A pause.
Then she nods. “No, we’re good. Nothing has happened.”
She ends the call and turns to me. “That was Chrome. We can stand down. The Bushrangers aren’t coming here.”
Relief floods through me again.
“The guys are going looking for them,” she adds.
Down below, Bush mounts his bike again alongside Smoke, Arson, and Piston. Engines roar to life, and the group tears away from the curb.
I watch until they disappear down the street.
Then I pull myself away from the window and head back toward the runway. We need to get through the rehearsal. Tomorrow is the big show.
The rehearsal rolls forward like a well-oiled machine.
Models stride down the makeshift runway again and again while Tony and I make last-minute adjustments—pinning hems, smoothing seams, checking how the fabric moves beneath the lights. Izzy darts between hair and makeup stations, fixing a curl here and sharpening eyeliner there. Viper and Bianca move through the lineup like they’ve done this their whole lives.
By the final walk-through, the room hums with excitement.
The last model reaches the end of the runway and turns. For a moment, everything is silent.
Then applause breaks out.
Tony whoops beside me, and I laugh, clapping with everyone else as relief and pride rush through me.
The event coordinator beams. “Fantastic work, everyone! Be back here and ready by ten tomorrow morning. The show starts at one, so we’ll run quick touch-ups before doors open.”
People begin gathering their things.
I tidy my station, carefully stacking sketches, pins, and fabric samples into my bag. I’m so focused I don’t notice anyone approaching until a heavy arm drops over my shoulder. I gasp at first, before leaning into the familiar.
“Hey,” I say, smiling as I hug Bush tight. I lean up and kiss him before I can second-guess myself.
His grin flashes. “Miss me?”
“Maybe.”
He chuckles softly. “Come on. I wanna take you to dinner. Just the two of us.”
Butterflies explode in my stomach.
Outside, the evening air is cool. Bush walks me straight to his bike and holds out a helmet.
“For you.”
My excitement bubbles over as I take it. I’ve ridden on motorcycles before, but this time feels different. This time I’ll be wrapped around Bush, and isn’t that just a slice of heaven?I fasten the helmet and climb on behind him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I take a deep breath of his familiar scent. Leather and wind with a touch of home.
The motorcycle roars to life beneath me, and a thrill shoots straight through me.
Bush pulls away from the curb, and I instinctively tighten my arms around his waist. The engine vibrates through my legs as we weave into Chicago traffic, the city unfolding around us in streaks of light and color. Wind rushes past my helmet, tugging loose strands of my hair. The cool air feels amazing after the warm loft.
I love this.
The freedom of it. The speed. The way the city lights glow against the darkening sky as we pass under streetlamps and neon signs. Cars crawl along beside us, but Bush moves confidently between them, completely in control.
I press a little closer to his back.
