Another lie.
Another thing I tell myself so I don’t turn my bike around and show up at her door like the weak, lovesick idiot I swore I’d never be.But even as I hit send, a bad feeling curls low in my stomach.
Something I can’t shake.Something heavy and wrong.
The sun is setting.The shadows are long.I feel like I made a mistake I won’t be able to fix.
Three
Ledger
Sleep doesn’t stick.
I drift for maybe twenty minutes at a time before snapping awake, heart racing like I’ve been running, chest tight, sheets twisted around my legs.Every time I close my eyes, I see her in that hallway at the bakery.
Her chin up.Her eyes wet, but not allowing the tears to fall.Her voice steady even as the ground shifted under both our feet.
I throw the covers off and sit on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees, hands dragging down my face.The room is dark, quiet, too damn small for how loud my thoughts are.
This is pathetic.
It’s not like we broke up.Not really.You gotta be in a relationship to break up, and we were never that.
We had an arrangement.We ended the arrangement.
Simple.
I tell myself that again, then again, waiting for it to hit like truth instead of a lie I keep forcing down.
It doesn’t.
The digital clock on the nightstand glows 1:42 a.m.
There’s no chance I’m getting back to sleep.
I stand, grab my jeans from the floor, tug them on.Boots next.Shirt.My cut hangs over the back of the chair in the corner.I shrug into it, letting the familiar weight settle over my shoulders.
Feels better.Not good.
But better.
I pocket my keys and phone and head outside.
The night air in Freedom Falls is cool, damp, carrying the faint smell of the creek that winds beyond the tree line.Crickets hum, the distant sound of a semi rumbles somewhere on the highway, and for a brief second, everything looks exactly the same as it always has.
Which just makes the difference in me feel more obvious.
My bike is where I left it, glinting under the weak porch light.I swing a leg over, start her up, feel the familiar vibration beneath me.It pushes back the worst of the noise in my head.
That’s the thing about riding—there’s no room for bullshit.If your mind wanders too far, you end up in a ditch or under someone’s bumper.Bikes demand your full attention.They drag you into the present whether you like it or not.
Right now, I need that.
I pull out, tires crunching on the gravel, and hit the road, letting the steady hum of the engine and the wind claw some of the tension out of my muscles.I don’t have a destination.I just ride.
My first pass down Main Street is out of habit.
The road curves, I lean with it, and before I know it, I’m cruising past the bakery.
