The road to my house feels longer than usual.
Every mile, the rage shifts. Less clean. More tangled.
Jeremy’s blood on my knuckles.
Twila’s warning.
Legend’s words.
Amelia’s face when I left.
August asking if I was coming back.
I ride too fast for the weather, but not fast enough for what is chasing me.
When I pull into the driveway, my house is lit from inside.
Truck is there.
Amelia’s truck.
Porch light on.
Curtains crooked.
A small shadow moves behind the front window.
For one stupid second, everything in me calms.
Then I remember I’m coming home with blood on my hands.
I kill Widowmaker and sit there for half a breath, staring at the door.
Oaks pulls in behind me but doesn’t get out. He waits. Gives me space. Maybe because Legend told him to. Maybe because he knows if one more man gives me advice tonight, I may start biting.
I climb off the bike.
The door opens before I reach the porch.
August comes out first.
He stops when he sees me.
Not because of the blood. Not all of it, anyway.
Because kids can feel when adults bring storm inside their skin.
I crouch.
No joke.
No grin.
No pretending.
“I’m back, kid.”
He runs.