RYDER:
The smell of grease and heat hit me the second Phoenix walked in.
I knew she was home the moment the door creaked open and her voice echoed through the hallway—loud, casual, completely unbothered, like she hadn’t just stomped straight out of my memory and into this house. Like she wasn’t about to hijack every coherent thought I had left.
Then she rounded the corner.
And I forgot how to f*****g breathe.
The Phoenix I remembered from five years ago was still in there—still had that cocky stride, that fire in her eyes—but the girl I left behind had sharpened into something bolder. Her body was lean but strong, sun-kissed skin streaked with grime, her jeans riding low on narrow hips, tank top clinging to every curve like a second skin. There was motor oil on her cheek and a sweat-s
