Motorcycle Babe

Ghosts Dont Stay Quiet

Gabriella

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid, Gabriella.

I repeated it like a prayer as I walked away from Raven and the cheerleader — Arielle. I didn’t look back, because if I did, I knew I’d do something reckless. Loud. Embarrassing. Very un–pastor’s daughter of me.

Still, my chest burned.

Not sharp pain — not exactly. More like pressure. Like something heavy was sitting right behind my ribs, making it harder to breathe every time I pictured Arielle’s arms wrapped around Raven’s waist. The way she leaned into her like she belonged there.

I don’t think they’re dating.

But I also haven’t seen Raven with any other girl since Arielle.

Not that I’ve been paying attention.

Or counting.

Or memorizing the way Raven looks when she laughs with her.

I forced my feet forward — straight toward the alcohol table — and refused to turn around, refused to imagine ripping Arielle’s hands away and replacing them with mine.

I stopped.

What the f**k?

Did I seriously just think that?

I shook my head hard, like that might knock the thought loose. Something is wrong with me. Something new. Or maybe something old, trying to claw its way back.

The music thumped through the house, the bass rattling my skull. Bodies everywhere — grinding, shouting, kissing, spilling drinks. Someone screamed—laughed near the stairs. Something shattered behind me.

My head pounded.

I knew I shouldn’t be here. Not with the lingering fog, not with the memory gaps, not while I was still on medication. But Kyle had begged me, promised I wouldn’t be alone.

I grabbed a cup of punch.

Definitely spiked.

I downed it anyway.

The burn slid down my throat, warming my chest, loosening the tightness just a bit. I grimaced — then sighed.

Pastor’s daughter's behavior.

My dad wasn’t technically a pastor, but he was close enough that everyone treated him like one. Church every Sunday. Bible verses on the fridge. “Love thy neighbor” unless thy neighbor loved the wrong person or lived the wrong way.

I believed in God. I just didn’t believe God was as judgmental as everyone claimed.

My thoughts blurred. The room tilted slightly.

Wow.

Okay.

Lightweight.

Or maybe mixing alcohol and medication wasn’t my brightest idea.

Whoops.

I giggled under my breath and decided air was necessary before I embarrassed myself further. Everyone had migrated to the backyard anyway.

The cold hit me immediately when I stepped outside.

“Wow, it’s freezing,” I muttered.

“Want my sweater?”

I turned fast — too fast.

Tyler.

He stood there holding a jacket I recognized instantly. My old favorite. The one I used to steal from him when it got cold, the one that smelled like his cologne and comfort and familiarity.

Ghost shirt. White face paint. Black smudges under his eyes. That same stupid smile.

My stomach twisted.

“Oh hell no,” I said, crossing my arms.

He blinked, surprised — then masked it quickly. “Okay. Just offering.”

Why was he out here? Why was he talking to me? I thought he was busy parading around with some other girl tonight.

“Can I help you?” I asked sharply. “Aren’t you with Cheryl or whatever the f**k her name is?”

He smirked. “Wow. So you are paying attention to me.”

I laughed bitterly. “Trust me. I’m not jealous of someone who took my problem off my hands.”

Not her.

Never her.

Someone else entirely.

Shut up.

His smile faded. “Watch how you talk. I didn’t come out here for this. I came to talk about us.”

My stomach dropped.

“Us?” I echoed. “There is no us. There hasn’t been for two months.”

His expression softened — calculated, practiced — and then he did something I never expected.

He dropped to one knee.

“Gabriella,” he said quietly. “I miss us. I miss summer. I miss you.”

Anger flared hot and suddenly.

“No,” I snapped. “You miss the attention. You miss how our parents loved the idea of us. You miss how I made you look good.”

My hands trembled.

“You don’t miss me. You miss what I gave you.”

His face changed.

He stood slowly, brushed dirt from his knees, slicked his hair back — and smiled like he already knew he’d won.

“You know,” he said calmly, “people talk. And people are saying things about you and Raven.”

Cold rushed through me.

“I’d hate for your parents,” he continued, leaning closer, “especially your father, to think you need help. Or fixing.”

My arms went slack.

“What do you want?” I whispered.

“I want you,” he said. “Us. Together.”

He tapped his ring finger.

My breath caught. “You want to marry me?”

“Eventually. Engagement first.” His smile widened. “You have until the final football game at midnight to decide. If not… I’ll make sure your family hears everything.”

He kissed my cheek and disappeared back inside.

I stood there, shaking.

What.

The.

Fuck.

I rushed back into the house, blinking away tears, desperate to find Kyle.

I found him.

Unfortunately, he was very, very busy.

Kyle was straddling Daveon like his life depended on it. Daveon had one hand tangled in Kyle’s hair, the other gripping his ass like it was his emotional support object.

Oh.

Wow.

Good for him.

That was my cue to leave.

I turned — and slammed into someone.

“Sorry—” I stopped.

Arielle.

Her eyes were glassy, horns crooked, lips smudged. She barely registered me. And then the smell hit — m*******a and lavender.

Raven.

She stood beside Arielle, devil horns tilted, joint in one hand, drink in the other. Her eyes locked onto mine.

That look.

The same one from the bleachers.

Heat. Hunger. Something unfinished.

Then Arielle pulled her close and kissed her.

Again.

They broke apart quickly this time — and Raven’s expression vanished.

She looked like she wanted to say something.

Arielle tugged her away.

I stood there longer than I should have.

Then I knew.

I needed to leave.

Outside again. Phone out. Ride requested. My father responded instantly. Of course, he did.

I rubbed my temples.

And then I saw her.

Raven leaned against her bike, staring at me like the world had narrowed down to just us.

My heart raced.

The kind of look you melt into.

The kind you fall for.

The kind she didn’t give Arielle.

The car honked.

I nodded to myself, like I was agreeing to something I didn’t want to admit, and reached for the door handle.

That’s when it happened.

Not a thought — a feeling.

My chest tightened so suddenly I gasped, fingers slipping on the handle. My vision blurred at the edges, the house lights stretching and smearing like wet paint.

And then I wasn’t just looking at Raven anymore.

I was with her.

Her laughter echoed in my ears — not from tonight, not from the party — but closer, warmer. The vibration of her bike under my thighs. Wind cutting through my jacket. My hands gripping her waist like I was afraid she’d disappear if I let go.

Hold on, she’d said.

Not teasing.

Protective.

My stomach flipped.

Her scent — smoke, leather, something clean underneath — flooded my senses so vividly I swore she was standing right beside me. My cheek pressed against her back. Her shoulder brushing my chin when she glanced back at me.

“You good back there?” she asked.

I smiled in the memory.

God — I smiled.

Another flash — us on the bike, parked somewhere quiet. Her helmet off, hair a mess. My fingers curled into her jacket as she leaned in. Our foreheads touching. Breaths mingling.

Too close.

Too familiar.

My heart pounded like it was trying to break free of my ribs.

Then it shifted.

Laughter turned frantic. Wind screamed louder. A horn blared — sharp, angry. Her body tensed beneath my hands.

“Gabriella—”

My name.

Her voice cracked — terrified.

The world lurched.

White light.

Heat.

The sound of metal screaming.

I sucked in a breath, clutching my chest as the memory shattered all at once, leaving me standing on the sidewalk again, shaking.

Tears burned behind my eyes.

What the hell was that?

That wasn’t imagination.

That wasn’t jealousy.

That was memory.

Broken. Jagged. Incomplete — but real.

The car door opened.

I forced my legs to move, every step feeling wrong, like I was leaving something behind that I didn’t know how to name yet.

Before I got in, I looked back.

Raven stood by her bike, watching me like she felt it too — like something invisible had just snapped between us.

For half a second, I almost said her name.

Almost asked her if she remembered.

Almost asked her if I was there.

But then the door shut.

The car pulled away.

And the last thing I heard before exhaustion dragged me under was the low growl of a motorcycle engine — fading into the night, taking whatever piece of me that had woken up with it.