Ryder
The Phoenix was glowing—literally. Up lights kissed the bone white walls in subtle waves of crimson and black. The glass garage doors were rolled up, the custom bikes glinting in the soft golden light of sunset like silent, gleaming witnesses to our story. It didn’t look like a shop tonight. It looked like a dream. And not just mine.
It was all ours now.
White fabric flowed like banners from the ceiling rafters, draping around beams and catching the late sun just right. The sound of laughter, the clink of glasses, the strum of live music—it was surreal. There was mama, all teary-eyed but radiant, hugging Aunt Shay, who was somehow crying and laughing at the same time. Blaze tipped his beer my way every time we locked eyes, like a quiet, proud nod only a man like him could give. Un
