Page 13 of Never Distract a Biker

"Very well, I'll have the nurses set everything up." He stands, signaling the end of our meeting. “The bill for the tests that your mother’s insurance will not cover will be sent to you.”

"Thank you, Doctor." My gratitude is genuine, a warm contrast to the clinical surroundings.

I weave through the maze of hallways to my mother's room, where she rests, her breathing a soft lullaby in the quiet. I take her hand, the one that used to hold me when nightmares came calling. Now, it's my turn to be her strength.

“Hey Scar.” She stirs awake, and a part of my heart feels guilty for pulling her from her slumber.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” I smooth loose tendrils of hair off her face. “How are you feeling today.” I inject fake cheeriness into my voice.

“Like crap.” She says, trying to sit up, and I quickly move to help her.

“Don’t worry, Mom, you’ll feel better soon.” I adjust her pillow, hoping to make her feel more comfortable.

The news that she would be starting her treatment did little to cheer her up, and I find myself worrying.

“Did the insurance company change their mind and agree to cover the cost of my treatment?”

“No Mom.” But don’t worry, I’ll be paying for it.

“How are we going to afford to pay?”

“I told you I found a better job.”

“And in just a few weeks, you already earned so much?”

“I am paid based on commission.” This is not a lie. “My first commission is enough to put down a deposit, and hopefully, I should be able to come up with the rest by the end of your treatment.”

She looks at me suspiciously but does not question me further, and I sigh internally. My phone buzzes against my thigh, jolting me from my reverie. A text from the club manager pops up on the screen: 'Club closed indefinitely – a foolish customer OD'd last night on the property.' My heart stutters, then races, not from fear but from the stark realization that I didn’t have to put in my resignation. I’ve been thinking about how to approachMarina with the subject of quitting. After all, she helped me get into DanceCheck, and I’ve only been there for six weeks.

"Scarlett?" My mother's voice, frail but clear, draws my eyes back to her. “Is everything alright?”

"Hey." I squeeze her hand, anchoring myself in the moment. "Just some news from work. Nothing to worry about."

"Always look forward, sweetheart," she murmurs, her words wrapped in wisdom and love.

"Always," I promise, and I mean it. With the weight of the envelope lighter in my bag, and the closure of the club severing ties to a life I'm ready to leave behind, I feel the first real surge of hope in what feels like forever.

"Rest now, Mom. We've got a big day of testing ahead." And as I watch her eyelids flutter closed, I believe it—we're moving forward, no looking back.

"Good things come from the most unexpected places," she says, her voice trailing off as fatigue claims her.

"Rest now, Mom." I brush a strand of hair from her forehead, watching her eyes flutter closed. An indescribable emotion presses against my chest, the last tie to a life I never wanted is severed. There's freedom in that—a terrifying, exhilarating freedom.

I stand and move to the window, looking at the city that's tested me in ways I never imagined. But here I am, still standing, still fighting. This money, this unexpected gift, it's more than just cash—it's opportunity, it's hope.

"Scarlett," my mom murmurs, half-asleep, "thank you."

"Save your strength," I tell her, but I know what she means. We're turning a page, and this next chapter? It's ours for the writing.

With the sun blazing in the sky, I allow myself to dream of days without the fear of debt collectors, nights without the glare of stage lights, a life where my mom's laughter wouldn't become a treasured memory. And for the first time in a long while, the future doesn't look so dark.

I stride out of the hospital after spending the day with Mom, the automatic doors whooshing closed behind me with a soft thud that resonates in my chest. Clutching the strap of my bag a little tighter. Inside rests not only the hundred thousand dollars from God-knows-who but also every penny of the fifteen grand I've scrimped and saved, dollar by sweat-soaked dollar. It's the weight of change, heavy and full of promise.

The drive home is a blur, each turn propelling me forward with newfound purpose. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting shadows that dance just out of reach, like the doubts I'm determined to leave behind.

"New life," I whisper, the words tasting sweet on my lips. The responsibility doesn't crush me as it once did. The rest of the drive home feels like I am literally driving into a sunnier future.

"Scarlett Wood, you've got this."

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