Page 105 of Sinful
She stirs, blinks awake.
For a second she's confused, then she remembers.
"Already?"
"Yeah."
She sits up, runs her hands through her hair. "Okay. Let me get dressed. I'm walking you out."
"You don't have to?—"
"I'm walking you out."
She pulls on jeans and a Raiders hoodie, shoves her feet into boots.
We don't talk as we head downstairs, out to the parking lot where my bike is already packed and ready.
The sun is just starting to rise, painting everything gold and pink.
"Two weeks," I say, pulling her close. "That's all. Your dad should be stable by then. The doctor said he can go home in a week."
"Two weeks," she agrees, voice shaking.
"Then you come to Sharp. To me. We figure out what home looks like."
"Together?"
"Yeah. Together."
I cup her face, tilt it up so she's looking at me. "I love you."
"I love you too. Be safe. Come back to me."
"Always."
I kiss her—long and deep, pouring everything I can't say into it. All the fear and hope and love tangled together.
When I pull back, there are tears on her cheeks.
"Go," she says. "Before I change my mind and make you stay."
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks."
I climb on my bike, start the engine.
The rumble is familiar, grounding.
I look back once.
She's still standing there in the parking lot, arms wrapped around herself, blonde hair catching the sunrise, looking small and alone and everything I want to come back to.
Every mile feels wrong.
Like I'm leaving part of myself behind.
But I have responsibilities. A club. A war to prepare for.
