Tarnesha climbed back onto the bike seat, eyes lingering where Nova’s retreating figure once was. Her face held a look I couldn’t read—half curiosity, half understanding she’d just stepped into a game she’d never been invited to play.
“She’s your wife for real?” Tarnesha murmured.
“Yeah,” I admitted, voice hoarse, throat raw from words I didn’t say.
Nova stopped in front of the closed diner door, glanced back once through the window—not at Tarnesha, not at the bike, just me. Her eyes cut through the rain like bullets, hazel burning with betrayal and history I couldn’t rewrite. Then she turned, disappearing into the night, boots splashing through puddles like war drums.
Tarnesha scoffed softly, shook her head, and hopped off the bike. “Figures,” she whispered, adjusting her braids, voice low but sharp enough to sting. “You should’ve told me, Ro.”
I didn’t answer. Just kept my eyes on the corner where Nova vanished. Crest rain always carried ghosts, but tonight? Tonight, it dragged my sins into the open and made sure Tarnesha got front-row seats.
She climbed back on, silent now, arms crossed tight, not touching me. She didn’t need to yell—her quiet said enough. And me? My chest burned with guilt, regret, and a hunger I couldn’t shake.
Nova’s fire still burned in my head, branding me in a way no rain could wash clean.
I swung my leg over the R1, the seat slick under my jeans from the downpour. My gloves were damp, leather sticking as I gripped the bars. Tarnesha hands sliding around my waist, light and hesitant like she could feel the storm running off me.
The rain fell harder now. It hammered the pavement, hissed off the exhaust, streaked down my visor until the world was nothing but smeared streetlights and familiar ghosts. I fired the engine—deep growl rumbling through my chest—and the bike kicked forward like it was angry too.
We shot out onto the boulevard, puddles exploding under the tires, the Crest sliding past in flashes. The storefronts neon lights buzzed red, graffiti tags blurred on brick walls, and every block we passed whispered memories I’d tried to bury.
Tarnesha leaned in close, her chin brushing my shoulder. “Where we going, Ro?” she shouted over the wind.
“Nowhere,” I muttered, twisting the throttle. “Just ride.”
She didn’t argue. Her arms tightened around me, but it didn’t bring warmth. The cold was in my bones now—Nova’s eyes burned there, her voice still sharp in my ears.
The rain felt heavier the faster we went, smacking against my jacket, dripping from my lashes. My jaw clenched as I leaned into the next curve, the bike humming steady beneath me, the engine’s roar the only sound that could drown out the guilt screaming louder than the storm.
We flew past the city’s edge, streetlights thinning, road slick like black glass. I should’ve felt free, but the grip on my chest said otherwise. Every mile we put between us and Cruz’s spot felt like running, and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t run again.
We chewed up miles like it had something to prove, tires humming against slick pavement, rain carving streaks down my visor until everything blurred—lights, buildings, the reflection of a man I didn’t recognize anymore.
I didn’t have a destination. Couldn’t sit still, couldn’t face four walls. So, I rode out past the corner stores and liquor spots, past the cracked basketball courts and boarded-up homes, until Lyon Crest thinned out into empty roads hugging the hills.
I killed the engine near an overlook where the city sprawled below. The rain wasn’t just wet—it was heavy, cold enough to sting, dripping from my lashes until every blink burned. The smell of wet asphalt and cigarette smoke stuck to my throat like guilt. My gloves squeaked every time I clenched the bars, leather slick under my palms. My chest ached with something that wasn’t just regret—it was weight. The kind that bends your shoulders and makes you wonder if you’ll ever breathe light again.
I ripped the helmet off, ran a hand over my face. My jaw locked tight, pulse hammering, thoughts louder than the storm.
Her eyes. Hazel fire cutting through me like I was a stranger. The chain at her chest, the way her hand clutched it like a lifeline while she threw my sins back in my face. I’d thought I’d prepared for it—for her anger, her pain—but standing there, I’d felt like a kid again. Small. Guilty. Unworthy.
I lit a cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind, and dragged in deep. Smoke curled up, mixing with the mist off the Crest.
The guilt sat heavy. Every breath tasted like regret. I thought of the baby we’d buried without a name, of Nova’s sobs muffled in the crook of my arm, of the moment I decided she’d be better off without me. Like leaving was some noble act instead of straight-up cowardice.
And Tarnesha… she didn’t even know she was playing a part in a story that started before she met me. She was safety. A bandage I slapped over a bullet wound. She didn’t deserve the storm I carried, the ghost I’d never let go of.
I flicked ash off the edge of the overlook, watched the glowing ember fall and vanish. My reflection stared back at me in the bike’s wet chrome—hard eyes, wet hair stuck to my forehead, jaw tight enough to crack.
Sal’s death left a hole in this block, and holes don’t stay empty. Trigger’s name was already floating in whispers, and I knew he was circling like a vulture, waiting for me to slip. They all wanted to see if Saint less Ro would come back as a leader or a ghost. And the truth? I wasn’t sure which one I was yet.
I thought of Sal in that box, of Trigger’s smirk, of Saint standing next to Nova like he belonged there. I thought of how everything in this city felt like it was circling me, waiting to see if I’d break again.
I couldn’t go back. Couldn’t face her yet. So I just stood there, rain soaking me to the bone, smoke burning my throat, Lyon Crest spread below me like a reminder of every ghost I’d left behind.
And for the first time in years, I felt it—that edge. That line between holding it together and letting the darkness swallow me whole.
Tarnesha swung her leg over and climbed off the bike, boots crunching gravel. She adjusted her braids with one hand, her lip gloss catching the faint glow of the streetlights. “You gon’ just stand here, Ro?” she asked softly, voice laced with irritation she was trying to swallow.
