She doesn’t know I’m not staying put. I can’t. There is a stirring inside me that is longing for something. I just don’t know what yet.
I’ll check in. Drop off the duffel. Take a hot shower if the water pressure’s decent.
Then I’ll ride.
Up every winding road. Down every valley. Across the ridge and back again. Until my head stops buzzing and my pulse slows and I stop feeling like I’m about to snap at the next bastard who looks at me wrong.
The farther I ride, the more the tension bleeds off.
By the time I hit the old state road that climbs toward the mountains, I’m almost smiling.
Almost.
The trees thicken as I climb, pines rising tall and dark against the sky. The air cools sharply. The sun disappears behind ridges. I lean into each curve, the bike gliding with me like we’re one creature.
The world narrows to road and wind.
Miles slide under me like water.
Hours pass without me noticing.
Somewhere past the third overlook, the first real flicker of peace hits.
It settles low in my chest, a heavy exhale I didn’t know I’d been holding for… hell, maybe ten years. Maybe longer.
I check the map on my phone placed in the handlebar mount. Honey sent me the address last night with a cheerful message and a heart emoji she uses when she’s trying not to nag. Some cabin near the creek. Some quiet rental tucked away where no one will bother me.
Fine by me.
I turn off the main road onto a narrow gravel lane that winds deeper into the woods. Sunlight filters weakly through the bare branches, casting long shadows. A stream gurgles somewhere nearby.
The cabin finally comes into view around a bend—a little place with a blue roof, a wreath on the door, and warm light spilling out the front windows.
Cozy. Quiet. Peaceful.
Not my usual style.
But something about it hits… right.
I ease my bike to a stop in the driveway, kill the engine, and the sudden quiet rings in my ears. Only the creek and the wind and the distant rustle of leaves remain.
I swing off the bike, stretch my back, and take it in.
The place is small. Clean. Charming in a way I should probably find annoying. But there’s something about it—about the way it sits tucked between the trees, about the glow from the windows, about the faint smell of woodsmoke whispering on the air.
I don’t know who runs it—just the listing Honey sent me.
Holley’s Hideaway.
Some over-the-top name for a place this humble. Maybe they named it for their daughter like I did my business. Either way, it doesn’t matter what they call it.
I’m here.
I’m away from town.
Away from responsibility.
Away from the noise in my head.
