Loneliness.
I nod once. “Yeah. Of course.”
Raff watches me, reading the part I’m not saying out loud. “You okay with that?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
He steps closer, voice lowering. “Miles.”
I look up, meet his eyes.
He’s not joking now. Raff’s gaze is steady, like a hand on your shoulder before you do something dumb.
“It’s okay,” he shares, “to want the road. But don’t use it like a bottle, you hear me? Don’t drink it just to forget. Don’t get hooked on the high of escape.”
My mouth tightens. “I’m not forgetting.”
Raff snorts softly. “That might be the damn problem.”
I don’t answer. I don’t have one that won’t sound like weakness.
Raff’s expression shifts a notch, something almost sympathetic. “You don’t have to drag someone with you,” he states. “Sometimes it’s okay just to be alone. I know Country Boy worries but I’ll get through to him.”
I laugh under my breath, humorless. “Since when do you preach solitude?”
“Since I got something to come home to,” he says simply. “It changes your mindset and the math.”
There it is.
Math.
I look back at the Thunderbird and think about how easy it would be if people were parts and problems were bolts you could tighten.
“Two weeks,” I repeat, quieter. “I just need air.”
Raff nods. “Then take it.”
He claps my shoulder, firm. “Just come back.”
“I always do.”
He holds my gaze a second longer. “Not always the same man returns when you roll out, brother. Find what is crawling under your skin and fix it.”
That’s the thing he doesn’t understand. I’m always the same. I just don’t hide it as well anymore.
Two days later, I roll out before sunrise.
Salemburg is asleep, lights dark, the roads empty except for early-morning truckers and a stray deer I have to brake for hard enough to curse into my helmet.
My bike feels right under me. Familiar. Steady.
The road opens up and my chest loosens like it’s been waiting for this breath.
I don’t tell Country Boy the whole truth. I tell him I’m taking a week. Just a week. A reset. I’ll check in. I’ll keep my phone on. Nothing reckless.
He doesn’t like it. He okays it anyway, because he knows pushing me when I’m restless only makes me disappear harder.
Smoke meets me outside town and rides with me for the first few hours, then peels off with a two-finger salute and a grin that says he knows exactly what I’m doing without me saying it.
