chapter 10
1042 Words
The text came in at 9:03 p.m., just as Sage dropped the empty pizza box into the trash and wiped her hands on a dish towel.
> Silas:
Next weekend. No bar. Just you, me, and the road. Deal?
Her heart thudded like she’d downed a double shot of espresso instead of frozen pizza. She stared at the screen, chewing her lip, Max curled at her feet gnawing on his puzzle ball like it held the secrets of the universe.
Just her and Silas. No neon lights. No club noise. Just open road and… whatever this was between them.
Excitement curled low in her belly—but so did nerves. Still, she typed without overthinking:
> Sage:
Deal. I can leave Friday after 9 a.m. My dad’s rolling in that morning.
She hovered for a second before hitting send, then added quickly:
> Sage:
He’s riding out from Minnesota. I haven’t seen him since graduation.
Sent.
Max let out a soft bark, like he could feel the shift in her mood.
Sage reached down and ran a hand over his scruffy ears. “Well, buddy. Looks like we’ve got a weekend coming up.”
---
Her dad was the only person who called her June Bug.
It used to embarrass her. Now, it just felt warm. Familiar. He was loud and gruff, but never with her. His heart had worn a leather vest and road dust since the day she was born, and it still somehow beat soft and true when it came to his girls.
When she left after graduation, it wasn’t to escape him—just everything else.
The memory of her mother’s blood, the weight of whispered stories, the danger that came with loving men who lived by patch and code… Sage needed distance. She didn’t resent the life. She just didn’t want to become it.
Her dad’s club—Iron Saints MC—changed after Mary died. He cleaned up shop, pulled them out of illegal trades, and raised her and her little sister with honor, not fear.
But even with that, Sage never expected him to show up now.
Until he called.
“June Bug,” he’d said, voice gravel-thick. “I’m ridin’ out. Gonna spend the summer with you and Max.”
She didn’t cry, but it was close.
---
Friday Morning – 8:58 a.m.
The rumble of a familiar engine vibrated the walls of her little rental house before she saw him. Sage stepped out barefoot onto the front porch, coffee in hand, as her father pulled into the driveway on a deep blue Road King, chrome glinting in the sun.
He hadn’t changed much—gray creeping through his thick beard, lines around his eyes deeper, but his smile was the same.
“June Bug,” he called, shutting off the bike and swinging a leg over with practiced ease.
She was already halfway to him before he stood fully. The hug was bone-crushing, leather-scented, and full of every word they hadn’t spoken over the last two years.
“Missed you, Dad.”
“Missed you more.”
Max barked excitedly, weaving between their legs before flopping at her dad’s boots like he’d known him all his life.
They talked for nearly an hour—him setting up tools, tinkering with a small oil leak on the bike while she sat on the porch steps. She told him about the bar, about the club, about Silas—though that part was light, careful.
“Biker bar, huh?” her dad muttered, tightening a bolt with more force than necessary.
“It’s just work,” she said, sipping her second coffee.
He didn’t push. But she saw the way his brow furrowed. Still protective. Still the man who taught her to throw a punch before she could spell “danger.”
When the clock crept toward 9:30, she stood, dusting off her shorts. “I’m heading out. Back Sunday.”
Her dad arched a brow. “With the bar guy?”
“He rides. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Didn’t say a word,” he replied, holding up his hands, oil-stained and rough. “You’re grown. I trust you. Just… remember who your mama was. And who you are.”
She paused, then nodded. “I do.”
---
9:47 a.m.
Silas didn’t know what he expected when he pulled up to Sage’s place—maybe a sleepy street, her alone, Max in the yard.
What he didn’t expect was a gray-bearded man in a patched vest crouched beside a Harley, wiping oil from his hands like he’d been born in a garage.
The man stood up when Silas killed his engine. Max barked once and trotted to the porch like he’d just clocked out for the day.
Silas dismounted, cautious but calm. The man’s eyes were sharp. Experienced.
“You Silas?” the older man asked, voice like smoked gravel.
“Yes, sir.”
“You takin’ my girl out for a ride?”
“I am.”
A beat of silence passed. Then the man smiled. Just slightly.
“She knows how to pick good tires,” he said. “I can tell by your bike.”
Silas nodded, caught slightly off guard by the compliment. “Thanks. Yours is clean too. Road King?”
“‘03. Rebuilt the engine myself last spring.”
They shared a short but respectful nod. Rider to rider. Patch to patch—even if Silas wasn’t sure what colors the man wore now.
Sage stepped out in tight jeans, a light jacket, sunglasses on, backpack slung over one shoulder. “We good out here?”
Her dad didn’t look at her. Just turned to Silas. “Bring her back in one piece.”
Silas grinned. “Always.”
Sage rolled her eyes, cheeks pink, and slid onto the back of Silas’s Harley like she was born for it. When her arms wrapped around his waist, he swore the whole damn world stilled.
He revved the engine.
She leaned in close and whispered, “Let’s see what the road has to say.”
And just like that, they were gone—two souls with pasts heavier than they let on, chasing freedom in the wind.
- Writer
