Chapter 19
(Arlo)
I had noticed March earlier that morning, struggling with her motorcycle mirror. It kept slipping out of place, wobbling every time she touched it, and riding with it loose would have been dangerous. After work, I called her.
''Where are you?'' I asked.
''At Horizon,” she said. “I’m meeting Feb.''
''I’m coming,” I told her. “Don’t move. That mirror isn’t safe to ride with.''
She laughed it off, like I was overreacting, but she stayed where she was.
When I pulled into the dojo’s parking lot, March was leaning against her motorcycle, the mirror hanging at an awkward angle, barely holding.
I crouched beside the bike and tightened it properly, making sure it wouldn’t shift again.
She hovered nearby with her arms crossed, watching me work like an impatient supervisor.
''There you are,” she said dryly. “My personal mechanic.''
I gave the mirror one final check before standing. Riding off without fixing it would have been reckless, and we both knew it.
"By the way," she added casually, "February's still inside. She'll be out in a minute."
My fingers froze for a fraction of a second. "She's... training here?" I asked, trying to sound neutral.
"Mhm," March hummed. "She likes it here. She's meeting new people."
I forced my attention back to the strap, testing the tension. "That's good."
March snorted. "You said that a little too fast."
I didn't get a chance to answer because the Dojo door slid open. February stepped out and she wasn't alone. A guy followed her; he looked young, soft-featured and kind of nervous-looking. He hovered close, like he didn't know whether he was allowed to walk beside her or wanted to ask permission.
February said something to him, smiling the smallest and shyest smile and it punched the air right out of my lungs. My chest tightened. I didn't have the right to feel anything about it, but jealousy scorched through me anyway, hot and fast.
March glanced at me, "See?" she murmured. "New people."
I swallowed once, hard, "Yeah," I said quietly. "I see."
I had no right to feel that way after the damage I'd done, but emotions didn't care about rights or logic. They cared about wounds, and mine were still bleeding. I told myself it didn't matter who she talked to. Who she laughed with. Who she let into the spaces I used to occupy.
And yet, threaded through all of it, I felt so much pride. Berrie was stepping into new spaces, meeting people, and learning things that scared her once. She was growing in ways I'd only ever prayed she would.
The version of her I loved had never been weak, just unsure of her own strength, like a candle flickering on the edge of a storm.
But now she was learning to hold her own flame. She was getting better. She was building a life that wasn't orbiting me anymore. And as much as it twisted something inside me... it was okay.
As long as she was safe and happy, it would always be okay.
********
The following day, I was halfway under a car, tightening a stubborn bolt, when my phone buzzed. I almost ignored it, until I saw the name.
Berrie.
I wiped my hands on my shirt and answered immediately.
"Hey—"
But the voice that came through wasn't calm. It wasn't casual. It was terror.
"Arlo—Arlo, I can't stop. I can't, my bike—my brakes aren't—"
Her breath hit the phone in jagged bursts. The world around me vanished. The garage, the tools, the car, all gone.
"Berrie Babe," I said sharply, forcing my voice into a low calm I didn't feel. "Tell me where you are."
"I—I just left the shelter....turning near...oh God!"
The panic swallowed her words. I shot upright so fast I smacked my head on the undercarriage, but I didn't feel it.
"Focus on my voice. Where are you?"
"I'm heading toward the main road..I can't slow down...cars are coming....ARLO"
"Breathe Babe," I said. "Stay on the line. I am coming to get you!"
I put her on speaker and texted Levi with one hand:
EASTBOUND FROM SHELTER. SEND COPS NOW.
His reply came instantly: ON IT.
I grabbed my helmet, sprinted outside, and kicked my motorcycle to life. The engine snarled awake as I pulled into traffic hard enough that someone honked.
"Listen to me," I said as I sped toward her direction. " Brakes completely gone?"
"Nothing...nothing is responding...Arlo, they're not slowing!"
"Okay," I murmured, weaving through cars. "Okay. You're going downhill now, right?"
"Yes—oh God—there's a truck—"
“Stay to the right. Give the car space. Keep your balance steady. Easy on the throttle. Do not jerk the handlebars.”
“I—I’m trying—I’m trying—”
Her voice broke, cracking into a cry that tore straight through me.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” I said, forcing calm into my voice even as my pulse thundered. “Good. Keep breathing. Just keep breathing.”
I saw her before she saw me, her small figure riding toward me on the motorcycle, shoulders rigid, knees gripping the tank, hair streaming wildly behind her.
The engine screamed louder than her courage could manage, the speed more than she knew how to control.
She wasn’t just frightened. She was seconds from losing it.
The bike wobbled under her, the front wheel shuddering as a car passed too close, its wind buffeting her off balance.
"I see you," I said, pulling up parallel from behind her. "I'm right here."
She looked over,eyes wild and tears streaking her cheeks.
"Arlo—Arlo I can't—"
"I know," I said. "I'm going to ride beside you. Match my speed. Do you hear me?"
"I—I don't know if I can"
"You can," I said gently. "You already are."
I edged up until my bike was level with hers. She was shaking so violently the handlebars trembled in her grip.
"Look at me," I said.
She did, eyes drowning in fear.
"You're doing everything right."
Her breath hitched. "I'm scared—"
"I know." My voice softened. "I know, baby. But I've got you."
Traffic ahead was thinning, but the hill steepened. If she hit a car at the intersection below—
No. Not happening.
"Okay," I said, scanning quickly. "We're going to slow you down. Not stop—slow. I'm going to stabilize you."
"H-how?"
"I need you to lean your bike slightly toward mine. Just a touch. Don't worry about the space—I'll handle that. You match my lean. You remember what the coach said about grounding your weight? Do that now."
She whimpered but nodded.
"You're safe," I promised. "I'm right here."
Slowly and timidly, she shifted her weight toward my side. Her bike steadied.
"That's it," I said. "Keep it. You're doing perfect."
She let out a sob, but kept her lean.
"Now," I continued, steering us both toward the edge of the road where a stretch of gravel and soft weeds lined a wide ditch. "We're heading for that soft ground. Do you see it?"
"Yes—yes—Arlo—"
"When the gravel starts slowing you, I want you to let go of the bike. Don't try to stay on it. Just step off and move away."
"I'm scared—"
"I know. But you're not alone. I'm right here."
We neared the gravel. Her tires hit it first jerking violently. She gasped, the motorcycle pitching sideways.
"Now, February!" I shouted. "Step off! Jump clear!"
She jumped or tried to. Her foot snagged and she stumbled, tumbling into the grass. Her motorcycle skidded and crashed ahead. I slammed the brakes on my motorcycle, threw it to the ground, and sprinted. She was curled on her side, shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
"Berrie," I breathed, dropping to my knees. "Hey—hey, look at me."
She clutched my jacket with both hands like she was drowning.
"Arlo—Arlo—"
"I've got you," I said, folding her against me. "You're safe. It's over."
Her whole body trembled against mine, her breathing harsh and broken. I held her tighter, pressing my cheek to her hair. I could hear the Sirens wailed in the distance growing closer. Levi arrived first, jogging down the slope with two officers. The nearest cop knelt beside us.
"Ma'am, are you injured?"
"I...I think I'm okay," she whispered.
"Bike crash," I said, still keeping an arm around her. "Brakes failed."
The officers exchanged a look, and one of them walked off toward the bike lying in the field.
The minutes stretched, February shaking quietly against me, Levi pacing a slow, angry loop, the blue and red lights washing the grass in nervous color.
When the officer returned, his mouth was set in a hard, professional line.
"Sir," he said, addressing me first, then February, "those cables didn't give out. They were cut. Cleanly."
Cut.
Heat surged through me. Like someone had driven a nail straight into my spine. Levi let out a low, furious breath.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, but not quietly enough. "That bitch..."
I turned sharply. He didn't say the name, but the meaning sat between us like smoke.
Lyra.
It was the obvious thought. My jaw clenched. I looked at the officer, breath tight in my chest.
"I think—"
But February's small hand pressed against my chest. "Don't," she whispered, her fingers tightening around my sleeve.
"Berrie—" My voice cracked on her name.
"What if it's not her?" she breathed, barely audible. "We can't... we can't accuse a pregnant woman of something like that without proof."
Her logic was steady, but her hands were shaking. The officer exhaled, his tone softening.
"We'll check nearby CCTV—street cams, storefronts, the shelter's security if they'll release it. We'll contact you soon for a formal statement."
February nodded, a tiny motion. "Thank you. I just... I just want to go home."
He gave her one last assessing look, then signaled to his partner. They stepped away toward their cruiser, radios crackling, boots crunching through the grass. A moment later, the sirens faded down the road, leaving their promise of follow-up hanging in the cold air.
Silence settled. Levi hovered a few paces back, arms crossed and jaw tight with frustration.
Over the hill, March came running drawn by the lights and the noise.
But all I could see was Berrie. She was still pressed against me, her breaths uneven, each one sounding like a negotiation she wasn't sure she could win.
"Berrie," I murmured, lowering my head toward her, "we have to tell them. We can't just..."
She shook her head before I could finish. "Not yet."
Levi let out a sharp, incredulous breath. "It is her. She's awful and vindictive, but even I didn't think she'd ever sink that low."
February let out a soft, exhausted sound, half sigh, half collapse. "I'm tired," she murmured, voice thin as paper. "Please... just take me home, March."
March didn't hesitate. She slipped an arm around February's back, steadying her.
"Yeah, honey. I've got you. Let's get you home."
I nodded, keeping my voice level. "Whatever you need."
February leaned slightly into March, and for the first time since the chaos started, some of the tension drained from her posture. But a storm built in my ribs because someone had cut her brakes. Deliberately. Cruelly. Knowing exactly what could happen.
As Berrie left with March, I just stood there for a moment, watching them, my chest heavy with fear and rage at how close I'd come to losing her, and something like gratitude that she was still breathing, before I walked beside them into the blue wash of police lights fading across the field.
I stepped into the glow, feeling something settle in my bones—an oath made silently, fiercely. If it turns out she did this, then she just signed her own ruin. I wouldn't let it go.