Chapter 34 The Long Road Home
The Long Road Home
Evening settled over the yard like a held breath.
Bikes lined up, engines idling low. The boys were ready, patched, and armed, faces set.
Ren stood beside her bike, gloved hands resting on the grips. Tater walked over, the chain dangling from his fingers, silver dulled by age and war.
“You found it,” he said.
“I did.”
He turned it once, then laid it in her palm. “Guess it always finds its way back.”
“Maybe it’s not done yet.”
He folded her fingers around it. “Then keep it. Don’t let anybody else touch it again.”
“Not unless they earn it.”
They lingered—just a breath—before she slipped it into her jacket.
Engines flared. The gates opened.
Tater watched her roll forward, light cutting through dust. She didn’t look back; she never did.
The cigarette between his fingers burned down to the filter as her taillight faded into the dark.
He murmured to the empty air, “Ride safe, old lady. And if you can’t—make it worth the story.”
The wind carried the words after her until the night swallowed everything but the hum of distance.