Ryder:
When I opened that door and saw her standing there, I forgot how to breathe.
Phoenix Wilde.
Covered in grease and mud. Hair wild, lashes dusted with road grime, a bag hanging off each shoulder like she hadn’t even paused after locking up the shop. She looked like she’d fought a war and rode through hell to get to me—and maybe she had. Maybe letting herself show up was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
But she was here.
“Hey,” she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like she hadn’t just cracked open everything I thought I could handle and lit it all on fire.
You said I could stay.
That’s what she said. Soft, almost unsure. And every part of me screamed to grab her, hold her, tell her she didn’t need to ask. That she’d never have to ask again.
I took the bags f
