Page 120 of Break Me

It’s a need.

“We should go home,” I start.

“Sam.” She finally looks at me.

There’s something in her eyes I’ve never seen before.

Not fear or panic. Urgency.

“Please.”

That word does it. I don’t argue again.

She climbs onto the back of the bike and wraps her arms around my waist tighter than usual.

I start the engine, the vibration running through us both.

Usually, she shifts, adjusts, and settles in. Today she just holds on.

We pull out of the parking lot, but I don’t go toward home. I don’t know where I’m going. Just away.

The road opens in front of us. Raven doesn’t move. Her fingers are locked into my jacket. Halfway down the stretch past the ridge, I feel it.

The tremor.

At first, I think it’s the road.

But it’s not. It’s her.

Her body shakes once. Then again. She doesn’t make a sound.

Not a sob.

Not a breath.

She just presses herself harder into my back. And I feel the wet warmth through my shirt where her face rests.

I tighten my grip on the handlebars and force myself to focus on the road. It's the only thing I can control right now. The next curve comes, and I lean into it. Raven follows without thinking, her arms tightening around my waist as another quiet sob shudders through her.

I wish I could carry this for her.

Instead, all I can do is get us home.

Samuel

September comes without asking whether we're ready for it.

Outside, the air carries the first hint of fall. It's still warm, but the edge of summer has worn away.

Inside the oncology center, everything is designed to disappear. Beige walls. Gray carpet. Framed prints no one really looks at.

We’ve been here three times in two weeks.

Blood work.

CT scan.

More blood work.