She revs her engine aggressively again. “Still gonna lose though.”
God, I love her. I count us down with my fingers.
Three.
Her engine screams louder.
Two.
She leans over the bike ready to fly.
One.
Then we launch forward like Hell itself is chasing us.
The road disappears beneath us while wind screams around our bodies. Ophelia rides beautifully. Aggressive but smooth. Fearless.
God, I love watching her like this.
Wild and free.
For a few perfect minutes, she’s not somebody’s daughter or future wife or a trapped little rich girl from Hillcreek Bay.
She’s just mine.
My Firefly.
I let her edge ahead near the finish line on purpose. Barely. And the second she realizes it afterward, she storms toward me outraged.
“You let me win!” she accuses, and I lean casually against my bike grinning.
“You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“But you still won.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Rematch next weekend.”
Next weekend. The words hit me harder than they should because she said it so naturally.
Like there will beanext weekend. Like we actually have a future worth planning for.
Dangerous hope settles low inside my chest.
“C’mon,” I murmur softly. “Got one more place to show you.”
The land sits farther out past Daggerspoint, where the city lights barely touch the hills anymore. Quiet, open, and peaceful.
Everything our past life isn’t.
She follows behind me through the grass before suddenly stopping completely.
Candles flicker beneath the darkening sky. Blankets spread across the ground beside pillows and a little picnic setup Bianca helped me throw together after threatening to “vomit from emotional sincerity.”
Firefly stares speechless.
“Hayden…I…”
