Page 7 of Tiny's Testament
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
The air shifts between us. His gaze drops to my mouth for a split second, then returns to my eyes, and my pulse kicks up.
I swallow hard. “You keep looking at me like that, people are gonna talk.”
“Let ’em.” His voice is rougher now, yet softer too.
“Tiny …”
He exhales, running a hand over his jaw. “You don’t need another reason to feel trapped, Syv. I get it. But if you ever decide to stop running, you know where I am.”
Heat rushes through me. Not the kind from panic or shame, but something older and heavier. I want to reach across the table, yet I don’t.
Instead, I pick up my cup and take a long drink. “Are you always this good at ruining perfectly awkward moments?”
“Best in the business.” He grins, and for a heartbeat, the ache eases.
We finish our food in companionable silence. When we step outside, the air’s cooler. The ocean’s close enough to smell.
He hands me the helmet. “You coming back?”
“I wasn’t planning to sleep under a bridge.”
“Good. Bridges are overrated.”
I climb on behind Tiny, wrapping my arms around his waist. The engine hums steadily beneath us. I press my cheek against his back, the leather warm from his body. I unconsciously match my breathing to his. For a few miles, it feels like we’re moving in the same direction.
When we pull into the compound, he kills the engine and turns halfway, his eyes dark under the floodlight. “You good?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He studies me a moment longer then nods, climbing off his bike.
The clubhouse is quiet as we step inside. Most of the lights are off, except for the neon above the bar and the faint glow from the garage, where someone is still tuning an engine. The air smells of oil, cigarettes, and home.
Tiny walks me down the hallway toward my room. His boots thud against the wood, steady and grounding. Mine sounds too light, too fragile in comparison.
He turns away from me, but pauses. “Syv?”
“Yeah?”
Tiny hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “If you ever find yourself outside another liquor store … call me before the bottle does.” The words land softly but meaningfully. I can only nod.
“I will.” I hope.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, softer this time.
“I will be.”
He nods slowly, eyes searching mine for a lie. It’s unfair the way he looks at me, as if he could reach inside and fix the broken wiring if I’d just let him.
I reach for the doorknob, but my hand lingers. “Tiny?”
