Page 28 of Crusher's Illusion

They say time heals all wounds, but that’s bullshit. Some wounds become part of you. You just learn how to walk without bleeding all over the place.

I move around the kitchen, grab a bottle of something strong, and pour two fingers into a glass. I don’t drink much these days, but some ghosts don’t leave you alone unless you offer them a seat.

Behind me, Nevaeh stirs. She doesn’t speak at first. Just sits up slowly, the blanket falling to her waist. Her hair is messy, and her eyes are heavy with sleep, but she looks at me like she already knows what’s in my head.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Didn’t want to.”

She moves closer, barefoot on the hardwood. “The photo. I shouldn’t have looked. I knew it would mess me up.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to be sorry for reacting. You’re still human.”

Neveah crosses the space between us like she’s not even thinking about it, like the pull between us is a silent agreement we’re both still pretending we don’t feel.

“You were thinking about someone.”

It’s not a question.

I nod, slow and heavy. “Jordan.”

“Was he… someone close?”

I swallow. “Not at first. Just a kid who came around the shelter. Talked too much. Laughed too loud. Got under your skin and didn’t let go.” My voice goes tight. “He helped a girl escape. And they made him pay for it.”

Nevaeh flinches. Her expression mirrors the same helpless guilt I wore that night. I keep going, the words scraping out of me like gravel. “I tried to save him. Pressed down on his chest,told him he’d be okay. But it was a lie. I felt his last breath on my wrist.” I exhale slowly. “It changed me. I stopped trying to be a hero.”

She doesn’t speak. She just nods, and her hand drifts toward mine. Not holding. Just there. Like she knows some grief is too big for comfort, but too heavy to carry alone.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft and warm. Silence blooms between us again, but this time it doesn’t feel empty. It feels like understanding.

Like shared ghosts.

“He was the reason I joined the Saints in the first place.” I lean back against the counter. “Told me loyalty wasn’t just about blood. It was about who’d burn the world down to keep you safe.”

“He sounds like he was the kind of person people followed,” she says. “Even after.”

I nod. “He believed in second chances. Believed in me, even when I didn’t.”

She studies me for a second longer. “Maybe that’s why I trust you. You carry that part of him. Even now.”

Nevaeh doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t give me some hollow line about how he’s in a better place. She just stands there with me in the quiet.

The silence is heavy. But it’s not empty.

It’s a shared grief. A knowing.

“You still see him?” she asks.

“Every time I ride,” I say. “Every time I leave the house, and wonder if I’ll make it back. He’s the ghost in the rearview.”

Her hand brushes mine, not fully holding it, just enough to remind me I’m not alone in this room. And for a second, I think about leaning in. Kissing her. Letting the pain crack open and spill into something that might make us both feel alive.

My hand twitches toward her jaw. I stop, but not before my fingers brush a strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into the touch, just enough to make my heart slam against my ribs. One more second, and I’d cross the line. I pull away like it burns.

“I can’t,” I say roughly. If I go there, I won’t be able to come back. Not with her. Not when she’s already got enemies lining up with her name in their mouths and blood on their hands.

“I know,” she whispers. But there’s something in her eyes that saysshe wants me to.