Page 103 of Redline Baby

And—

The phone is cold.

I pull it out. Black screen. Not dim. Not asleep. Dead. I press the power button. Nothing. Hold it. Nothing. Press harder, as if panic might somehow jump-start a lithium-ion battery that has given everything it had.

Nothing.

My stomach drops. A sudden cold hollow opens beneath my ribs. I try to remember the last time I checked it. Two hours ago. Gas station before the canyon. A message from Dex confirming the meet spot. I sent a thumbs-up, shoved the phone back into my jacket, and forgot about it because once I'm riding, I forget about almost everything.

Rule Three. Communication. Answer texts within reason. Show up when you say you will. No disappearing.

The battery dying isn't my fault. I know that. Soren would know that too.

Then I look around.

Dex has a phone. Sol has a phone. Allie definitely has a phone. The Honda guy whose name I don't know probably has one. There is no emergency here. All I have to do is say, Hey, can I borrow your phone for thirty seconds?

My stomach tightens because then I have to admit why. Because then somebody knows I fucked up. Because then I have to call Soren and hear whatever is in his voice when he realizes I haven't been reachable for two hours. I should ask. I know I should.

I don't.

"I'm heading to Redline," I say. My voice comes out steady. Bright, even. The particular register I use when I'm lying with my whole body. "You guys take the ridge. I'll see you there."

Dex nods. Sol throws me a casual salute. Allie looks at me half a second longer than everyone else. Her eyes do that thing. She knows something is off, which means I should definitely stop. Borrow her phone. Send the text. Make the good choice.

Instead, I put my helmet on.

Excellent. Growth.

I mount up faster than I need to. The engine catches on the first try, and I roll out of the turnout without looking back, gravel spitting beneath the tires before I reach asphalt again. The canyon is still beautiful. The road is still good. The KTM still answers every input. But the ride has changed. All I can think about now is Soren checking his phone and not getting an answer.

Soren's bike is parked three spaces from the entrance when I get to Redline. I spot it before I've even shut off the KTM. He's been here a while. He told me he'd meet me after the ride. The shop closes at two on Saturdays. I dismount, helmet tucked under my arm, and the twenty feet between my bike and the door feel like two hundred.

Inside, Redline on a Saturday evening is packed. Familiar noise. Familiar smells. Leather, beer, engine oil clinging to jackets, somebody laughing too loudly somewhere near the bar. I scan the room and find Soren almost immediately. He's standing near the bar with his arms crossed. There's a glass in front of him, something amber and untouched. His jaw is set. He's staring at the wall behind the bar, or maybe at nothing.

He doesn't look angry. But Soren almost never looks angry. He stays calm even when I fuck up spectacularly. My chest hurts. I don't want to joke. I don't want to perform. I want him.

I want my Daddy.

I walk straight to him and hug him.

He stiffens for half a second in surprise before his arms close around me, then he relaxes. One hand comes up into my hair, and I bury my face in his chest. He smells like motor oil and his cologne and home.

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

The words are muffled into his shirt.

"Your phone," he says, still petting me.

"I know. I'm sorry. The battery died. I didn't notice. We hit the canyon with Dex and Sol and Allie and two newer guys, and the ride was so good, and I checked it at the gas station and then I just rode for like two hours. When we stopped at the overlook, I went to check the time and it was dead. I should've checked sooner. I'm sorry."

The words tumble out. Not performative. Just fast. Soren listens without interrupting. Doesn't sigh. Doesn't pull away. His hand keeps moving slowly through my hair.

"The ride was really good. Amazing. I was careful, I promise. The canyon was beautiful. There was this river and the light was hitting it, and—"

"I'm glad you had a good time, baby boy." I stop. His voice is warm. Not mad. My body loosens by a fraction. Then he says, "Your battery dying isn't what you're in trouble for."

I blink against his shirt. "What?"