A Rhapsody in B Minor
Rhapsody (noun): 1. a piece of music that is meant to express a lot of emotion and does not have a regular form. 2. a portion of an epic poem adapted for recitation 3. (1) : a highly emotional utterance (2) : a highly emotional literary work (3) : effusively rapturous or extravagant discourse
Kate's eyelids fluttered shut as she felt the shudder of the engine roaring to life between her leather-clad thighs. There was something about the strength, the power, the utter fearlessness of the hunk of metal she was straddling that never failed to make her feel invincible. And after this, what could arguably be called the second worst week of her life, she needed to feel more than just merely alive.
She could feel her worries, along with The City, getting smaller as she sped up the coast, the numbers on the speedometer nothing more than a suggestion. And sounds of the outside world were drowned out by the barrier of her helmet coupled with the earbuds nestled in her ears. The beat and lyrics of Nirvana, Queen, and The Ramones enveloped her from her phone, securely zipped in the inside pocket of her dark wash jean jacket.
But like an inevitable earworm, the thoughts began to return as the first hour bled into the second. How could she have been so stupid? She should have known it was too good to be true, that this would happen. This was his game, he chased to conquer and she had played too hard to get. But whom was she kidding, it was for the best really, it had to b, because what would have happened? She would have gone to the Hamptons, they would have had fun, as "friends"? No. A day lying by the pool would have led to an evening in the hot tub, and then the bathing suits would have become completely optional. They would have inevitably ended up in bed and then what? They would go back to the city and live happily ever after?
No. It would have been awkward, a mistake. She and Richard Castle would never work. He had no intention of settling down again, and she didn't want just a one-night stand. It was black and white, no shades of gray; they were completely incompatible, no questions asked. In the end he had saved her the delusion of a wonderful weekend, the twist of emotions, the awkward afterward. She should be grateful to Gina for worming her way back in and to Castle for letting his true nature show again, because she had forgotten. She had gotten lost in the banter, the homemade lattes and the goofy, sweet exterior. She had deluded herself into believing that she was actually something he could want, and that he was someone who was right for her instead of the makings of a terrible mistake.
But yet, here she was, weeks later still thinking about it— thinking about how breaking up with Tom had been an irrevocable error, how embarrassed she was still that she had been ready to throw herself at a man who clearly didn't want her. Part of her wanted to never even see the name Richard Castle again, and another part yearned for nothing more than for him to show up on her doorstep in the middle of the night. The rest of her hated that second part of herself.
She drove around a bend in the road and her bladder tinged in protest— a silent plea to pull off. Slowing slightly, she began scanning the surrounding establishments of the small town she found herself in, the sign for a bar in the distance finally catching her attention. She needed to quiet the broken record of arguments playing in her head, and she couldn't think of anything better than a drink or two to make that happen. She pulled in at what seemed like a crawl after pushing three digits on the road. The Harley puttered happily beneath her as she rolled into a spot next to a sea of other bikes in the parking lot. She took a moment to inventory the lot- a mishmash of hardcore Harleys, much like her own Softail, and Suzukis. Her muscles relaxed, it seemed more likely it belonged to a group from The City out for a joyride rather than a biker gang.
Her thighs and knees protested as she swung deftly off the seat , legs shaking, knees buckling slightly as the ground continued to vibrate beneath her. She definitely did not ride enough anymore.
The bar was dark; a dive of a place, the walls painted in peeling posters and faded photographs. She wandered to the bathroom first, helmet nestled securely in the crook of one arm, nose crinkling as she pushed open the stall door with a single finger. After a moment of hesitation she rolled her eyes at herself. When had she become such a prima donna? With a final huff she slammed the door closed behind her.
She eyed the crowd when she emerged from the Ladies Room, surveying, analyzing the tables of people scattered around the cramped space, ever the detective. There was a quiet couple at the front, sipping their drinks as they talked quietly, lost in themselves. A gruff looking middle-aged man sat in the far corner, back to the wall, the tip of his graying beard grazing his arms crossed over his chest. A roar of laughter drew Kate's attention to the tables in the back of the bar, an oversized crowd surrounding the table, spilling into a sea of chairs that had been stolen from other empty tables in the room. She couldn't help the quirk of a smile that lifted the corner of her mouth as she stepped over to the bar, one ear still on their antics.
Slapping a bill on the counter, she slid onto a stool, placing her helmet on the seat to her left, sliding off her jacket to place on the stool to her right: the universal sign for 'leave me the hell alone'.
"Whiskey, neat."
She lifted the cup to her lips, grimacing as the cool liquid burned her tongue and throat. She could feel her mind start to drift once again as she spun the remainder of the drink, watching the amber liquid slosh up the sides of the tumbler, wondering what he was doing, what they were doing, if it could possibly have been her there with him still if she had just had the courage to say "yes" earlier, if she had been able to allow herself to fully see it without Esposito needing to whisper it knowingly in her ear. Had she really been that blind to it, or was it all just a façade on his part? Nothing more than a piece of his playboy exterior, fodder for Page 6, the writer in love with his muse. Love, no. No. Lust maybe, but not love. She needed to get over this schoolgirl crush once and for all. It was never going to happen between her and Richard Castle. She knew that, she accepted it. Now, she just needed to finalize it once and for all. She had made a mistake, she had let her guard down and she had paid the price, gotten hurt. No more, not again. There was a reason why she never went all in, why she always kept one foot securely out the door. If she wasn't fully invested she could not get completely, devastatingly hurt. She didn't need that again, not after her mother left her, after Will. No. Never again.
"Excuse me, two beers please."
Started, Kate turned to see the profile of a man leaning, elbows on the bar, inches from her, his hip resting against the far side of the stool that housed her jacket.
She drew her lower lip between her teeth as her eyes perused his profile: the mop of dark brown, almost black, hair that flopped over his forehead, the strong angle of his jaw, the defined dimple in his cheek when he smiled at the young woman tending bar, complimenting her on the sleeve of tattoos painted down her arm.
His gaze drifted over to Kate as he waited for the bartender to pop the caps off of the bottles, eyes doing a double take when he fully registered that she was sitting there, staring back at him unashamed. Her teeth let go of her lip, corners of her mouth twitching up in greeting as the bartender, Kim, as she had introduced herself, plopped the two IPAs down in front of him. Then with a brilliant smile and a slight bob of his head he scooped up both bottles by the necks and was gone.
Kate couldn't help as her eyes trailed after his retreating figure, neck craning around, a curtain of caramel hair falling over her shoulder as she continued to appreciate the way his jeans hugged his hips. The man looked back after he sat down, prompted by one of his neighbors nudging at his ribs insistently with an elbow. She lifted three fingers in a lazy wave, bottom lip once again nipped securely between her teeth.
It made her heart ache, the small act of flirtation but she pushed aside the twinge of pain in her chest, instead making a conscious effort to focus on the flutter of butterflies in her stomach as she turned back to the bar and her drink. Swirling the whiskey she took another burning sip, even now as she waited to see if the beautifully perfect stranger across the room would take the bait, she could see the crystal blue of his eyes, hear the quick quips and idiotic theories about their cases, and feel the welcome burn of her warm ceramic mug as he presented her with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee. But that was why she was doing this, wasn't it? Because that was over, it was in the past and she would never allow her walls to drop far enough to be hurt by the likes of Richard Castle again. She had learned her lesson.
Fool me twice…
"Hi."
She noticed her jacket shifting off of the neighboring stool as his greeting rang in her ear, his voice low and smooth, running over her scarred heart like a warm balm.
"Hi." Her voice low the texture of gravel.
"Can I get another beer?" He called to Kim who had been attempting to watch them surreptitiously from the other end of the bar. "And another whatever the lady is having."
Kim complied with a brusque nod, placing Kate's new whiskey in front of her with a little more force than necessary.
"Thanks," Kate murmured, lifting the remainder of her old drink to her lips, throwing it back. "You from The City?"
"Yeah," he replied, leaning forward slightly, body angled to see her better. "A group of us like to head out riding on the weekends, get away from… everything."
Leaning back he took in her helmet resting on the other stool. "What you ride?"
"'94 Harley Softail." She supplied with ease, pride swelling in her chest at the impressed rise of his eyebrows and nod of his head. "You?"
"Sportster."
She remembered her eyes being drawn to that bike in the sea of parked motorcycles.
"Impressive," she nodded in reply, smiling around the glass of whiskey resting against her lips.
She continued to watch him as they swapped small talk, flirtatious looks. While the wit was there, the banter was not. He was obviously smart but he lacked the outlandish theories. Afternoon coffee replaced by the warm wash of booze. Richard Castle he was not, but that was what she had wanted, right? What she had needed?
Her eyes flickered to the back of the bar at a sudden clattering of chairs; the group milling around, getting ready to leave.
"I gotta go," he said regret filling his eyes.
Kate nodded in reply. Of course he wasn't going to stay. They never stayed.
"Josh," he stated as he slid off the stool, holding out a hand.
Without thinking she leaned up out of her seat, reaching across the bar to snag a pen from next to the order pad. Scribbling quickly on a damp napkin she turned and held it out to his outstretched hand. "Kate. Call me."
He nodded, lips splitting into a grin. "I will."
Kate watched as he rejoined his group, welcomed by a couple celebratory slaps to the back. With an eye roll she threw back the rest of her drink.
He was definitely no Richard Castle, but right now that was exactly what she needed.
A/N: Are pitchforks at the ready yet for this obviously not Caskett piece? Thank you for reading, I hope you still found it enjoyable. Thank you to Kate Christie for the late night edit and for not killing me for writing something that has Josh in it, I appreciate breathing. ;)