Page 163 of Bend

“Feelings.”

“You brought up Canada.”

“That was geography. Very safe subject.”

I laugh. “You can tell me to mind my business.”

“I normally do.”

“True.”

She picks at a loose thread near her knee.

“I thought about it when I was younger. I still write, obviously, but bikes always felt easier to take seriously.”

“Why?”

She thinks about it for a second, then gives a small shrug. “Probably because nobody ever made music feel like something I was allowed to build a life around. Bikes were different. There was always something practical about them. Something I could point at and say, I know how to do that.”

I nod, watching her profile against the water. “You ever regret it?”

“Not really.” She glances over. “I think I would’ve regretted forcing music into being a job more. I like that it’s still mine.”

That makes sense.

“Then keep it yours.”

Her expression softens a little. “Yeah. That’s kind of the plan.”

For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. The wind has picked up again, colder now that the sun’s almost gone, and Echo pulls her sleeves farther over her hands before looking toward the path we came down.

I get to my feet and hold a hand out to her. “We should probably head back before Thorne starts wondering where the hell we disappeared to.”

Echo slips her hand into mine and lets me pull her up. “And if Andre catches us rolling in too late, he’s going to give us that whole speech about sleep, hydration and not treating the TT like a fucking vacation.”

“He’ll say it to me like you had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“Obviously. Cause you’re the bad influence.”

I laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“What it’s true!”

“Come on, waŋyéča. Let’s get back before we both get grounded.”

“God, that would make Thorne unbearably happy.”

“For sure. He would never let us live it down.”

She laughs, and we start back toward the road with our hands still linked.

By the time we get back to the house, it’s late enough that most of the downstairs lights are off. The place has finally gone quiet, which feels like a small miracle considering who we’re living with.

Echo glances toward the dark living room as we step inside. “Think we got away with it?”

“Depends how invested Thorne was in keeping tabs on us.”

She snorts softly. “So, no.”