"So maybe riding alone in the middle of the night when you're—" He stops, reconsiders. "When you haven't slept in two days isn't the best idea."
"I've gone longer without sleep."
"That doesn't make it healthy."
"I'll be fine." I grab my jacket from the hook by the door. "Don't wait up."
"Knox." Jason's voice is careful. "You're not going to do anything stupid, right?"
"Like what?"
"Like show up at his apartment."
The words hit harder than they should. Because I wasn't thinking about that. Wasn't planning it. But now that he's said it, the idea is there, lodged in my brain like a splinter.
"Robin said to stay away," I say. "I'm staying away."
"Okay." Jason doesn't sound convinced. "Just... be careful. And text if you need anything."
I don't answer. Just push through the door into the cool night air.
I take a breath, then another, trying to get my lungs to work properly. They haven't been working properly since Toby left.
My bike is parked where it always is, gleaming under the security lights. I run my hand along the seat before swinging a leg over, feeling the familiar weight settle beneath me. The leather is cold. Everything feels cold lately.
For a second—just a second—I let myself remember.
Toby pressed against my back, arms wrapped tight around my waist. The way he'd held on like I was the only solid thing in the world. His thighs bracketing mine, his chest against my shoulders, his breath warm on my neck even through the helmet. He'd been nervous that first ride—I could smell it on him—but he hadn't let go. Hadn't pulled away. Just held on and trusted me to get him home safe.
And when I'd dropped him off, half-asleep and swaying on his feet, he'd looked at me and saidyour eyes are pretty when they're goldlike it was nothing. Like complimenting a lion shifter's predator eyes was a completely normal thing to do. Then he'd stumbled inside before I could respond, leavingme sitting on my bike like an idiot, trying to remember how to breathe.
I push the memory away. It doesn't help. Nothing helps.
The engine roars to life beneath me, familiar and grounding. Usually riding clears my head—the wind, the speed, the focus required to navigate the streets. Tonight I'm hoping it'll do the same. Give me something to think about besides him.
The city is quiet at this hour. A few cars, a few late-night dog walkers, the occasional drunk stumbling home from a bar. I ride with no destination in mind, taking turns at random, letting the wind and the engine noise drown out my thoughts.
Left on Fifth. Right on Madison. Straight through downtown where the buildings are tall and the lights are bright. Over the bridge where the river reflects the city back at itself like a mirror.
I'm not going to his apartment.
I'm just riding. Clearing my head. Getting some air.
Right on Maple. Left on Twenty-Third.
His apartment is on Twenty-Third.
I'm not going there.
Except my bike seems to have other ideas, because suddenly I'm turning into a familiar parking lot, killing the engine in the shadow of a building I know too well now. Toby's building.
I sit there in the dark, staring up at the building.
Third floor. Corner unit. I remember which one is his from that night with the groceries, when I'd stood outside wondering what the hell I was doing. I'd wanted to tear Robin apart for being that close to what was mine.
The light is off now. Of course it is—it's after midnight. Normal people are asleep. Toby's probably curled up in bed, maybe holding a book he fell asleep reading.
Or maybe he's lying awake like I am. Staring at the ceiling. Wondering how everything went so wrong so fast.
