Free Bonechiller by Graham McNamee Page B

sink. Forcing myself to breathe slow, I try to erase my thoughts like I swiped away the steam. Get a grip on the panic before it pushes me off the deep end. Takes a minute, but I manage to flatline my emotions. The wave of raw grief falls back.
    I’ve almost stopped shaking when there’s a knock at the bathroom door. I jump, opening my eyes on my own startled reflection in the mirror.
    “Danny,” Dad says, muffled through the door. “Phone.”
    I have to swallow before I can speak.
    “Okay. I’m coming.”
    I push off from the sink, avoiding eye contact with that mess in the mirror that looks like me.

ELEVEN
    “What are you doing, frisking me?” Ash frowns at me over her shoulder.
    I’m sitting behind her on the motorbike, trying to find where I can hold on to her without it seeming like I’m trying to feel her up. I wouldn’t mind trying. But she’s driving.
    “Here,” she says, taking my bare hands in her gloved ones and fixing my grip just below her chest. “Scoot up closer, or we’re gonna be doing wheelies all the way there.”
    It’s Saturday morning, around eleven. Ash called when I was getting out of the shower to see if I wanted to take a ride. I said yeah, but I had to drop by Howie’s first. His call woke me up this morning, out of a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep. He said he’d made some progress on our mystery tracks and I should come over.
    I scoot up close, bringing my groin right up against her tailbone. Not a bad place to be. I press in tight. “No helmets?”
    Ash shrugs, putting on her badass sunglasses. “You want to live forever? Gotta feel the wind on your face. Feel the speed. Live before you die.”
    We tear out of the parking lot behind the marina.
    It’s a gray day, smells like snow coming. The fields are covered in a thin layer of powder.
    The chains strapped on the tires of her bike bite into the skim of snow and black ice on the road, giving us enough traction so we don’t go sliding into the ditch.
    The rattling vibration of the bike, together with the bump and grind of me against Ash as we speed over lumps and potholes, is having a
rising
effect in my jeans. I have this powerful urge to let my hands roam from where they’re locked just above her navel.
    Even if we wipe out, it’ll be worth it. Live before you die, right?
    I have to fight to keep from leaning in to taste her neck with my tongue. Right now, the happiest place on earth is inside my pants.
    We sputter to a halt in front of Howie’s place. I hop off, taking a few steps away with my back to Ash as she rocks the bike onto its kickstand. The bulge in the front of my jeans is screamingly obvious. I unzip my jacket and let the arctic day soak into me. Next best thing to a cold shower.
    Ash goes up the stairs to knock on the door, giving me a few more seconds to deflate.
    The door opens on a thin red-haired woman chewing a big wad of gum.
    “Hi, Brenda,” Ash says. “We’re here to see Howie.”
    “Ashley, honey. Look at your face. Every time you’reover you’ve got some new cuts and bruises. Your mother must get frantic.”
    Brenda lets us in and shuts the door against the cold.
    “Well, I was never beauty-queen material,” Ash says.
    “Don’t say that. You’ve got such lovely bone structure. Don’t you think so, Danny?”
    I grin as Ash makes a face. Her right eye is real bloodshot from the gouge last night, the lid swollen.
    “Girl’s got great bones.”
    I get a knuckle in the ribs from Ash.
    Brenda’s a bundle of nervous energy. Maybe it comes from being married to a former drill sergeant who now specializes in defusing bombs. I can see where Howie gets his nerves.
    “He’s up in his room. Don’t bother knocking, he won’t hear you with his headphones on.”
    We climb the stairs.
    Ash pushes me ahead of her. “You check first. Make sure Howie’s not playing with Howie junior.”
    I knock. Getting no response, I turn the knob and peek in. Howie’s sitting at his desk, back to the