Free Knockout by Tracey Ward Page A

raged on for a good five minutes of anxiety ridden uncomfortable until mom quietly suggested they take it in the other room. That’s when the shouting had started.
    “You’re such a child,” Laney said scathingly.
    “I’m a child? You’re a spoiled brat.”
    “We’re not poor, Kellen. Why would I act like I am?”
    “I’m not asking you to act poor. I’m telling you to stop being such a snob.”
    “Maybe you should stop being so…”
    “So what?” he asked, his voice going low. “Say it.”
    “You’re going to be a lawyer. I know you don’t have a lot of money now, but you will. You go to that ghetto ass gym and you never wear anything nice. You drive that piece of shit old motorcycle. I try to buy you nice things but you never take them.”
    “Say it,” he growled.
    “You’re white trash!” she shouted, exasperated. “You act like poor white trash. It was hot in high school but it’s time to grow up and be an adu—Where are you going?”
    “I’m leaving.” he growled, his voice barely audible to us in the kitchen. “We’re through.”
    “What?” she shrieked. “You can’t be serious.”
    He was. We all knew it and Laney knew exactly what she was doing when she used that term. When she called him trash. It was the hottest of hot buttons for Kellen Coulter and I shot out of my seat because I knew what was coming.
    “Jenna, sit down,” mom hissed, reaching for me.
    But I was too quick. I was already gone.
    I heard the door fly open as I ran from the kitchen. I saw a blurry image of Laney standing red faced and angry in the living room. I saw the darkness outside the open door, heard the crunch of angry footsteps on the driveway. On my way out through the foyer, I snagged Laney’s hot pink helmet from where she’d tossed it when she came inside. Kellen had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday when the ban from the back of his bike had been lifted. It was still in effect for me, but I was beyond caring at that point.
    I saw his back, broad and dark as he swung his leg over his bike. It roared to angry life, the headlight snapping on and cutting through the darkness. I barely made it to him before he lifted the kickstand and settled in.
    I threw myself against his back hard, opening my legs to slide over the back of the bike.
    “Fuck you, Laney. Get—“ he snapped, turning in his seat. His eyes went wide with surprise when he came face to face with me. “Jenna, what the hell?”
    “I’m going with you,” I told him.
    I took the momentary pause in his rage to put on Laney’s helmet.
    “No, you’re not.”
    “Yes, I am.”
    He sighed in annoyance. “I’m not in a good place right now, Jen. I don’t want you on the back of my bike.”
    “That’s exactly why I’m going with you. You’re angry and you’re going to drive angry and it’s dark out. You’re going to drive along the coast, aren’t you?” He nodded, his eyes on mine. “Yeah, no way. Not alone. You’ll drive crazy on those curves and get yourself killed. That’s why I’m going with you.”
    “So you can get killed too? Get off the bike.”
    “No,” I said softly. “Because you’d never hurt me. If I’m here, you’ll be careful.”
    Kellen stared at me blankly. His nostrils flared as he took several deep breathes but his eyes never left mine. Finally he turned around slowly, facing forward and taking hold of the handle bars.
    “Wrap your arms around my waist and hold onto me hard,” he said gruffly. “Clench the bike and me with your legs, lean with me when I lean. You got it?”
    I scooted forward until I was straddling him from behind, my inner thighs pressed tightly to his body. When I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged myself to the wall of muscle that was his back, I became very aware of everything. The cool night breeze, the sound of the ocean nearby, the tangy taste of salt on the air. He started the engine and suddenly there was the rumble of the bike beneath me, the smell of