Page 17 of Wings
"No!" The word came out sharp enough to turn heads at nearby tables. I lowered my voice, hunching forward. "No. Absolutely not. That's—it's impossible."
"Because?"
"Because he's Alex's twin brother." I ticked off points on trembling fingers. "His twin. Do you understand how fucked up that would be? And now he's Heavy Kings, the same life I ran from. Leather and motorcycles and probably guns. I can't—I won't go down that road again."
"But Gabe isn't Alex." Stephanie's tone stayed reasonable, which made me want to throw things. "You always said he was different. Kind. That he tried to protect you when things got bad."
"From Alex. He tried to protect me from Alex." The memory tasted like ash. "Never said anything, never called him out, just quietly fixed whatever Alex broke. Including me."
Stephanie waited, letting the silence stretch. She'd learned that sometimes I needed space to find words for things that didn't want to be spoken.
"He'd show up after the bad nights," I continued, staring at my coffee like it held answers. "Always had some excuse. Needed to borrow a tool. Wanted to check Alex's bike. Looking for something he'd left behind. But really, he was checking on me. Making sure I was . . ."
Breathing. Upright. Not visibly damaged.
"He'd reorganize whatever Alex had thrown around. Fix the cabinet door that got slammed too hard. Replace the coffee mug that got swept off the counter. Never said anything about it. Just quietly put things back together while Alex slept it off."
"That sounds like someone who cared."
"He left." The words came out flat, final. "The day after graduation, he enlisted and left. No real goodbye, no explanation. Just gone."
I didn't tell her about the going-away party. How Gabe had looked at me across the bar like he was trying to memorize my face. How his jaw had tightened every time Alex's hand got too possessive on my waist. How he'd disappeared early, claiming an early flight, and I'd spotted him later in the parking lot sitting in his truck, staring at nothing.
I'd wanted to go to him. To ask why he was really leaving. To beg him to take me with him.
Instead, I'd gone back inside to hold Alex's hair while he threw up tequila and promises to do better.
"Maybe he had reasons," Stephanie suggested carefully.
"Everyone has reasons." I picked at the cinnamon roll, pulling off a piece covered in icing. "Doesn't change the leaving."
Stephanie flagged down Maya for to-go cups before I could protest. "We're walking," she announced, transferring our lattes with the efficiency of someone used to managing IV drips. "Fresh air. Vitamin D. All those things humans need to survive. Unless . . . have you become undead?"
"I'm not a vampire," I muttered, but let her herd me toward the door.
"Could've fooled me. When's the last time you saw actual daylight? Not parking garage fluorescents or hospital lighting. Real sunshine?"
I didn't answer because we both knew it had been weeks. Maybe longer. Night shift schedule meant sleeping through the day, and my days off were spent in the apartment with blackout curtains drawn.
Stephanie linked our arms, a gesture that looked casual but provided subtle support. Three years of friendship had taught her my tells—the way I walked too fast when anxious, how I unconsciously checked over my shoulder every thirty seconds, the white-knuckle grip I kept on my coffee cup like it was a lifeline.
"Let me walk you home," she said, steering us around a man hosing down the sidewalk in front of his store. She squeezed my arm. "Ki, you're disappearing. Not just the weight—though honey, you're starting to look like a strong wind could knock you over. But you're fading out. Going ghost. And now with this Gabe situation—"
"There's no Gabe situation." My voice went sharp enough to cut. "There's a medical supply arrangement that's become complicated. That's all."
"Whatever you say."
We passed the hardware store where I'd bought my extra locks. The owner waved through the window—Mr. Maxwell, who'd shown me which deadbolt would hold against a determined intruder without asking why a young woman needed to know that.
"You need to tell Doc about this," Stephanie continued. "If you're not comfortable with the new arrangement—"
"I already decided." The words tumbled out before I'd fully formed the plan. "I'm giving thirty days notice. Time to train a replacement, then I'm gone. Maybe Seattle. Maybe Portland. Somewhere it rains."
Stephanie stopped walking so abruptly I stumbled. We stood in the middle of the sidewalk while morning traffic flowed around us—a fixed point in a moving world.
"Ki, you can't run." Her nurse voice had been replaced by something fiercer. Friend voice. Sister voice. "You have a life here. A job. Friends."
"Friend. Singular." I gently corrected. "And I have a job that requires me to steal. To break federal laws every shift. To risk my license and freedom so bikers don't die from treatable injuries."
