Chapter 32
thirty-two
CALLAN
The hum of the distillery fades into the background as I step outside, shrugging on my leather jacket. The air is cool and thick with the scent of damp earth, but at least the sky’s clear for once, after what felt like a week of Mother Nature’s personal water torture.
The engine roars to life, a deep, satisfying growl that settles my restless bones. It’s not just a machine—it’s the closest thing I’ve got to therapy. That sound, that vibration under me, has a way of drowning out all the noise.
I ease out of the lot slowly, but the moment I hit the edge of town, the open road stretches out ahead of me, and it’s like the world gives me an invitation I can’t say no to. The tires bite into the wet asphalt, and I can’t help myself. I twist the throttle and the bike surges forward.
The hills rise in the distance, cloaked in mist. The river to my left is a whole mood, raging and foaming from the rain, determined to make a statement. I get it. I’ve been there.
Every bend in the road dares me to push faster, lean harder. It’s raw energy, untamed, like it doesn’t give a damn about anything except right here, right now.
The wind cuts through me, but in the best way. It’s the kind of cold that slaps you awake, clears out the fog, and makes every nerve fire on all cylinders. This is exactly what I needed.
I lose track of time until the first mist of rain starts to fall. Really? I tilt my head back just in time to catch a raindrop square on my visor. So much for clear skies.
The road ahead winds tighter, snaking through trees.
The river’s roar grows louder, matching the thrum of the engine beneath me.
The rain picks up, slicking the asphalt, but I don’t slow down.
I twist the throttle more, lean harder into the curve, and feel that rush that sharpens everything, dials it all into razor focus.
The bike’s not just below me, it’s with me. Out here, we’re invincible.
At least, that’s what I think…until I see a flash of tawny fur darting out of the brush.
“Fuck!”
Time slows in that split second, the deer standing motionless in the middle of the road, its wide eyes locked on mine. My heart lurches into my throat as instinct takes over. Brake, swerve, don’t wipe out, but my mind’s already screaming too late.
I yank the handlebars as the tires lose their grip on the gravel. The bike jerks beneath me, throwing me off balance. There’s no saving it now. No miracle recovery. Just the sickening realization that I’m going down, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
The world spins in a violent kaleidoscope of gray skies and green trees. My body becomes weightless, disconnected from the bike I was one with just moments ago. The handlebars wrench free from my grip as I’m catapulted through the air, a helpless trajectory that seems to last forever.
For a heartbeat, I register the glint of the guardrail as I sail over it, the silver flash like a final farewell to solid ground. Then it’s nothing but open air, the rush of water growing louder and louder.
There’s this perfect, terrible moment of suspension where I think, this is going to hurt.
Then gravity remembers I exist.
Wind howls past my helmet as I claw uselessly at nothing. Below, the river waits, swollen and angry. I hit the water with the force of a sledgehammer, the impact knocking every molecule of air from my lungs.
Christ, it’s cold. Like thousands of needles stabbing every inch of my skin. The current immediately seizes me, tumbling me like I’m nothing more than a pebble.
The river roars its victory as it drags me under.