Page 54 of Carnival’s Playground

Avery crosses her arms. "Depends on what you're selling, old man."

"Valentine circuit. We're opening a special winter run out of Cinderwood, the first week of February. Extended romantic haunt and vintage cabaret setup. I need road hands I trust with my life, and frankly, you two dragged this entire show out of the gutter when Grady tried to burn it to the ground. You saved Marcy, you saved the big top, and you caught the bastard before he put me in a pine box."

My chest tightens with quiet pride. "You want us back in Cinderwood."

"I want you both back. Full rate, lead technical supervisor pay for Avery, master rigger cut for you. You two handle your personal shit however you want, just show up with your tools ready to work."

I look down at Avery. She's already looking up at me, her chin lifted with that fearless, defiant fire that tore my walls down from day one. I answer for both of us without a split second of hesitation. "We'll be there."

Avery arches a dark blonde brow. "Look at you, speaking for me again."

"Am I wrong, spitfire?"

She steps in until her chest presses flush against my leather cut, her small hand gripping mine like iron. "No. You're not wrong at all."

Dutch stares at us for a long, quiet moment, a rare, genuine flash of respect softening the deep creases around his eyes. "Don't make me regret hiring a biker, Wyatt."

A grin crosses my face as I answer, "You won't regret it, boss."

Avery snorts, and teases, "We'll be the easiest part of your headache."

Dutch is already turning on his heel to bark at Petey across the lot. "That's the part that scares the living shit out of me."

We work straight through the freezing predawn hours, tossing broken conduit, rolling heavy vinyl, and hauling the smashed generator chassis that Grady sabotaged onto the scrap flatbed. Around three in the morning, Avery runs her fingers over the scorched breaker housing where the police evidence tape used to hang, her expression going distant and tight. "Feels like an entire lifetime ago. Hard to believe it has only been four weeks since we caught the first sliced wire."

I step up behind her to wrap my arms around her waist, anchoring her against my chest. "Four weeks of pure hell. Feels like ten years. Feels like ten minutes. Depends on how hard I look at you."

She turns in my arms to toss the ruined housing into the iron dumpster with a loud, final crash. "That's the most poetically confusing shit you have ever said, Carnival."

By the time the horizon begins to crack with cold, pale gray light, the entire Grimlight Reveals lot is stripped bare. Nothing left but churned red dirt, deep tire tracks, and the memory of the music. Near the main entrance gate, the hand-painted wooden archway that reads Grimlight Reveals, Enter If You Dare stands naked against the morning wind. Petey is up on a wooden ladder with a heavy socket wrench, cranking the final lag bolts out of the post.

Petey lowers the painted sign into Frank's waiting arms. "Going to miss this dirty-ass town."

Frank hauls the sign toward the rear hauler. "You whine about every town we leave, Petey."

"Every town doesn't have a psycho trying to electrocute us in the haunt maze."

Petey drops down the ladder, walks straight up to Avery, and wraps his arms around her so tight her feet leave the dirt for two full seconds.

He sniffs hard against the morning dust. "Keep this biker in line, Avery. Don't let him ride off without you."

She wipes a stray tear from her cheek before it can fall. "He tries to run, I'll shoot his gas tank, Petey."

Frank steps up to me, his knuckles bloody and raw from teardown, and claps a heavy, bone-jarring palm against my cut. It's the closest thing to an embrace the old bastard will ever give a man. Frank looks me dead in the eye. "You did good work, Carnival. Thought you were just another drifting piece of trash when you rolled in. Figured you would haul ass the second the heat came down."

"Figured that myself once upon a time, Frank."

Frank nods toward Avery. "She knocked the running out of you."

"Damn right she did." Avery buries her elbow into my ribs with a wicked grin that nearly takes my breath away. By sunrise, our vehicles are the only ones left parked along the western boundary line. Avery's heavy four-wheel-drive pickup sits idling with the heater blowing, and my Harley rests on its kickstand beside her rear bumper, the chrome pipes gleaming under the raw Texas sun.

She watches me cinch the heavy leather straps on my saddlebags. "You sure about this, Wyatt?"

I turn around to face her. "Sure about what, spitfire?"

She gestures between my bike, her truck, and the open expanse of the highway. "About all of this. About choosing me. About following a beat-up pickup truck across state lines instead of burning asphalt alone like you have done for twelve years."

I close the distance between us, stepping into her space until her canvas jacket brushes the front of my cut, and frame her face in both of my calloused, grease-stained hands. "My whole life, my legal name was Wyatt on a birth certificate and Carnival on the road. Wyatt never had a family to fight for. Carnival never had a single damn place worth coming back to. For twelve years, running was the only thing I knew how to do without fucking it up. Every highway looked the same, every carnival was just a paycheck to buy more gas. I told myself that was freedom. Truth is, it was pure, unadulterated cowardice."