I pressed my forehead against the handlebars and let the tears come again. Silent this time. Exhausted. Because I didn’t have the energy to fight it anymore.
I loved him.
I loved Nano.
And I broke both of us because I was too afraid to admit it.
I didn’t know how long I sat there on the side of the road. Long enough for the sun to set completely. Long enough for the stars to come out, bright and cold and indifferent to my suffering.
When I finally started the bike again, I didn’t head north.
I turned west.
Toward Texas.
Toward home.
The Gods of Mayhem compound looked exactly the same as it had the last time I saw it.
Red brick. Weathered wood. The club insignia painted across the front in bold, defiant strokes. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over the steps where I sat as a kid, listening to the brothers laugh and tell stories late into the night.
Home.
The word felt foreign. Like something I’d lost the right to claim.
I cut the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the building. My body was so exhausted that I could barely move. My hands were shaking. My vision was blurred from days of wind and sun and tears.
And then the doors opened, and Oscar stepped out onto the porch, his silhouette backlit by the light from inside. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just stood there watching me.
And something inside mebroke.
I stumbled off the bike, my legs barely able to support my weight. I took one step toward him. Then another. And then I was running, my body moving on instinct, my vision blurred with tears I couldn’t stop.
“Oscar.”
His arms caught me before I collapsed, strong and steady andsafe. I buried my face in his chest and sobbed, my entire body shaking with the force of it. Days of exhaustion and fear and grief poured out of me in broken, gasping cries that I couldn’t control.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’ve got you, Alex. You’re home.”
Home.
I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me from drowning, and maybe he was. Because without him, without this place, I had nothing left. Nothing but the memory of a man I pushed away because I was too fucking scared to love him.
I didn’t remember much of the next few days.
Flashes. Fragments. Oscar carrying me inside. The familiar creak of the stairs. The soft give of my childhood bed beneath me. Voices, low and concerned, drifted through the walls. Sleep pulled me under like a riptide, dragging me down into darknessso deep I couldn’t fight it. My body demanded rest, and for once, I didn’t have the strength to refuse.
I woke occasionally. Long enough to drink the water Oscar pressed into my hands. Long enough to eat a few bites of food I couldn’t taste. Long enough to stumble to the bathroom and back before collapsing into bed again.
And then I slept.
Hours. Days. I didn’t know. Time had stopped meaning anything.
All I knew was that I wastired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired. The kind of exhaustion that came from running for so long that you forgot what you were running from.
Or maybe I’d always known.
Maybe I just been too afraid to admit it.
