“I’m not killing you,” Ryke repeats. Her smile fades. “Ryke,” she says, “I’m going to figure out how to ride a motorcycle with or without you. I was just giving you the opportunity to have one of the bikes. I know you want it.” He stares off, deep in thought, and then he shakes his head repeatedly, cringing. “Fuck.” “What?” He covers his face with his hand. “I can’t stop picturing you flipping the bike over.” “I haven’t fallen off yet,” she reminds him.
