Page 26 of Thunder's Reckoning

THE RIDE BACKto the clubhouse was a blur.

Didn’t remember shiftin’ gears or slidin’ through traffic. Couldn’t tell ya what song was playin’ or what color the sky had turned. My head was still back there with her—Sable. Every word she’d said, every silence she left hangin’, kept circlin’ like smoke I couldn’t clear. She’d looked at me like I was somethin’ she didn’t wanna touch. Worse than that, I saw the same damn thing in myself.

The clubhouse came into view, lights glowin’ gold against the dark, bass thumpin’ low through the brick walls. Friday night. Another party. Figures.

Out back, the fire roared high, greedy flames reachin’ like they were starvin’. Brothers sprawled in foldin’ chairs and on makeshift benches, beers in hand, smokes burnin’ down steady. Air was thick with weed, sweat, and ash. Sweet Butts moved through it like perfume and trouble—laughin’ too loud, brushin’ up close, hungry for attention.

I pushed on through, noddin’ here and there, clappin’ a few shoulders, but didn’t stop. Didn’t want the talk. Only one man I needed, and there he was—Gearhead, staked in his usual spot, boots stretched long, fire paintin’ his face in orange cuts.

His eyes found me quick, brow liftin’ just enough to say he’d already read the storm sittin’ in me.

“You’re later’n usual,” he drawled, holdin’ a beer out my way.

I took it, twisted the cap clean off, and dropped down beside him on an old busted cooler. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the fire, lettin’ the bottle sweat between my palms. My boot heel tapped steady against the dirt, like maybe I could stomp down the restless hum ridin’ me.

Gearhead waited. Always did. Man had known me longer’n anyone. We’d swapped enough whiskey-soaked truths to know when to shut up and when to dig.

After a spell, he let out a breath, casual as sin. “Boy, you look like somebody pissed straight in your gas tank.”

I huffed a dry laugh. “Feels worse’n that.”

He nodded slow, sipped. “You gonna spit it out, or you want me to start guessin’?”

I shrugged, jaw tight. “Ain’t even sure I know what it is.”

Gearhead’s mouth tugged at one side. “Well… does it got tits?”

I snorted, beer halfway to my lips. “Yeah. And a face that won’t let loose of me.”

He grinned. “Knew it. Always comes down to that.”

The fire popped, sparks shootin’ up into the black. I dragged a hand back through my hair, fingers scratchin’ my neck, like I could ground myself in skin.

“She was broke down on the side of the road. Her and two kids.”

“That the junker you had me tow?”

“Yeah. She’s stayin’ in the house above The Pit. Just ‘til you get it fixed.”

Gearhead leaned in, elbows on his knees. “You like this girl.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

“Hell, it never is.”

“She’s runnin’ from somethin’,” I muttered. “You can hear it in the way she talks. Like she’s quotin’ scripture, but the faith’s gone.”

He went quiet, lettin’ that sit. Then: “And now she’s stuck in your head.”

I nodded, eyes burnin’ from the flames. “She walked in on me with Leena. Nothin’ bad—just Leena bein’ Leena. But it was enough. Felt like Sable saw every dark part of me in that second. And instead of bein’ scared, she just… froze. Like she slammed a door shut inside herself.”

“Maybe she’s been taught to do that.”

That one landed deep. My fingers squeezed tight on the bottle, knuckles white, but I didn’t answer.

“She ain’t like the others,” I said after a while. “There’s a crack in her, but it’s clean. Controlled. She only lets what she chooses in.”

“And you wanna be the one she chooses.”