The rest of my shift passed by uneventfully. And honestly, after the morning I had had, a break from all the chaos was welcomed. Xander and Dylan stopped at the front counter to say goodbye, reminding me again about the party tomorrow, begging me to come. 

They were really nice guys, with big hearts, and I decided to go, even if it meant seeing Ryder again. 

Sunday nights were pretty quiet down at the Artist's Prison, so Eddie had given me the night off. Just as I slipped off my apron, and got ready to lock up the diner, my phone began ringing from my pocket. 

I looked down at the number to see that it was Julie, my neighbor.

"Hey Julie," I greeted into the phone as I balanced it between my shoulder and ear. "What's up?"

"Hey Ro, can I ask you for a huge favor?" Julie desperately asked.

"Sure thing Jules, what do you need?" I said as I shut off the lights and locked the front door.

"The school is making me come in for some mandatory meeting right now. Something about re-training and updating curriculum to prevent budget cuts. I don't even know, but they said I have to come in tonight. Can you watch Alanna? I'll pick her up before your shift tomorrow morning," she breathlessly said. 

I could hear her stressfully pacing about her kitchen through the phone. Julie was always working her ass off, not even for herself, but for her 3-year-old daughter. Julie was a teen mom. A drunken night with a guy she then thought was the love of her life led to a whole new life for her. 

Her parents kicked her out, and at 17, she had a newborn and was homeless. Luckily, she had some family that took her in, but Julie was determined to create a life for herself and Alanna. And that's exactly what she did. She graduated from high school, got her GED and eventually a job teaching. 

It was a hard life, but she never complained, because it was all for the love of her life, her baby girl, Alanna.

"Of course Julie. Always, I love Lannie. Anything for you." I assured.

"Oh Ro, thank you, thank you, thank you! You just saved my life. I love you," she exclaimed.

"Love you too Jules," I laughed. "I'm just leaving the diner, so I should be home in 15 minutes. See you then."

"Oh, and I swear, if you try and pay me, you'll regret it," I threatened.

She laughed as I headed towards the parking lot and said goodbye. Honestly threatening Julie was useless. She had a special little system to sneak me some cash. Every time I babysat Alanna, she would give her some cash and tell her to hide it somewhere in my apartment. Alanna, loving hide and seek, happily agreed. 

So every now and then, I would find bills under couches, in pillowcases, inside my guitar, etc. Alanna was like Julie's personal Trojan horse. Some of the spots I found bills crammed in were insane.

Once, I was watching Alanna, and she asked for a cookie.

"Bosie," she giggled. Unable to pronounce the R in my name. "Nam-nam, plwease?"

"Sure Lannie," I said as I scooped her up in my arms and rested her on my hip. She started twirling my hair in her chunky fingers as I reached for the cookie jar.

As soon as placed her down, she dove face-first into the cookies. Chocolate spreading all over her checks. I giggled as she tried to lick away the mess with her tongue. I helped her wipe away the mess as she cooed "Mwess, Mwess, nam-nam."

That evening, when I was cleaning up the mess we had made, I found something sticking out of the cooking jar. I opened it up to find a wad of bills shoved in there. As I pulled the cash out, chocolate dripped out, coating the money in brown putty. 

I laughed to myself, knowing who the little mastermind of this game of hide and seek had been.

A night with Lannie was sure to be an adventure, I thought as I turned my keys to start my car. I heard the sputter of the engine, waiting for it to settle and come to life. 

But it didn't. 

I tried again, with no avail. 

Third times the charm, I thought to myself. 

I pushed the key in a little harder this time, but the engine didn't even sputter. It was completely dead.

"Goddamnit," I cursed slamming my head against the wheel. My head accidentally pressed against the horn, causing a sharp sound to blare through my ears. 

"Fantastic," I cheered out loud. I just wanted to go home. What was I going to do? 

I considered calling Mo to give me a lift, but she was out with Daniel. Cas was at rehearsals. Eddie was working. Ugh, I didn't know who to call. At times like this, it was like the universe was subtly reminding me of the few friends I had. 

I had to think of something quick, Julie was waiting with Alanna.

I stepped out of my car to get some air. Just as the cold air hit my skin, I heard a shuffling in the back of the parking lot near the garbage cans. I heard the crunching of a can and saw someone emerge from the shadows of the streetlights. The figure was well-built and tall, with a large gait.

I attempted to sound strong and scare off the intruder, but what came out was meek at best. "Who's there?" I shakily muttered.

The figure continued to approach, but I couldn't discern a face in the darkness. I grabbed a stick off the ground, prepared to defend myself. "I have a weapon-don't come any closer," I yelled.

The figure continued to approach faster, unfazed by my threats.

Just as I got ready to whack the mysterious man, a street light shined in his direction.

"Ryder? Oh, thank god." I never thought I would be so relieved to see him.

"Rosie? What are you doing? Is that a stick? Seriously, that's how you were going to defend yourself," he laughed.

Looking down at my hands, I realized how comical I must have appeared. I laughed along with him and said "I thought you were an intruder or a kidnapper. This stick is all I had okay... And anyway, it doesn't even matter. It's not about the weapon, it's about the element of surprise."

"Ok, sure Rosie. That twig could do some real damage," he sarcastically added, grabbing the stick from my hand and easily snapping it. "What are you doing here anyway? It's late."

"It's Ro, Ryder. Anyway, my shift ended and I was headed home, but my car won't start. What are you doing here?" I asked

"I was in the neighborhood when I heard a honk." My cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Haha. That was me, sorry. I got a little mad. Just a little desperate to head home. It's been a long day," I admitted.

"Yeah. Long day," he agreed. As I looked a bit more closely at him, I could see the bags under his eyes and his unruly hair. He looked exhausted like he hadn't a good night's sleep in a long time.

"Let me give you a ride home," he offered.

I immediately declined. "No. Someone else is on their way. You go. Have a good night," I lied.

"Who's coming Rosie?" he countered.

"Ummm...uh..." I stuttered trying to come up with a name.

"I know you're lying. I know you hate me, but please let me give you a ride home," he interrupted. "It's the least I can do."

He always knew when I was lying. He used to say that my stuttering was a dead giveaway. 

Even after two years, he could still read me like an open book. I tried not to read too much into his words, but it was hard not to think that he meant more...

Regardless, I needed to get home to Lannie. I looked up at him and said "Fine," accepting his offer. "Where's your car?" I asked as I locked up mine.

"Well, it's not exactly a car..." he said. 

"What do you mean? I swear if it's a skateboard, I'm going to smack you."

He laughed a deep rich laugh as he smirked back at me. "Not a skateboard. Promise." He pointed to the end of the parking lot. "See for yourself."

I looked in the direction that Ryder gestured and I saw the most beautiful motorcycle I had seen in a while. It was a Harley Davidson Sportster Iron 883, with a sleek black finish, and silver-rimmed wheels, and faux-leather finished seats.

Motorcycles had scared me for a long time. Dad used to be a rider in his teens when one day he got into an accident. He was riding along the highway, when a truck swerved into his lane, missing the blind spot. His bike tilted over, and because he was moving so fast, nearly 70 miles per hour, the bike flipped over... several times. 

Dad, was honestly really lucky, walking away from the accident with only a deep gash across his arm. It eventually healed to leave a thick scar across his forearm, which he loved it, saying it added to the rocker aesthetic.

But since I knew about Dad's injury, I hated motorcycles. I think my Dad found out about my vendetta against motorcycles when I was six. We were watching some Bugs Bunny cartoon when Wile E. Coyote pulled up on a bike and I started screaming, "Bad bike. Motorcycle means they die. They will die!"

My Dad was so lost. He tried to calm me down, "Rosie honey, what's wrong? No one is gonna die, sweetheart. The bunny always comes back, see?" He pointed at the cartoon where Wile E. Coyote ran over Bugs Bunny, but then the bunny jumped right back up.

I momentarily stopped crying and looked back up at my dad wiping my tears. I reached for his arm and pointed at the scar along his arm. "Motorcycle did this. It hurt you."

"Oh honey," he said hugging me tightly. "That wasn't the bike, someone accidentally bumped me and I fell. It's just a small cut. The motorcycle didn't hurt me. It was an accident. See, touch it, it doesn't even hurt anymore."

He took my finger and gently pressed against the scar on his arm. I looked up at him to see if he was okay. "It doesn't hurt?"

"No-in fact, it kinda tickles." He laughed and picked me up, tickling me. We both fell into a laughing fit.

I think at that moment, my dad became determined to make sure I loved motorcycles. He dusted off his motorcycle, a Yamaha YZF-R3, and we took rides all the time, and I slowly fell in love. And then when I turned 15, he taught me how to ride.

"Okay Rosie, you got it. Easy on the throttle. Brakes on the left. The rear brake is the lever down below. Get a good feel for the clutch and when I give you the go-ahead, put it in drive. Okay, ready?" he called.

"Yeah, just one thing, which one's the throttle?" I asked.

My dad's eyes literally bugged out. "Oh God. Get off the bike Rosie," he exclaimed, regretting everything. "This was a terrible idea, what was I thinking. You're too young," he muttered to himself.

"Dad! I was just teasing. Relax, I can do this. You've been teaching me for months. Please let me give it a go on my own. I can do it," I assured him.

He still seemed a little uneasy but smiled at me as he said, "Bad joke. But okay, you're right. You can do it."

"Thanks Dad." I slipped on my helmet and climbed onto the bike. I grabbed the clutch and accelerated the bike forward.

I heard my dad yell "Easy on the throttle!" as I zipped past him. 

I still remember the feeling of that first ride. The wind blowing in my hair, the breeze, aggressively beating against my skin, and the fresh air I was breathing. It was a sense of freedom, where I could feel the journey I was making, and a sense of direction that was so clear. 

I missed that feeling.

I looked at Ryder's beautiful bike in front of me and said two words.

"I ride."