Everything's quiet.
But quiet doesn't mean safe.
I head back to the clubhouse, park my bike, and just sit there for a minute.Engine off.Just me and the gray Dublin afternoon.
I pull out my phone.Still no reply from Enya.
The silence is killing me.
I type out a message.Delete it.Type another.Delete that one too.
Finally, I just send:Checking in.Everything alright?
I hit send before I can second-guess it.
Then I wait.
Five minutes.Ten.Twenty.
Nothing.
My chest tightens.Where is she?Is she okay?Did something happen?
Cowboy finds me still sitting on my bike, staring at my phone like it's going to magically produce a reply.
"Still nothing?"he asks.
"No."
"She's probably just busy.Maybe she's with her kid."
"Yeah.Maybe."
But the worry won't leave.It just sits there, heavy and constant.
"You need to stop spiraling," Cowboy says bluntly."She's fine.She's processing.Give her time."
"I am giving her time."
"No, you're sitting here obsessing.There's a difference."He leans against my bike."Look, I get it.You care about her.But smothering her with worry isn't going to help.She needs space.But she also needs to know you're still there.So text her.Tell her you're around.Then leave it."
He's right.I know he's right.
I type out another message.Shorter this time.Direct.
I'm here.Any time.
Send it.
Then I pocket my phone and force myself to stop checking it every thirty seconds.
Evening comes slow and heavy.The sky turns a darker shade of gray, threatening rain.I'm back at the clubhouse, sitting in the common room with Rush and a few others, trying to focus on normal conversation.
But I can't.
My mind keeps drifting back to Enya.To the way she looked the other day.The fear.The exhaustion.The trust when she finally let me hold her.
My phone's on the table in front of me.Still no reply.
