Page 20 of Catcher

Because even out here, cutting through the thick, hot air, moving fast enough to outrun most thoughts, she’s there again.

Ruby.

The memory of her doesn’t fade or blur. The way she felt under my hands. The way her body moved with mine. The way she said my name. It sticks and feels like it’s etched into me, carved into my skin. It clings to me like a goddamn tattoo I didn’t ask for.

Permanent.

Unavoidable.

I tighten my grip on the handlebars, jaw clenching as I try to shove it down and drown it out with the roar of the engine and the rush of wind.

It doesn’t work.

She’s still there.

Under my skin.

In my head.

And I fucking hate it.

The ride stretches on, long enough that the tension in my shoulders eases just a fraction. The farther we get from the clubhouse, the more the world narrows down to only the asphalt, speed, and the men riding beside me.

By the time we hit the outskirts of the Big Easy’s territory, I’ve got all my problems shoved back where they belong, locked down and buried.

The other clubhouse comes into view soon after. The roar of our pipes announces us before we even pull in, loud and unapologetic. It’s the kind of sound that demands attention.

We roll into the lot as a unit, engines idling, then cut out one by one. The sudden quiet hits heavy after all that noise, settling over the space like a held breath.

I swing off my bike, eyes already scanning my surroundings.

Different place.

Different crew.

But the same energy.

The men here are built like us, live similar to us, and survive the same kind of world we breathe.

Big Easy steps out to meet us, greeting Riggs as a brother, clapping shoulders, trading words that don’t need much explanation.

Nothing but respect and history.

No bad blood.

Just men who understand each other.

I hang back a little, letting the others move forward, taking it all in without needing to be front and center.

That’s never been my place anyway.

Inside, the clubhouse is already alive with voices bouncing off the walls. The women are settling in, and the men are spreading out as though they own the space. It’s familiar, even if it’s not ours.

I lean against the bar, grab a drink without asking, and let the noise fill the space around me without really hearing any of it because my head is still too full.

Too loud in all the wrong ways.

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