I clear my throat, “Are we driving like this?” I ask.
He responds with a laugh, moves his right hand from mine, twists the throttle, and we start moving.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I curse under my breath as the bike lurches forward. My stomach drops.
My fingers clamp around the rubber grips, his hands covering mine, the ridges pressing into my palms as the bike vibrates beneath us.
Panic spikes, and I do something stupid. I tilt my head back toward him. Instantly, his hands loosen on mine, his chest pressing firmly against my back, steadying me. A hand taps my thigh once. Then again. Slow. A reminder to breathe. To look forward.
The bike grows louder beneath us as he picks up speed, and somehow the panic eases. The road is empty, and no one is around except us. Every time the bike leans, his body adjusts mine instinctively, correcting me before I even realize I’ve made a mistake. His knees tighten at my sides, guiding me instead of forcing.
After a while, my grip loosens.
A laugh escapes me.
“Judas, I’m actually doing it!” I scream, excitement flooding my voice.
He tilts his helmet slightly, glancing down at me in the mirror, and nods.
As he feels me growing steadier, the pressure of his hands eases. One lifts first, then the other loosens, resting briefly on my thighs while he stays close behind me, ready.
“No,” I whisper. “Come back.”
He taps my thighs gently. Once. Then again.
The curve comes, and instantly his hands return, guiding me through it without hesitation. As soon as the road straightens again, the pressure eases, and he lets me steer on my own once more.
His hand slides back over mine as he turns us around, riding us back toward the beginning of the road. The bike no longer feels like something I’m fighting. It moves with me, like it knows where it’s going, even if I don’t.
And he... He gives me something I never had. Someone there to catch me if I fall. And for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m borrowing this moment from someone else’s life. It feels like it’s finally mine.
All this time, I have lived knowing that one day I won’t be able to handle it. That the dark thoughts will finally win, and I will give in to them. They follow me everywhere.
And then there is him.
He showed me that life can be a little brighter after all. Not perfect. Just brighter. That letting someone in is not always a mistake. That building walls doesn’t mean you will build a home.
We all go through fucked up things. We are all a little fucked up. I used to believe I didn’t deserve a second chance. That I already wasted it. But now I think maybe I do. And if we are going to live as a family, I can’t let myself feel the way I do.
No matter how I start to feel,this, us,stays with me. Life gave me a second chance. To live. To have a family, even if it is farfrom perfect. I hold onto that chance tightly, because this has to be my secret.
Judas is my adoptive brother. Not my blood. Siblings just on paper. It should be simple. It should be enough to stop.
But my body wants this. I wanthim.
We stop at the edge of the road, and he parks near the beach. The bike settles beneath us as he puts his feet on the ground. I jump down after him.
We take our helmets off, lean them against the bike, and stand there, too close, the ocean breathing beside us. Our eyes meet.
“Thanks,” I say. “For… not letting me die.”
He laughs, then bows and signs,Little sister.
He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the beach. With each step I take, the wind grows stronger, and the sand swallows my sneakers. Waves rush up the shore, then retreat, over and over, never still.
My shoulders hunch. My hair whips across my face. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hold the warmth in. He notices. He drapes his leather jacket over my shoulders and steps in behind me, his arms loose around me as we walk.
“Judas,” I try to ask, my voice almost lost in the wind. “What if the Harringtons decide to bring me back?”
