Page 46 of Tater
Tater led her toward the back lot, behind the row of old trailers. His hand brushed hers once, a silent check-in, not a question but a grounding. The gravel crunched beneath their boots, the air still warm from the storm.
He stopped near the old storage shed where he sometimes worked on bikes too far gone to save. The door stood open, dim light spilling out from a single bulb. Inside, it smelled like oil and leather and him.
For a minute, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy, it just was.
He reached for the chain that hung from his belt loop, the one he’d taken back from her that morning, and set it on the workbench. The sound of the metal hitting the wood was small but final.
“You sure you’re alright?” he asked quietly.
“Not yet,” she said. “But I will be.”
He nodded, eyes steady on mine. “You scared the hell outta me up there, Ren.”
“You said that already.”
“Didn’t feel like enough the first time.”
Ren smiled a little, soft. “You should’ve seen me before you got there.”
“Don’t joke about that,” he said, but his voice wasn’t sharp. It was low, raw at the edges.
She stepped closer, close enough to smell the smoke still clinging to his shirt. “I didn’t think I’d see you again either.”
His hand came up, rough fingers brushing her jaw, thumb tracing the bruise under her lip. “You were supposed to stay outta the fire.”
“But I am the fire.”
He breathed out a laugh that sounded like surrender. “Yeah. Guess you are.”
For a long moment, he just looked at her, and the world went quiet around that space. No club, no titles, no ghosts. Just them.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn’t frantic—it was steady, sure. Like he was reminding himself that she was real and alive and his, even if the whole world had burned to prove it.
She leaned into it, the ache in her side forgotten for a heartbeat. His hands slid up her back, the warmth of him grounding her in a way nothing else could.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “You’re home, Ren.”
She closed her eyes, let the words settle somewhere deep. “Feels like it.”
He smiled against her skin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight again.”
The dragon stirred faintly inside her, not to fight—but to agree.
Outside, the last of the rain began to fall again—soft, cleansing, almost gentle.
And for the first time, Ren didn’t flinch.
CHAPTER 25
Quiet After the Burn
The club house had gone quiet.
Engines cold. Boots off the gravel. The boys crashed where they could, bellies full of whiskey and relief.
Tater sat alone in the shop, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. Ren was asleep in his bed—he’d checked twice, just to make sure. She looked peaceful now. Softer. The dragon quiet under her skin but not gone. It never would be, and maybe that was alright.
