The cops finished rounding up the rest of them. The SUV driver, the remaining bikers, all in cuffs. The intersection buzzed with controlled chaos, radios crackling, officers moving with practiced efficiency.
I turned back to Juliet.
She stood where I’d left her, hands clasped tight, eyes locked on me. The second our gazes met, something eased in her expression.
I crossed back to her, cupping her helmet gently, checking her over. “You okay?”
She let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in her chest for a while. “You said you weren’t drama.”
I huffed. “Chrome Warriors are drama. Not me.”
She snorted, the sound shaky but real. “That was absolutely the definition of drama.”
“Fair,” I admitted.
I pulled her into my arms right there in the middle of the street. The sirens faded, riders watching, cops working, and kissed her.
Not hard. Not rushed.
Certain.
She kissed me back, hands gripping my jacket like she wasn’t letting go.
When we broke apart, her forehead rested against mine. “Still glad I rode with you.”
“So am I,” I said.
And I meant it, with every fiber of who I was.
Epilogue
Juliet
One Year Later
Valentine’s Day still smelled like roses, coffee, and last-minute panic.
Some things, no matter how much your life changed, stayed exactly the same.
What In Carnation hummed around me. Phones ringing, coolers cycling, ribbon bins overflowing in shades of red and pink that blurred together by noon. The shop was full but not frantic, busy in that familiar way that came from years of surviving this exact day.
I stood at the prep table, finishing the last bouquet of the morning.
Last-minute, of course.
A man hovered near the register with the look of someone who knew he was already in trouble and hoped flowers might soften the fallout. Jackie handled him with practiced ease, ringing him up and flashing the kind of smile that said you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.
I adjusted the arrangement carefully, fingers slower than they used to be. Red roses. White ranunculus. Soft eucalyptus tucked in just right. I stepped back, tilted my head, and made one final adjustment.
Perfect.
I reached for the ribbon and froze.
A firm, unmistakable kick landed low in my belly.
“Oh,” I breathed, instinctively dropping my hand to my stomach.
Another movement followed. Stronger. Purposeful.