Page 58 of Sage Haven

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“Klay,” I called out, my voice breaking on his name.

It barely cut through the roar of the engines.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words choking out of me.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and helpless, as I repeated, “I’m sorry.”

His head tilted, mock-considering.

“I’m sorry you don’t know how to have a good time,” he said, voice bored. “But I do.” His smirk deepened. “And I will.”

And then—then came the words that hollowed me out, “So go run home to your daddy and cry to him about your problems.”

It hit harder than anything they’d said all night.

Because he knew.

He knew what that would do to me.

But he didn’t care.

The engines revved, a wall of sound that rattled my bones.

And then—they started to take off.

Tires screeching and headlights cutting through the night.

One by one, they disappeared into the dark.

But Klay stayed. At least, for a moment.

And then he twisted the throttle, engine growling low.

I took a step forward, reaching out.

“I don’t have a car,” I said, my voice small. Fractured.

Klay tapped the gas.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “How unfortunate.”

Silence stretched between us.

And then— “Get on.” His voice was flat.

Emotionless.

Like I was an afterthought.

I climbed on the back of his bike because I had no other choice.

My hands hovered before I let them settle on hiswaist.

Loose. Tentative.

Like I might slip off and not care if I did.

The ride home was hell.

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