Ride With Me

Chapter Twenty-Three

The doorbell rang, a sharp, insistent sound that sliced through the quiet afternoon. Knox glanced toward the staircase, his gaze momentarily drawn upward, a silent question in his eyes. Upstairs, Piper's eyes snapped open. For one disoriented second, she didn't know where she was, the lingering haze of sleep clouding her thoughts. Then the bell rang again, more insistent this time. Her heart lurched, a visceral pang of dread. Jackson. The thought hit her so hard, so viscerally, that she was out of bed before she had time to think, adrenaline surging through her veins.

She didn't bother looking for clothes, her injured shoulder protesting the sudden movement as she snatched the robe from the bottom of the bed, ignoring the dull ache that immediately pulled through her. She wrapped it around herself, the soft fabric a flimsy barrier against the sudden fear, and hurried toward the bedroom door. By the time she reached the stairs, she was moving faster than she probably should have been, a desperate urgency propelling her forward. Then she practically threw herself down them, her bare feet thudding softly on the wooden steps.

Halfway to the bottom, she stopped, her breath catching in her throat.

Knox stood at the front door, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He was handing a tip to a delivery driver, his other arm loaded with takeout containers packed into several brown paper bags, their scent already wafting through the air. Piper froze, her hand flying to her chest, a silent gasp escaping her lips. She sucked in a breath, then another, trying to slow her racing heart, which still pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Knox closed the door with a soft click and turned, his dark eyebrow lifting in a question. "Are you all right?"

Piper nodded quickly, or at least tried to. She took a few more shaky breaths, willing her heartbeat to slow down, to return to a semblance of normalcy. "I—I thought..." She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Jackson..."

Understanding flickered across Knox's face, a subtle shift in his expression. Then he chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound, and turned toward the kitchen, the bags of food swinging gently in his arms. "Are you that worried about him?"

Piper followed the delicious aroma coming from the bags, her stomach immediately protesting the long journey from the race meet. "I kind of am," she admitted, her voice still a little breathless. "After you answered my phone and all."

Knox glanced over his shoulder at her, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. "Fair point." He carried everything into the kitchen and began setting the containers across the island, their colorful labels a stark contrast to the muted tones of the room. Piper climbed onto one of the stools, tucking her robe more securely around herself, the soft fabric a comforting anchor.

Knox opened the cabinet beneath the counter, his hand reaching for plates. "Plates," he announced. He pulled one out, then opened another cabinet. "Apparently not."

Another.

Nothing.

He opened the cabinet beside it, his brow furrowed in mild exasperation as he searched. Piper watched him, a small smile playing on her lips. "You're very good at this," she said.

He glanced at her, a question in his eyes. "At what?"

"Breaking into women's houses and not knowing where anything is," she quipped, her voice regaining some of its usual edge.

His mouth twitched, a barely suppressed smile. "I didn't break in."

"You answered my phone."

"You gave me permission to be here."

"That sounds suspiciously like something a burglar would say," she countered, her eyes twinkling.

Knox laughed under his breath and finally found the plates, pulling out two clean ones. "Got 'em." He set them on the counter, then began opening containers. Steam curled into the air, filling the kitchen with the intoxicating scent of soy, ginger, garlic, and fried dough.

Piper's stomach immediately growled, a loud, undeniable sound. Knox looked at her, then back at the food. "Don't," she warned, though her voice lacked any real conviction.

"I didn't say anything."

"Your face did," she accused, her gaze sharp.

His mouth curved into a broader smile. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," she admitted, her stomach rumbling again.

"Good." He grabbed the utensils from the bag, then started dividing the food between their plates with an almost surgical precision. Dumplings, glistening and plump. Fried rice, fragrant and savory. Lo mein; its noodles were perfectly cooked. Tender pieces of chicken. A few other dishes he had apparently ordered on a whim, deciding she needed to eat whether she liked it or not.

Piper watched him for a moment, a quiet appreciation settling over her. "You ordered all this?"

"Enough for both of us," he confirmed, his movements efficient.

"You didn't even ask what I liked," she pointed out, though there was no real criticism in her voice.

"You eat," he stated simply.

She smiled. "Bossy."

"Efficient," he corrected, placing several dumplings on each plate. Then he looked at her, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You like the bad boys, huh?"

Piper's eyebrow lifted in mock surprise. "Something like that." Knox handed her a plate, his fingers brushing hers. She smiled faintly. "Only, the bad boys are exactly that." She took the plate from him, her gaze meeting his. "Bad."

Something shifted in his expression, the teasing softening, replaced by a quiet sincerity. He looked at her for a long moment before quietly saying, "We are not all like that."

Piper's gaze met his, holding his steady. "I know," she said, the words simple but profound. Something about the way she said it made his eyes linger on hers, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound.

Then Knox nodded toward the living room. "Come on."

They carried their plates to the couch and settled beside one another, the space between them comfortable and charged with unspoken feeling. For a while, there was only the quiet clink of forks against plates and the occasional sound of Piper making a small, appreciative noise over whatever delicious morsel she had just tasted. Knox watched her more than he watched his own food, his gaze a constant, steady presence. She noticed.

"You keep staring," she said, her voice soft.

"I'm looking," he replied.

"At me."

"You're sitting there," he stated, a convenient excuse.

His mouth curved. She smiled and went back to eating, savoring the flavors, the simple pleasure of a good meal. A few minutes passed before Knox's eyes wandered toward the wall, drawn to the photographs that adorned it. He nodded toward the picture he'd been studying earlier, the one of a young Piper on a dirt bike. "That's him, isn't it?"

Piper followed his gaze, her eyes finding the image. "The guy on the bike?"

"Yeah." She smiled, a fond, nostalgic expression. "That's Buster."

"Buster?"

"My grandfather."

Knox looked back at the photograph, his gaze thoughtful. "How old was he there?"

"Twenty."

His brows rose. "When?"

"1965."

Knox leaned back slightly, his mind piecing together the fragments of information. "That's the Black Shadow."

Piper glanced at him, a surprised smile touching her lips. "You know it?"

"I know bikes," he replied simply.

She smiled, a genuine, happy sound. "He loved that bike."

Knox's eyes returned to the photograph, a new understanding dawning within him. "I figured."

"He bought it when he was young. Apparently he thought it was a perfectly reasonable thing to spend money on."

"Sounds like a smart man," Knox observed.

Piper laughed, a light, airy sound. "He definitely thought so." She picked up another dumpling, her fingers delicate against the plump wrapper. "Buster bought me my first bike when I was nine."

Knox's attention immediately returned to her, his gaze intent. "Nine?"

She nodded, her expression earnest. "An old dirt bike. Nothing fancy. It was beat to hell, but I loved it."

"I bet your mother loved that," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Piper snorted, a dismissive sound. "She was thrilled."

Knox laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "Of course she was."

"My dad eventually talked her into letting me keep it."

"And your grandfather taught you?"

"Everything," she confirmed, her smile softening as she looked at the photograph, her gaze distant. "How to ride. How to work on it. How to read a track. How to race." She paused, her voice growing quiet. "How to lose."

Knox looked at her, his expression serious. "That one didn't stick."

She grinned, her usual spark returning. "No. It didn't." He laughed quietly. Piper's fingers traced the edge of her plate, her gaze still fixed on the past. "He taught me that losing wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Not learning from it was."

Knox's gaze stayed on her, a quiet admiration in his eyes. "Sounds like he knew what he was doing."

"He did." She looked back toward the photograph, her voice soft. "That bike belonged to him. My dad has it now."

Knox's head turned sharply, his eyes widening in disbelief. "He still has it?"

Piper nodded. "Yeah."

"The Black Shadow?"

"Yep."

His jaw dropped slightly, a rare display of genuine astonishment. Piper laughed, the sound clear and bright. "What's that face?"

"Do you have any idea what one of those is worth?"

"No," she admitted with a shrug.

"You don't?"

She shrugged again, a casual gesture that belied the significance of the object. "Buster never cared about what things were worth."

Knox shook his head slowly, a sense of wonder in his voice. "That bike is practically a piece of history."

Piper smiled, a knowing, contented smile. "That's why Dad keeps it." She took another bite of food, savoring the flavors. "Eventually it'll be mine."