Page 81 of Creeping Lily

But this lot is also where it all came apart. The place where the sound of their laughter became a memory instead of a promise. Where joy curdled into loss.

I stare at the wall, my ice cream melting into my palm, forgotten. The hum of passing cars fades, and all I can hear are ghosts—the voices of the boys I lost, and the echo of a girl I’ll never be again.

I stood beside my bike, hands tightening around the handlebars as my heart thudded in my chest. The two brothers flanked me, their presence equal parts reassuring and nerve-wracking. Lincoln crouched slightly, adjusting my helmet with care, his fingers brushing my cheek. His touch lingered just a moment too long, enough to send a shiver down my spine.

“You’ve got this, Lily,” he said, his voice warm with encouragement.

Bentley, standing a few feet away, pretended to check his own helmet, but his eyes darted toward me, watching, waiting.

Swallowing my nerves, I bit my lip and nodded, willing myself to push through. I wrapped my fingers around the handlebars the way Lincoln had shown me earlier, trying to channel some of their boundless confidence into my own shaky limbs.

“Just remember,” Bentley said, jogging up beside me, “it’s all about balance. We’ll be right here.”

The bike wobbled as I pushed off, their cheers urging me forward. For a brief, glorious moment, I felt like I was flying. The world blurred past, and adrenaline surged through me, mingling with the thrill of proving I could do it. But then, reality caught up. The bike veered sharply to the side, and I toppled over with a startled yelp.

“Lily bird! Are you okay?” Lincoln was at my side in seconds, his concern radiating as he knelt down. His hands steadied me, theirwarmth grounding as I tried to brush off the sting from the fresh scrapes on my knees.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, swallowing the lump of frustration in my throat.

Bentley crouched beside us, his tone soft but firm. “Maybe we should take a break?”

“No.” I shook my head, blinking back the embarrassment. “I can do this. I’ll try again.”

Lincoln looked hesitant, but Bentley smiled, his gaze steady and encouraging. “She’s got it,” he said, glancing at his brother. “Let her try again.”

With a deep breath, I climbed back onto the bike. This time, I focused on their instructions—Lincoln’s steady hands guiding me when I wobbled, Bentley’s calm voice pointing out what to adjust. Slowly, I found my rhythm.

As the sun dipped lower, the impossible became real. I pedaled forward without a hitch, my laughter mixing with theirs as the thrill of freedom coursed through me. The bike moved smoothly, and for the first time, I felt invincible.

“You’re flying, Lily bird!” Lincoln called, his grin stretching wide.

Bentley jogged beside me, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Told you she could do it.”

By the time we stopped, my cheeks hurt from smiling. The boys’ faces were lit with pride, and for the first time, I felt like I belonged in their world—a world where confidence and courage could outshine fear.

Later, as we walked home, the warmth of Lincoln’s hand brushed against mine. Bentley rode ahead, his laughter echoing in the distance. Lincoln glanced at me, his eyes soft. “You were brave today,” he said, his words quiet but weighted.

I smiled back, feeling the flush creep up my neck. Their insistence that I try wasn’t just about the bike; it was about proving I could soar if I just gave myself the chance.

My mind drifts back to the present, the sharp, sticky drip of melted chocolate pulling me out of the memory. I look down at my hand, where the ice cream cone has all but collapsed, leaving trails of chocolate down my wrist.

I hurry to a nearby bin, tossing the cone and digging through my bag for a pack of wipes. As I clean my hands, my eyes linger on the brick wall across the lot. This was the place where I learned to ride, where we spent endless afternoons chasing freedom on two wheels and rewarding ourselves with ice cream.

Lincoln always won our races.

Every. Single. Time.

Except when he didn’t—when he let me win, just because that’s just the kind of person he was.

42

TITAN

Iwatch her, my eyes tracking every subtle movement as she sits on the bench, staring at the brick wall like it holds the key to a past she can’t let go of. I know what’s running through her mind—memories of the Walkers, of the life she left behind but never truly escaped. It’s written all over her face, in the way her lips press together and her fingers fidget absently with the strap of her bag. She’s lost in it, trapped in a loop of recollection I know too well.

I don’t like that she clings to those memories, but I can’t blame her. The ugly parts of her past are stitched into who she is now. And me? I know more about that past than I care to, more than she’d ever willingly tell me. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t. Sometimes, I hate that I do.

But I can’t stand here forever, watching her drown in thoughts that don’t include me. When a car pulls out of the lot, leaving a prime spot open, I seize my chance. My foot hits the gas, the engine roaring as I veer into the space closest to her. The tires squeal slightly as I brake, flinging the door open before the car has fully stopped.