Page 95 of Whiskey Throttle
“You up for a ride?”
Our eyes meet in the bathroom mirror.
He dropped me off at my place to pick up some clothes and my bike. Other than riding it to the hospital and school, we haven't ridden it as much as we used to. I doubt the five of us will ever ride again, given the state of things.
“Yeah.”
“Meet me down there.”
I change in silence, noticing how quiet the apartment is. Isabella must be working late. I noticed she does that on Tuesdays. I lace up my boots, grab my phone, and clip on my helmet. By the time I hit the garage, our bikes gleam under the fluorescent lights. Diego's already perched on it. Texting whoever.
Five seconds later, my engine is roaring to life. A flicker of a thrill runs through me. I need this ride. Just the wind, the road, and full throttle pulling me from everything I've lost.
Diego leads.
I follow.
No destination in mind. Just something to get out of my damn head. We ride through the city, past the hospital exit. My engine howls. Diego's does too. We don't talk. Don't need to. Just the guttural cry that lets the world know I'm working something out. Every biker knows that sound.
It's pain in motion.
When the throttle's wide open. Yet it's never for no reason.
It's for her.
Him.
Em.
The three of them are on a constant loop in my mind. Spinning like the tires beneath me, faster and faster until I'm white-knuckling the grips just to stay upright. I’m not sure how to fix the first two. The doctors are fixing the last one.
Everything still feels like it's crashing. Like I'm the only one left without a brake lever. I'm in over my head. Spinning out. My heart pounds. My lungs burn.
Grief and guilt drag behind me like anchors on chains. Sparking to life when scraping against the asphalt, only to die in the wind. I want to outrun it all. Crack the throttle until the scream of the engine drowns out the chaos in my mind.
The pain in my chest.
Until my body feels something sharper than the ache I've been dragging around. Until I'm nothing but velocity and speed. Aerodynamics cutting through the night sky in a black blur of leather and flesh.
So I do it. I twist hard. Pin the throttle. The kind that echoes off buildings. That can be heard from miles away. The kind that says, a guy is working through something. Yeah, I’m sure as hell working through this and using speed and danger as my cure.
The city blurs.
The lights smear into streaks of gold and red as we cut through traffic. My helmet traps my breath, fogging the visor just enough to mirror my headspace, hazy, suffocating, close to breaking. We ride until Diego signals me to follow. Without my comms on, I don't ask where. I don't care. I don't want to think or know or do anything but chase demons away a blazing mile at a time.
I just follow Diego.
Down the service road that runs parallel to the waterfront. To a turn toward the old dockyard, the boards are weathered and warped from years of salt and storms. That's when I see it.
The reason why.
Dominic.
Leaning back, his boot tucked on the rear brake, still as death but set to move. A casual pose for anyone who didn't know Dominic. Smoke curls from his vape. Helmet perched like a crown of thorns on his handlebars.
Waiting. Not for me. For his friend. His new best friend. One that didn't sleep with his mom. One that helped him catch a serial killer. The innocent bystander in the shitstorm I created by wanting something with Babs. Now I'm here, uninvited and unwelcome. The roaring echo of my engine probably gives me away before Diego has even turned the corner.
Dom doesn't flinch.
