Spellbound, Boundless Series, Book 4

Ch. 39

A couple of days without being able to communicate with Lana or see her beautiful face was torture. I deserved it. With Marty's help, who tracked her location through GPS, I sat in my car, in front of her home. I summoned the courage to ring her door.

Three rings and no answer made me anxious until I heard a series of frustrated shouts and the clink of metal. I followed the sounds to the back of the multi-family home. The dusty trail kicked up dirt and dried grass onto my designer leather shoes. I slowed down when I saw Lana standing over her motorcycle, which was on a bike lift jack. Her hands were on her hips.

"Lana?"

She startled and turned to face me. A huge sigh blew the hair out of her face. Grease stains on her cheek made her look adorable like a child tinkering in her father's garage. She'd obviously been deeply engrossed in her work.

"What are you doing here?" she spoke without a hint of excitement at seeing me. She returned to the bike.

"I wanted to see how you're doing." She didn't respond and continued fiddling with the visibly damaged motorcycle. "I have something for you."

"You can leave it in my mailbox." She didn't look at me.

My brow furrowed. I stroked my chin to reduce my growing agitation at her disinterest in me. "How do you know it's a letter?"

"Well, you're not carrying a box, and I have no interest in fucking you, so all that's left is a letter."

"Nice," I gritted. For someone who hadn't liked hearing the word fuck, she seemed to have gotten over her aversion.

"Have a good day, Brady." She turned, reaching for a large wrench.

Despite the menacing tool in her small hand, I wasn't deterred. "Can I help you with that?"

The smirk on her face made me falter. With the back of her hand, she smoothed away the dark tendrils blowing in the warm wind.

"You don't think I can help?" I asked.

"Truly, I don't care if you can help." Her head bowed.

I stepped closer, looking at the bike. There were scratches and cracks on the fiberglass. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing."

"Lana, you're standing in the middle of a field with a bike on a lift, and you're telling me nothing is wrong with it?"

"I crashed it, and it slid away from me and landed under a truck. The frame is bent under all this damn fiberglass, and I think it's a total loss." Anger tinged her voice.

"Are you okay?"

Without looking at me, she waved a dismissive hand. "Brady, I need you to go, please."

I walked over to her, sensing that she truly didn't want me to leave. Before I got too close, she turned completely to face me. I saw bruises on her right thigh and arm. Nothing on her face, which meant she'd had her helmet on.

I lunged at her, and she winced when I took her arm in my hand.

"You can't pull me like that," she cried.

My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. An intense ache rippled through my heart. "I'm sorry. Man, I'm so sorry."

"For what? Pulling on my arm, or for the paparazzi who bumped me as I drove away from them?"

A knot in my throat made it hard to speak, but I summoned one word, "Everything."

"Then...just leave." She sighed. With the back of her hand, she dabbed at the corner of her eye.