Cruz:
The ride home felt longer than it should’ve.
I took the side streets. Not because I needed to, but because I was stalling like a goddamn coward. The wind whipped at my jacket, but the heat under my skin wasn’t from the sun—it was the weight of what I had to say.
She’d been through enough.
And here I was, about to ask her to bear more right after I just did one.
When I pulled up to the house, I killed the engine and just sat there. Helmet still on. Hands gripping the bars like maybe if I held tight enough, I could rewind time. Erase the conversation with Prez. Erase the decision that now hung like a noose around my neck.
But the porch light was on.
And I could see her through the window, standing at the stove. Her hair was tied up, loose strands curling around her face. She was
