Viv:
Knox was damn near finished with the bike.
I could see it in the way he moved—calm but buzzing beneath the surface, like a kid on Christmas Eve. He’d wiped her down with more care than I’d ever seen him give anything mechanical, and for once, he didn’t smell like oil and rage—he smelled like purpose.
So I told him I’d run to the station, pick up a can of gas, maybe something sweet for after.
I didn’t expect the past to punch me in the chest before I even reached the candy aisle.
The bell jingled when I walked in. Desert sunlight spilled across the scuffed linoleum, and I squinted against the glare, dragging a red gas can down the aisle behind me. My flip-flops smacked softly against the floor as I passed rows of jerky and off-brand soda.
I rounded the endcap looking for gummy be
