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“Come on,” she said softly, leading her toward the couch and sitting them both down.

She took the helmet out from where it was still tucked beneath her arm and set it on the ground, shifting it out of sight behind the edge of the couch.

Then she released Jess’ hands to shrug the backpack off.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she blew out a breath.

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity before Jess finally spoke.

“For months, after you left for MIT,” she started, just barely above a whisper, “I had nightmares that I’d get a call saying you’d been in another accident.”

A tight burn rose in Sam’s throat, but she forced herself to swallow it away.

Jess hardly even moved as she continued, “I used to check the weather in the city you were living in.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “On rainy days—” she paused, blinking, as she released a breath. “I would check my phone constantly for texts from you.” She swallowed again, the muscle in her jaw flickering as she whispered, “I could hardly focus on anything else.”

The tight swell in Sam’s throat grew into a throbbing ache in her chest. She’d always known the accident affected Jess more than she really ever shared or let on. But she’d never imagined how much.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, hating how inadequate the words felt.

Jess released a breath, leaning back into the couch as she ran a hand through her hair. She turned, her eyes drifting to the water-streaked window. She stared at it for a long moment.

“Even now,” she continued, “all these years later, every time it rains, I still think of you.”

Sam tightened her grip on the arm of the couch, resisting the urge to take her hand—to hug her—to hold her. To do anything that would take even a fraction of that pain and worry away.

Jess’ eyes flicked back down to her lap, where her hands had begun to fidget. “I thought—” She paused, shaking her head slightly as she cleared her throat. “I thought it would get better after we stopped talking. Before—I mean.” She shook her head again, this time seemingly more out of frustration. “And it did. Eventually.” She released a deep sigh. “But it never went away.”

Sam swallowed, watching the way her eyes glazed over with wetness. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jess shook her head. “Why would I?” she breathed, wiping a hand across the edge of her face where the wetness had spilled down her cheek. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Sam’s jaw clenched as she looked away. “I could’ve helped. I could’ve—”

“You could’ve what?” Jess asked, her voice full of exasperation. “We both know you weren’t gonna stop.”

Was that true? Maybe. Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure.

Riding had some hold on her. An ability to take her mind and free it from torment. No matter how hard things got, the second the whipping wind hit her face, it all fell away. She couldn’t focus on anything but the ride—the road, the turns, the sounds, all of it.

The first time she’d ridden was unforgettable. The sudden sense of freedom—of control. It was something she’d never felt before. And something she never wanted to lose.

And that feeling never changed. It never went away.

Even after the accident.

Even when she wished it would.

“I knew how important it was to you,” Jess whispered. “Even if I didn’t understand it.” She swallowed, turning to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t going to guilt you into giving that up.”

Sam loosed a breath, running a hand down her face. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know what else to say.”

Jess nodded, a sad, defeated look filling her features. Then she stood from the couch.

“It’s fine,” she said, stepping around it toward the small kitchen area as she wiped another hand over her cheek. “Let’s just forget it. We have stuff to go over.”

Sam stood, following her to where she’d gone to her bag, where it sat on a circular white kitchen table.

“I can’t—” she said quickly, stepping up beside her as she shuffled through her bag. “I can’t just forget that and move on.”