Page 19 of Catcher

The way it needs to be.

Inside, the clubhouse is louder now. The energy has shifted from a slow morning to pre-ride movement. Men are grabbing cuts, checking weapons, finishing drinks, voices overlapping in that familiar rhythm that comes before we hit the road.

I step into it without hesitation, blending in as though I was never gone.

But my eyes move on their own.

Scanning.

Searching.

I don’t let it show, but I know exactly who I’m looking for—blonde curls, big blue eyes.

Nothing.

She’s not here.

An ache settles beneath my ribs before I can stop it, and I immediately shove it down.

“Lookin’ for someone?” Nova’s voice cuts in as he slaps a hand against my shoulder, already geared up, helmet hanging from his fingers.

I don’t look at him. Don’t give anything away. “Nah.”

He studies me for a second longer than I like, then shrugs it off as if it’s nothing. “She’s gone, brother. Took off like she was runnin’ from somethin’,” he says, casually.

My jaw tightens, but I don’t react, ask questions, or even acknowledge it. “Not my problem,” I mutter. The words taste like shit.

Nova doesn’t push. Just gives me a nod and moves off toward his bike, waiting for his woman to return.

I stand there a second longer than I should, staring at nothing, feeling that tightness in my chest again, trying to expand into something more.

I kill it before it can.

By the time I grab my helmet and head outside with the rest of the brothers, I’m back to baseline. Cold, controlled, and totally untouchable.

Exactly where I need to be.

Once everyone is back at the clubhouse and accounted for, we head to Baton Rouge toward Hades Outlaw MC territory. The bikes are all lined up like they always are, engines already rumbling to life one by one. The sound builds fast, vibrating through the ground, my boots, and my bones.

This part always settles something in me.

I swing my leg over my bike, grip the handlebars, and bring her to life. The engine roars beneath me, and for the first time since this morning, my head goes quiet.

We roll out together with the rest of my brothers’ women on the backs of their bikes. We hit the street in a tight formation of steel and loyalty, cutting through the streets as if we own them, because out here, we do.

The wind hits me hard as we pick up speed, tearing through the humidity, ripping past the weight still clinging to my skin. The city blurs around us as we pass.

It’s freedom, pure and simple.

The open road stretches out ahead, and for a while, I let myself sink into it. The rhythm of the engine beneath me. The vibration running through my arms. The way everything else falls away except the ride and my brothers at my sides.

This is where I belong.

This is what makes sense.

But it doesn’t last.

It never does.