I heard the Harley before I saw it.
The low rumble rolled up the alley and cut off sharp. Boots hit the pavement. The back door downstairs opened and closed. Then the stairs creaked under his weight.
I stayed in the kitchen, arms crossed, heart already beating too fast. He had left right after service without a word. No text. No “I’ll be back later.” Just the sound of the bike disappearing into the dark the same way it always did when something got under his skin.
The apartment door opened.
Leo stepped in smelling like leather, exhaust, and cold night air. His cut hung open over a black T-shirt. Wind had messed up his hair. A faint streak of road dust sat on one cheek. He looked wired and tired at the same time.
He stopped when he saw me.
“You’re still up,” he said.
“You’re late.”
