Page 208 of Revv

I call Cece through my helmet.

Voicemail.

“Fuck.”

Again.

Same thing.

Every part of me wants to push the bike harder, but the roads are slick and I already broke one promise tonight. I’m not showing up at her house in an ambulance just to prove I’m committed.

So I ride fast enough that Andre would bitch, and careful enough to stay upright while Cece’s messages keep replaying in my head.

Lose my number.

I know how her anger works. It’s the first thing she reaches for when something hurts too much, and tonight I didn’t just piss her off.

I walked straight into the fear she trusted me enough to tell me about and made it look fucking real.

At a red light, I call again and get voicemail before the second ring.

“Come on, Mama.”

Rain streams down my visor while I picture her at her mom’s table, checking the time while she waited.

Every minute making her regret trusting me a little more.

My chest tightens.

I know what waiting does to a person. I spent half my childhood learning not to unpack because there was always another house, another adult, another promise that could disappear without warning.

And tonight I made Cece wait for me.

The light changes, and I take off.

By the time I turn onto her street, it’s almost midnight and the rain has eased into something steadier. Her porch light is on, one lamp glowing through the front window, and the sight of her house hits me with enough relief to make my shoulders finally drop.

I kill the bike in her driveway, pull off my helmet and gloves, then look down at my hands.

My knuckles are split and swollen. Covered in dried blood that's gone dark again from the rain. She’s going to have questions.

Which, could maybe keep her from slamming the door in my face long enough for me to answer them. I take the porch steps two at a time and knock hard enough to send pain through my hand.

“Cece!”

Nothing.

I hit the door again. “Mama!”

Still nothing, and the panic starts climbing until a light flicks on somewhere deeper inside the house.

I put both palms against the door and lower my head between them, rain dripping off my hair and down my jaw while every rehearsed explanation disappears.

When I speak again, there’s none of the usual bullshit left in me.

“Please.”

The lock turns.