Page 11 of What They Say

Emy turned her head, eyes serious. “Yeah. But not forever. Ride or die, remember? That pact we made the other night? It wasn’t just talk.”

Kath swallowed hard. “I know. It’s just...my house is going to feel even emptier without you.”

Emy sat up and reached under her bed, pulling out a small canvas tote bag decorated with doodled stars and musical notes. She handed it to Kath with a shy smile.

“Early goodbye present. Open it when I’m gone, okay?”

Kath peeked inside, then upended the bag. A mix of things tumbled out into her hands. There was a stack of her favorite snacks, a new notebook with “For all the lyrics you’re too scared to show anyone” written on the first page in Emy’s messy handwriting, a tiny bottle of the cheap vanilla perfume they both loved, and a folded letter tucked at the bottom.

“Rule breaker,” Emy teased. “I figured you’d need reinforcements once I’m not here to force you to watch terrible French movies,” she said, voice a little thick. “And that letter has my new dorm address, my class schedule, and a very serious reminder that if you need me, you call. Day or night. I’ll answer.”

Kath clutched the bag to her chest, eyes stinging. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I did.” Emy bumped her shoulder. “Ride or die, Kath. Campus is just a couple hundred miles. It doesn’t change us. You get in trouble, I’m on the next bus. I have a meltdown over some trust-fund idiot stealing my spot, you talk me off the ledge. We’ve got this.”

Kath pulled her into a fierce hug, burying her face in Emy’s shoulder. “I love you, nerd.”

“Love you more, Granola Bandit.” Emy hugged her back just as tight. “Now help me carry this stupid suitcase before I change my mind and stay here forever.”

They dragged the luggage to the door together, laughing through their tears. When Emy’s ride finally pulled up, Kath stood on the porch waving until the car disappeared around the corner, the little tote bag still clutched in her hand like a lifeline.

Her mind felt quieter already. But for the first time, the emptiness didn’t feel quite so endless. She had a pact. She had a promise and a best friend who refused to let distance break them.

***

Kath pulled into the parking area beside Bear’s garage, the custom bike’s engine rumbling low and satisfied beneath her. Her hands were steady on the grips, but her heart was doing cartwheels. This was hers. Really hers.

She grinned as she killed the engine, marveling again at the freeness she felt in the ride, just breathing it in—the faint smell of fresh paint and metal, the way the blue-and-white streaks caught the afternoon light like frozen lightning. Bear had done incredible work. The bike felt powerful, alive, like it could outrun every bad memory if she let it.

The big man himself stepped out of the garage, wiping his hands on a rag, a warm smile breaking through his beard.

“Looks good on you, darlin’,” he called, voice like distant thunder. “How’s she riding? How’s she feel?”

Kath swung her leg over and pulled off her helmet, shaking out her short platinum hair. “Like freedom,” she said, unable to keep the grin off her face. “Like I could go anywhere. Thank you, Bear. For trusting me with her. For the deal. I know I’m a lil different from your usual thing.”

Bear chuckled, deep and genuine. “You’ll get there. Bring her back if she gives you any trouble. And remember—helmet on, eyes open, and always ride like you mean it. Confidence is at least half of the equation where skill is the other.”

Kath nodded, running a hand reverently over the tank. “I will. Promise.”

She mounted up again, the engine roaring back to life under her. With a final wave to Bear, she pulled out onto the road, the wind whipping past as the bike carried her forwards—into whatever came next.

Now, finally, the road ahead didn’t feel like something to escape. It felt like possibility.

***

Chase

Weeks later, Chase once again lingered near the garage door, watching a scene unfold with a mix of relief and unease.

Benny was finally home.

He looked so much better than he had the day the ambulance took him away—clearer eyes, steadier hands—but he still moved like someone who’d been hollowed out and was only now starting to refill. Slate hovered at his side like a human guardrail, one hand never far from Benny’s shoulder, his voice clipped and commanding every time Benny so much as reached for a soda.

“Water only, Ben,” Slate said for the third time in ten minutes. “Doctor’s orders.”

Benny rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. The easy grin he usually wore looked brittle, like it might crack if pressed too hard.

Chase shifted his weight, unsure whether to step forwards or give them space, when a woman he’d never seen before walked up beside him. She was compact, dark-haired, with calm, watchful eyes and an air of quiet competence that immediately set her apart from the usual clubhouse crowd.