Chapter 4
FOUR
SCARLETT
A few days have passed since the welcome home party, and for the first time since walking in on Ethan's bare ass and that fake-titted homewrecker, I feel like I can actually breathe.
Not completely. The hurt is still there. The humiliation is still there. Every now and then a random memory sneaks up and punches me in the chest. But the crushing weight that's been sitting on me since Miami isn't quite as heavy today.
I'm sprawled across my childhood bed in soft leggings and one of Dad's old Iron Reapers t-shirts, smiling down at my phone as the group chat explodes with messages. The girls have been blowing it up nonstop for days, and honestly, they've become my favorite part of every morning.
Hadley: Wyatt lost his shit this morning because a guy at the coffee shop smiled at me. Full-on death glare, arm around my waist, the whole possessive caveman routine. I swear he's getting worse.
A laugh escapes before I can stop it.
Tessa: Cole's the same. I mentioned going shopping alone and he immediately offered to "come with" like I need a bodyguard for Target. Seriously? Target?
Erica: Steele literally growled at the mailman yesterday for standing too close to me on the porch.
Me: No way.
Erica: Way.
Hadley: ??????
Tessa: I'm dying.
Erica: The poor guy practically ran back to his truck.
My shoulders shake with laughter as another message appears.
Hadley: Weston is somehow worse. Saw me texting an old friend from college and spent half the day brooding.
Tessa: That's because Weston is incapable of having normal emotions.
Erica: Facts.
Hadley: He didn't say a word. Just sat there staring at me like he was deciding whether or not murder was justified.
Me: Was it?
Hadley: The ‘old friend’ is a girl named Charleigh
Tessa: ??????
Hadley: Finally I handed him my phone and let him read the conversation.
Me: You let him WHAT?
Erica: Girl...
Hadley: He read every message, handed it back, kissed me, and said, "Okay."
The mental image nearly sends me off the bed. These women are ridiculous. Their men are even worse.
Tessa: They're all the same. Jealous, possessive, obsessed, and stupidly protective.
Erica: Don't forget territorial.
Hadley: Extremely territorial.
Me: You all make them sound like feral beasts.
Tessa: Accurate.
Erica: Just wait until you find your own overprotective biker.
Hadley: Then you'll understand.
Heat immediately creeps into my cheeks, even though they're all miles away and can't see me.
Me: Absolutely not.
Tessa: Liar.
Hadley: Huge liar.
Erica: The biggest liar.
I toss my phone onto the bed with a groan, but the smile refuses to leave my face. God, I've missed this. The easy conversations. The laughter. The feeling of belonging somewhere without having to earn it.
A knock sounds against the door before it swings open. Dad fills the doorway a second later, his broad shoulders nearly taking up the entire frame. Gray has started creeping into his beard since I left, but somehow he still looks exactly the same. Solid. Steady. Untouchable.
His eyes immediately find me sprawled across the bed. "Well, look at that."
I glance up. "What?"
"You're smiling."
"I guess I am."
A soft look crosses his face as he steps farther into the room. "You look better, kiddo."
"I feel better."
His gaze drops briefly to my phone. "The girls?"
I nod. "The girls."
A laugh rumbles out of him. "Good. That's what family's for."
For a moment he just stands there, rubbing the back of his neck. The movement instantly makes me suspicious because Dad only does that when he's working up to something.
My eyes narrow. "What?"
His hand drops immediately. "What?"
"The neck thing."
"I don't do a neck thing."
"You absolutely do a neck thing."
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Smartass."
"Learned from the best."
He points at me. "Definitely your mother's daughter."
I sit up against the headboard. "So, what are you plotting?"
"Nothing."
"Dad."
After several seconds of staring each other down, he finally sighs. "Been thinking maybe you'd want to go for a ride."
Everything inside me goes still. Dad isn't talking about a quick errand or a short ride into town.
He's talking about a real ride. Just the two of us spending hours on the road the way we used to before I left, when entire Sundays disappeared beneath open highways, roadside diners, and whatever back roads Dad felt like exploring.
The realization hits so hard it steals my breath.
Suddenly I'm twelve years old again, sitting behind Dad on his Harley while he points out back roads and hidden fishing spots.
I'm sixteen, stopping for burgers after spending hours riding through the countryside.
I'm eighteen and promising I'll be home all the time even after leaving with Ethan.
Before I can stop them, tears sting my eyes.
Dad's expression immediately softens. "Hey."
I shake my head and laugh through the emotion. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"I’m being a stupid girl."
"No, you aren’t, you’re being human."
The lump in my throat grows. "I'd love to go."
Relief flashes across his face so quickly it nearly breaks me.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His grin appears instantly. "That's my girl. Meet me outside in ten minutes. Your bike's already ready."
A laugh escapes me. "Of course it is."
"I had faith."
"You were confident."
"Same thing."
I roll my eyes while he heads for the door. The second he's gone, I swipe at my cheeks and glance around the room. Excitement buzzes beneath my skin, pushing aside some of the heaviness that's been hanging over me for days.
Moving quickly, I trade my leggings for a pair of dark jeans and pull on my favorite biker boots.
The leather is worn from years of use, but they still fit perfectly.
After shrugging into my jacket, I gather my long dark hair and braid it down my back before securing the end with a hair tie.
Pausing in front of the mirror, I study my reflection for a moment.
The woman staring back at me looks tired, heartbroken, and more than a little lost. Even so, she looks more like herself than she has in a long time.
A few minutes later, I head downstairs and make my way toward the garage. The familiar scent of oil, gasoline, and leather greets me the second I step inside. Dad is already waiting near the workbench with two helmets beside him, and a grin spreads across his face when he spots me.
"Look at that."
I narrow my eyes. "What?"
"You finally look like a biker again."
A laugh slips out. "Mom would say I always look like a biker."
"Your mother thinks boots make someone a biker."
"Fair point."
Chuckling to himself, Dad grabs one of the helmets and holds it out. The sight of it makes my chest tighten unexpectedly. Taking it from him, I turn it over in my hands before recognition hits.
"This is mine."
"Told you I kept it."
I look up. "You kept my helmet for eight years?"
His shoulders lift in an easy shrug. "Knew you'd come home eventually."
The simple statement lands harder than it should. Rather than risk saying something emotional, I slide the helmet on and discover it still fits perfectly. Nothing about it feels foreign. Nothing feels too tight or too loose. It's as if no time has passed at all.
Sunlight spills through the open garage door, glinting off chrome and polished paint outside. My bike waits exactly where I left it after bringing it home from storage, cleaned up and ready to ride. The sight alone is enough to make my pulse kick up.
God, I've missed this.
My fingertips trail across the handlebars as I walk toward it, appreciating the familiar shape and feel beneath my hand before swinging a leg over the seat.
The second I settle onto the bike, everything inside me seems to quiet.
Muscle memory takes over without conscious thought.
My boots find their place. My hands wrap naturally around the grips.
The familiar weight beneath me settles into something that feels comforting instead of intimidating.
It feels like coming home all over again.
Somewhere along the way I'd forgotten how much this part of me mattered.
Sitting on my bike again reminds me that there was a version of Scarlett before Ethan Hayes entered the picture.
A version who loved open roads, summer rides, and spending entire afternoons getting lost on the backroads around Jackson.
Dad climbs onto his Harley beside me and fires up the engine. The deep rumble fills the garage, vibrating through the concrete floor and straight into my chest. A second later my own bike roars to life, and the sound pulls an honest smile onto my face.
Yeah. I've definitely missed this.
The second we leave Jackson behind and hit the county roads, something inside me starts to loosen.
Dad rides ahead of me, his Harley a familiar silhouette against miles of open farmland where cornfields sway in the summer breeze and rows of soybeans stretch toward the horizon.
Old red barns sit back from the road surrounded by weathered fences, rusted tractors, and grain silos that have probably stood there longer than I've been alive.
The farther we get from town, the easier it becomes to breathe.
Maybe it's the wind rushing around me. Maybe it's the steady vibration of my bike beneath me.
Maybe it's simply being somewhere that doesn't remind me of everything I've lost. For years my life revolved around airports, stadiums, luxury hotels, sponsorship events, and Ethan's schedule.
Every day had a purpose, a deadline, and a dozen things demanding my attention.
Out here, none of that matters. There are no cameras.
No reporters. No comments sections waiting to dissect my life.
There's only the road stretching ahead of me and the feeling of freedom slowly settling back into my chest.