The message shows as read almost immediately. Then his reply pops up a few seconds later.
Sure I could squeeze it on. Where am I coming?
I send him the address, toss on my jacket, and head down the stairs.
The second I step outside, I feel the familiar hum settle into my chest. I stay near the doorway, not quite brave enough to step out into the night completely, but not ready to turn back either.
A few minutes pass before I hear it, that low, rumbling growl of a motorcycle engine slicing through the quiet.
Knox is here. And somehow, that thought steadies me more than anything else has in a long damn time.
The deep rumble of his engine cuts through the quiet like a promise, growing louder as he turns onto my street. The headlight casts a pale glow along the curb, and then he’s there,
