The growl of Silas’ bike echoed down the street as he pulled up outside The Pit Stop. The sun had started its slow descent behind the hills, casting long shadows across the pavement. His muscles ached from the road, but his mind was buzzing—Sage, her dad, the ride, last night. All of it. He needed to breathe and let it all settle.
Inside, the familiar thrum of music and the low murmur of voices wrapped around him like an old jacket. A couple of club regulars nursed beers at the bar. Brick leaned back in a booth laughing at something Mason had just said—probably something stupid. The smell of fried food, cheap cologne, and motor oil filled the air. Home.
Silas barely made it two steps in before Jack spotted him.
“Well, well. Look who the road spit back out,” Jack called, motioning Silas
