Page 29 of Goose's Wren

She’s everywhere.In my head, in my space, in that cabin like she’s always belonged there.Like we’ve always been heading toward this version of us, and we were just too blind to see it before.Or rather, I was just too stupid to see the truth.That’s what really rubs me raw.

I’m smiling to myself again, just thinking about last night.Sitting on the porch again, wrapped in quiet conversation under the stars.

She told me this story about a stray dog that followed her for three towns once, and how she tried to name it “Duke” but it only answered to “Pizza.”I laughed harder than I have in years.

And that’s the thing, I laugh around her.I feel lighter.Less like a guy dragging around old baggage that should have been forgotten years ago and more like someone who could be whole.If only he just stopped being a coward long enough to try.

I should’ve known it was her all along.Those letters...those damn notes I kept folded up like they were gospel.I thought Sparrow had this deep, poetic soul.

Turns out she was just a thief with good timing.And I was a fool for buying it.

But Wren?She meant every word when she wrote them.

And now I hear them in her voice.I see them in her eyes when she looks at me and doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.It’s not just the words she wrote.It’s who she is.

We like the same kind of music.She knows more about engines than I expected.She drinks her coffee loaded with chocolate creamer, curses under her breath when she’s frustrated, and watches old westerns like religion.

She makes me want to come home at night.She makes that empty ass cabin feel like something more than four walls and a bed I never used to sleep well in.

Wren fits.Not like a puzzle piece, more like a key in a lock I didn’t know was still jammed shut.

I glance toward the garage bay doors, half expecting to see her drive up.It’s late morning, and I know she was heading into town today for a few things.

Probably stopped by Bella’s Brew first.She always does.The girls give her hell, but she lights up when she’s around them.Belongs with them, just like she’s starting to belong with us.

With me.

I drop the rag onto the bench and stretch my back, muscles pulling tight from hours bent over the bike.I think about checking my phone again.Just in case she texted.

Maybe she saw something at the store she thought I’d like.She does that now.Brings me dumb little things.Beef jerky, a new lighter, this one time it was a sticker of a duck wearing sunglasses.Said it “looked like me if I ever took a vacation.”

I smile again.Can’t help it.Then I glance at the clock.

She should’ve at least checked in by now.

It’s probably nothing.But I know Wren.She’s got this nervous habit of texting me updates even when she says she’s “not the clingy type.”

Usually something sarcastic or random; Saw a guy with a ferret on his shoulder.Tell me that’s not a club prospect.Or Grocery store was out of creamer, the world is ending.

But there’s nothing today.No buzz from my phone.No updates.No “On my way home” or “This lady at the bakery looks like Fang’s grandma.”

Nothing.

My smile fades.The wrench in my hand feels too heavy.And that little voice in my head, the one I’ve learned to listen to over the years, it starts whispering.

I’m just hanging the wrench back on the wall, still turning over the silence from Wren, when I hear the Prez’s voice cut through the shop like a gunshot.

“Goose, we gotta go!Hayden saw that asshole shove Wren into his car!”

For a split second, I freeze as my brain struggles to process the words.

Then it hits.

Tim.That meth-head bastard.

I’m already moving, boots pounding across the concrete as I yank off my work gloves and toss them onto the bench.

My heart’s slamming in my chest, loud enough I can barely hear the rest of what Timber’s saying as he storms into the garage, Blade hot on his heels.

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