ONE Night On His Bike

pick ups

I was off at 5.

By 5:02 I was standing outside the bank, keys in my hand, trying to pretend I wasn’t looking down the street.

The rain was gone. The air smelled like wet pavement and exhaust.

And of course, he was there.

Same bike. Same helmet under his arm. Leaning against it like he’d been waiting all day.

When he saw me he didn’t smile. He just pushed off the bike and walked over.

"Hey," he said.

I rolled my eyes but my heart was doing that stupid thing again.

*"Looks like picking me up has become your personal job now,"* I said.

He chuckled. Low. That rough sound that did unfair things to my stomach.

"Someone has to do it," he said. "Cabs in this city are unreliable."

"And you’re reliable?"

"I’m here, aren’t I?"

We didn’t talk on the ride. Same as last night. Rain wasn’t falling but the city was still damp. His back was solid in front of me and I kept my hands hovering, not touching.

Until we hit a bump and my hand shot out and grabbed his jacket.

He didn’t say anything. I didn’t let go.

He dropped me off at my apartment again.

Killed the engine.

"Thanks," I mumbled, climbing off. "For... you know."

He nodded once.

I should’ve gone inside. That was the plan.

But I didn’t.

Instead I stood there, hugging my bag to my chest.

"Can I ask you something?"

His head tilted. "Yeah?"

*"About your sister."*

The words felt heavy. "What... what happened to her?"

His whole body went still.

For a second I thought he wouldn’t answer. That he’d put his helmet on and leave like last night.

But he didn’t.

He exhaled. Long. Tired.

"She missed her bus," he said quietly. "I told her I’d pick her up. Got caught at work. Told her to wait. She didn’t."

He looked down at his boots. "Wrong place. Wrong time."

The air left my lungs.

"Oh," was all I could say.

He finally looked up at me. Eyes tired, but not empty.

"So yeah. Picking people up is kinda my thing now."

And then he smiled. Small. Sad.

"Come on. I’ll walk you to the door