She stares a heartbeat, then punches me hard enough to sting.“You’ll regret this,” she spits.
She’s right.Just not the way she means.
The snow melts, then freezes back meaner.I fix what’s broken, generators, clutches, a brother’s split knuckle.Nothing in me gets fixed with it.Nights I lie on the office couch and stare at the ceiling, counting the ribs in the beams, not the sins in my chest.I quit counting both.
Frost pokes his head in one morning.“You look like hell, brother.”
“Feels familiar.”
He watches me.Biker can hear the things you don’t say.“You bringin’ any more heat on the club?”
“No,” I say, because that’s still true.“Just on me.”
He nods.“That, I can live with.For a while.”
I nod, thinking that’s the end of it.
“You still sweet on the runaway?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Humbug, this ain’t like you.Getting hung up on someone so… sweet.Trina’s not sweet.”
“You’re right.Carol isn’t a thing like Trina.She didn’t deserve to get played.”
“You played her?”
“No,” I say, blowing breath.
“So, what’s the problem?”Frost cocks his head like he’s confused.
“I wasn’t pretending to save her.You know damn well, I was only there to ensure nobody got hurt, and that’s what I did.But Carol thinks I played her.”
“And you stayed quiet for the club.The robbery’s club business.Women never understand that.”
“Yeah, and Blizzard got cocky.He pointed a gun at her.Carol thinks it was all a lie.What happened between us.But it’s not.”
“Have you told her this?”
“No.I don’t know where the fuck she is.”
“I’ll ask around.”
“Already have…”
“Maybe someone will tell me,” Frost says, already scrolling his phone.
Damn Frost, sweet as frosting.At least he can put on like he’s harmless.
Sugar finally cracks.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” she says, voice low.“She’s workin’ in Pine City.Bakery off Main.Don’t be stupid.”
I hang up before I thank her and make it messy.
An hour later, I’m chewing highway in long bites, rain carving a thousand needles into my face.Pine City appears, city bones showing through a shiny coat.Unlike Evervale, the place is dull, reminds me of wet cardboard.One bright spot, I find the bakery by the cheerful signs.Sweet and warm and clean, like her.
I don’t go in.Not yet.Afternoon, sky the color of bad dishwater, I stand in the shadow across the street and watch her move behind glass.Hair up, hands quick, face soft when she checks a timer, sharp when she counts change.She laughs once with the kid on dishes, eyes going bright, then the light dies when she turns away from the register and thinks no one’s looking.
