Page 6 of Spike

The fresh air did me some good. I mounted my motorcycle, the familiar rumble of the engine providing a comforting soundtrack.

Before I could even leave the parking lot, my cellphone buzzed in my jacket pocket.

With a sigh, I pulled it out, noticing it was a call from Nitro. Reluctantly, I answered, my voice grumpy to my own ears.

"What?" I asked, bracing myself for whatever lecture was coming my way.

"You're taking a few days off?" were Nitro's first words.

"What the hell?" I grumbled, annoyed that Mayhem had wasted no time in spreading the news. "Did Mayhem immediately call you after I left the clubhouse?"

"He's just worried, we both are," Nitro explained, his voice calm but laced with genuine concern. “I know this time of the year is hard on you.”

I rolled my eyes, wishing Nitro could see me.

"I'm just going for a ride, maybe take a road trip out of Moon Burrow," I said, dismissing the concern. "I need some time to clear my head, that's all."

Nitro sighed on the other end of the line. "Look, Spike, we get it. But running away won’t solve anything.”

I grunted in response, not wanting to continue this conversation. What was Nitro, my therapist?

"I'll be back in a few days," I muttered before ending the call, the engine roaring to life beneath me.

With a twist of the throttle, I sped away from the clubhouse, eager to leave town. When my inner demons threatened to drown me, the club offered me a new home and purpose.

Venom and the MC cared little about my past; they understood that we all carried secrets we wanted to bury.

Grateful for the sanctuary they provided, I owed them my life. But now, I needed space, a little room to breathe.

Maybe a vacation, a solitary journey, was just what I needed to clear my head of ghosts that haunted me.

The first two days, I had no direction in mind. I didn't even bother to look at the map on my phone.

I simply rode aimlessly, savoring my newfound freedom. The open road stretched out before me, but loneliness eventually crept in.

Nights were no respite, haunted by dreams of Austin’s last moments on earth.

On the third day, an unexpected pull tugged at me, and I found myself retracing a path I never thought I'd return to—Haven Brook, my hometown, and Austin's.

It was customary to give the shifter group occupying a particular territory a call or warning when dropping by, but I had no interest in reconnecting with my former clan.

Besides, my visit was reserved for a quick stop at the local cemetery. All I needed was a few minutes, maybe half an hour at the most.

I parked my Harley outside the cemetery parking lot and observed there were few vehicles around. Good. I preferred the solitude.

Stepping off the bike, nostalgia hit me out of nowhere.

The cemetery gates creaked open, and I walked between rows of gravestones. Austin's resting place was marked by a simple headstone and a single wilted red rose.

I stood there, lost in my thoughts. The wind whispered through the trees, and I could almost see him standing before me, smiling.

A pang of regret settled within me, a realization that some wounds never truly heal.

A gasp tore my gaze from Austin's headstone, and I turned around, only to be met with the intense glare of a white-haired woman.

The shock hit me like a sudden gust of wind as I recognized her. Katherine Moore, Austin's mom, stood before me, her eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and fury.

The years had not been kind to her; she seemed to have aged more than a decade since the last time I saw her at Austin's funeral.

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