Phoenix:
I’d barely had my license a week.
Seven days. But I could finally ride my motorcycle out on real roads. Not just doing lazy circles around the yard or blowing dust down the back field. No. Real pavement. Real freedom. Wind in my face. The engine vibrating under me like a heartbeat. The world wide and open and mine.
I tiptoed to the door, boots in hand, trying not to make the slightest sound. It was late, and the house creaked like it knew I was up to something. I cracked the door open and slipped out, closing it softly behind me with a quiet, triumphant breath.
And then I heard it.
“Phoenix?”
I nearly jumped out of my damn skin. “Ryder?” I whispered, squinting into the dark.
He stepped out from the shadows by the porch, lips swollen, hair a mess, and I didn’t miss the faint
