell me you need a day." I listen. "But you do not vanish and leave the people who love you wondering whether you've wrapped yourself around a telephone pole."

The words hit harder than I expect.

"We communicate," he says.

I look down.

"With each other," he adds. "That goes both ways."

My eyes lift.

"If I'm angry, I tell you. If I need something, I tell you. If I make a mistake, I own it."

Oh.

"Rules aren't only for you."

Something in my chest loosens.

"Okay."

Soren lets my hand go. I almost ask him to take it back. Then he says: "And the dynamic."

My whole body goes alert.

"The Little side."