I carry her to the rented SUV we came in, the one Ghost is already behind the wheel of. The door flies open and a couple of the brothers shift to make room. I climb in and pull her straight into my lap, her head settling against my chest like it knows exactly where to go.
Ghost peels out of the lot the second the door shuts.
No one talks.
The engine hums low and steady. Tires hit pavement. The docks disappear behind us. Bri’s breathing slowly evens out, my hand moving up and down her back, over and over, grounding both of us.
It’s quiet in a way that feels fragile. Like if anyone says the wrong thing, it’ll shatter.
Then the radio crackles.
Some country station fades in, and suddenly“Take Me Home, Country Roads”fills the cab.
West Virginia. Blue Ridge Mountains.
I don’t even register it at first. It’s just noise. Background.
Then Bri lets out this soft, broken laugh against my chest. Not hysterical. Not sad. Just… real.
She lifts her head and starts singing under her breath, voice shaky but determined.
“Country roads… take me home…”
Every head in the vehicle turns slowly to look at her like she’s finally snapped.
Tank blinks. Switch frowns. Riot glances back like he’s not sure if he should stop her or pretend he can’t hear it.
I look down at her, at the way her eyes are half-closed, the way she’s holding onto me like the words are keeping her tethered to something good.
She looks up at me, a little embarrassed, a little defiant. “It was playing the first night we met,” she says quietly. “Remember?”
My chest tightens.
And before I can stop myself, before I can think about how insane this probably looks, I open my mouth.
“Almost heaven…” I sing.
The cab goes dead silent.
Bri’s eyes widen, then she laughs harder, actually laughs, and keeps going.
“West Virginia…”
I shake my head, disbelief and relief tangling together, and sing with her, louder now, like I don’t care who hears it.
“Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…”
Ghost snorts. Riot mutters, “What the fuck,” under his breath.
But no one tells us to stop.
She presses her face back into my chest, still singing, still laughing, and I hold her tighter, my chin resting on her hair.
THIRTY-FOUR
BRI
We switchSUVs more times than I can keep track of. At first it’s crowded. Loud. Controlled chaos with radios crackling and headlights flashing in places that don’t feel real yet. Eventually it narrows down until it’s just Ghost driving, Rev riding shotgun, and Blade and me in the backseat.
