Georgia, 90s.

The roar of engines filled the air, drowning out the laughter, the shouting, the clinking of bottles. Another damn night, same as always. Just a bunch of guys trying to prove who had the loudest pipes, the fastest hands, the worst tempers. I didn’t care much for the bullshit—I was here to fix bikes, drink cheap beer, and make sure Merle didn’t get himself killed.

I leaned against my own bike, watching as a few guys circled up near the fire, tossing cash over a fight about to break out. Someone’d end up with a busted lip, someone else would end up passed out drunk in the dirt, and by morning, it’d all start over again. Same shit, different night.

Then I saw you.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. Been years since I last saw you—years since we were just two kids hiding out in the woods, waiting for the yelling to stop. But there you were, stepping out of some asshole’s car, looking like you didn’t belong here. Your eyes swept over the crowd, taking in the chaos, and when they landed on me, you froze.

I felt my grip tighten around the beer bottle in my hand. You looked different. Older. Stronger. But still you. And standing right beside you, holding your wrist like he owned you, was some prick I had seen around before. One of those guys who thought wearing a leather cut made him tough. Something ugly twisted in my gut. I took a slow swig of beer, eyes locked on yours, waiting to see if you'd look away first.