Page 147 of Break Me

She leans in to look. “Sam, I look windblown.”

“You look happy.”

She studies the picture for another second before nudging my shoulder.

“Send it to me.”

I slide the phone back into my pocket.

“Maybe.”

She rolls her eyes but keeps smiling.

The current carries a handful of leaves through the gorge, slipping around the rocks without ever stopping.

Raven's hand finds mine again.

We stand together in the mist, watching the water pass beneath us.

Neither of us says we should leave. As though staying here a little longer might let us hold on to this version of our lives just a little while more.

By the time we make it back to the bike, the afternoon light has softened.

The mountains glow in shades of copper and amber, the sun dipping lower behind the ridges. Raven pulls her jacket tighter before climbing onto the seat behind me.

"You did good," she says, bumping her helmet gently against mine. "This was exactly what I needed."

“Glad you approve,” I say and start the engine.

She laughs softly and wraps her arms around my waist again.

The road winds through the mountains as we ride home, the trees blazing around us like the whole forest is putting on a show before winter comes.

Somewhere along the long stretch of road that curves past the ridge, Raven’s arms loosen slightly around my waist. I realize after a moment that she’s fallen asleep. A small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.

I ease back on the throttle, careful not to jostle her awake. She trusts me enough to fall asleep on the back of my bike. The thought settles somewhere deep inside my chest.

The mountains drift by, one ridge giving way to the next. The road bends through the trees, asking nothing from us except to keep following it.

I could get us home faster. Instead, I let the miles linger. I don't know why.

Maybe it's the weight of her against my back.

Maybe it's the quiet.

Maybe it's the feeling that, somehow, this is exactly where we're supposed to be.

I don't have the words for it.

I only know I want a little more of it.

Samuel

The garage has always been one of Raven’s favorite places.

Long before she was old enough to drive, she spent her afternoons wandering between the bays, sitting on workbenches and toolboxes while the guys argued over engines and parts. Most of the sounds that make newcomers flinch, the clatter of metal, the sharp whine of a drill, the low rumble of a bike coming to life, are just background noise to her.

She grew up here.