Ride With Me

Chapter Twenty-Five

By late afternoon, the house had settled into an oppressive quiet, a heavy stillness that descended after a day saturated with adrenaline and the jarring aftermath of a crash. They had been here since the races, since the sickening screech of metal on the asphalt, since Ryker had clipped Piper hard enough to send her and Knox’s bike skidding violently across the pavement. The impact had mangled both their motorcycles, transforming what should have been a profitable day into a devastatingly expensive one. Ryker had eventually paid for the damage—a consequence delivered with his fists before his wallet ever came into play—but that brutal resolution did nothing to erase the fact that Piper had lost a considerable amount of money, and Knox, by extension, had lost right alongside her.

The initial surge of adrenaline had faded hours ago, leaving behind a pervasive, throbbing ache. Piper’s shoulder throbbed beneath a blossoming bruise, her ribs protested with every sudden movement, and fresh marks, a tapestry of red, purple, and blue, were scattered across her body. Each new bruise she found throughout the afternoon was another stark reminder of the morning she desperately wished to forget. And the longer she sat in the unnerving quiet of the house, the more her mind became trapped in a vicious, self-recriminating loop. The numbers repeated relentlessly: the money she lost, the money Knox had lost, the cost of repairing their bikes, Ryker’s unchecked temper, her own foolish decision to race him. She couldn’t seem to shut off the internal monologue.

Piper stared out the window, watching the late-afternoon sunlight stretch long, distorted shadows across the yard. "I need to get out of this house," she declared, the words a desperate plea for escape.

Knox looked up from where he sat nearby, his expression steady. "You've been saying that for the last twenty minutes."

"Because I'm still here," she retorted, the frustration evident in her voice.

His mouth twitched, a faint hint of amusement. Piper shifted carefully, immediately regretting the movement as a sharp pain radiated through her shoulder. She exhaled through her teeth, a low hiss of discomfort. "I can't keep sitting here."

"You need to rest," Knox countered gently.

"I have been resting," she insisted. "Since this morning."

"Exactly," he agreed.

She turned to him, her gaze earnest. "If I stay here another hour, I'm going to start calculating exactly how much money I cost us today, and then I'll probably make myself sick."

Knox’s expression softened, his usual guardedness giving way to a look of understanding. "Piper."

"I know," she cut him off, waving a dismissive hand before he could say anything else. "I know it wasn't my fault." She glanced toward the floor, her voice dropping slightly. "Mostly." That earned the faintest of smiles from him, a rare glimpse of his approval. "But I still need to stop thinking about it." Her gaze lifted, fixing on a point beyond him. "The Red Door."

Knox studied her for a moment, a question in his eyes. "The bar?"

"The very same," she confirmed.

"You sure you want to go?"

"Yes," she said with conviction. She hesitated, then added, "I just want a couple of drinks. Somewhere loud. Somewhere I can't hear myself think."

He considered her for a long moment, weighing her words, her obvious need for distraction. Then he nodded. "Okay."

Piper pushed herself upright, the movement still causing a ripple of pain. "I'm going to change." She made it upstairs with considerably less grace than she had that morning, her injured body protesting each step. She stopped in front of her closet, and immediately regretted coming up. Her clothes stared back at her—dresses, jeans, tops—all requiring effort, all things she normally enjoyed choosing. Tonight, she simply didn't have the energy. She reached for a dress, then immediately abandoned the idea. "No."

Knox appeared in the doorway, his presence a steady anchor. "Problem?"

"I don't want to think about what to wear either." He stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping through her closet. "You don't have to." He pulled out a pair of black leggings and laid them across the bed. Then he selected a long, loose-fitting white dress shirt.

Piper looked at them, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "That's what we're going with?"

"Yes."

"I look like I'm going to a business meeting."

"You look like someone who doesn't need to spend an hour getting dressed." He was right.

The leggings wouldn't aggravate her bruises, and the long shirt would cover most of them without pressing against her sore shoulder. "Fine."

Knox helped her change, his movements careful and deliberate as he navigated around the areas that hurt. When the shirt caught against her shoulder, Piper winced, and his hands immediately slowed, his touch gentler. Once she was dressed, she stood in front of the mirror. Black leggings. Long white shirt. Her raven hair loose around her shoulders. No elaborate makeup. No attempt to hide every bruise. A faint mark remained visible along her collarbone, another disappearing beneath the loose neckline of the shirt. She looked tired. She looked bruised. She looked like someone who had spent the entire day trying to put herself back together. Knox stood behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "You look beautiful."

Piper gave him a small, weary smile. "You're biased."

"Completely." That was enough to make her smile properly. "Come on."

Downstairs, she tossed him the keys to the Mustang. "You drive."

Knox caught them easily. "Gladly." The black Mustang waited in the driveway, its dark paint reflecting the warm late-afternoon sunlight. They had spent nearly the entire day inside, and stepping into the fading daylight felt strangely freeing. Knox opened the passenger door for her. Piper lowered herself carefully into the seat, the worn leather a familiar comfort. Then he walked around to the driver's side and climbed in. The engine rumbled to life, a deep, resonant sound. Piper leaned her head against the window as they pulled away from the house.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

She watched the familiar streets slide past, allowing herself to simply breathe, to exist outside the suffocating weight of the day’s events. She wasn't at the races anymore. She wasn't watching Knox's bike scrape across asphalt. She wasn't calculating lost money or dwelling on Ryker's temper. For the first time since morning, she simply let herself be. Then she glanced at Knox. "Thank you."

He looked over briefly. "For what?"

"For getting me out."

His hand found hers near the center console. "Anytime." His fingers settled around hers, warm and steady, and Piper let herself enjoy the quiet comfort of it, the simple act of connection a balm to her frayed nerves.

By the time they reached the city, the sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in muted golds and dusky blues. Streetlights flickered one by one as traffic thickened around them, the urban hum a welcome contrast to the oppressive silence of the house. The Red Door was already busy, a beacon of red light pulsing through the deepening twilight. Music pulsed through the walls, spilling into the parking lot every time the entrance opened. Cars lined the street, headlights sweeping across the pavement as people came and went beneath the crimson glow of the sign.

Knox parked and shut off the engine.

Before Piper could reach for the door, he was already around the front of the Mustang, opening her door. "I can do it," she said, her voice a little stronger now.

"I know."

She gave him a look, a hint of her usual playful defiance. "You're getting a little bossy."

"Getting?" A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Knox offered her his hand, and she took it, letting him help her out without making a production of it. Inside, the bar was darker than the parking lot, illuminated by low amber lights and occasional washes of red that gave the place its name. Conversations were layered over the thrumming music, glasses clinked behind the bar, and the familiar, comforting smell of beer and whiskey hung in the air. It was exactly what Piper had wanted: loud, crowded, distracting.

Anything but quiet.

They found two seats at the bar. Knox leaned toward the bartender. "Two beers." Piper rested her elbows carefully on the bar, a small protest rising within her. "You're not even going to ask what I want?"

"You want beer," he stated simply. The bartender slid two bottles across the counter. Piper picked hers up and took a slow drink, the cold liquid a welcome sensation. She hadn't realized how badly she needed this—not the alcohol, not even the bar itself, but the feeling of being somewhere that wasn't filled with memories of asphalt, twisted metal, and everything that had gone wrong that morning. She turned toward Knox, a question forming on her lips.