Page 127 of Bitter’s Sweet

And somewhere on the other side of mine is Sweet, brushing her teeth after trusting me with a part of herself she made real damn clear wasn’t casual.

My phone buzzes.

Nevermore.

Church. Ten minutes. Bring your brain if you know where you left it.

I type back.

Up your ass beside your personality.

His answer comes immediately.

So you lost yours too.

The bathroom door opens before I can decide whether that is funny.

Sweet steps out in jeans, pink flats, and a pale green top that makes her look like spring wandered into a funeral home and got curious. Her hair is damp and twisted up. Her mouth is careful.

I hate careful.

On her, I hate it worse.

“I’ll go down. You said Mercy needs me.”

“Yeah.”

She picks up her mother’s picture from the little crate beside the bed.

For one bad second, I think she is packing it.

Then she hesitates and sets it back down.

That small act goes straight through me.

“You leaving that?”

“For now.”

For now.

I nod once. “It’s safe.”

Her eyes meet mine.

“I know.”

She knows.

She trusts that frame will still be there when she comes back.

She trusts me.

God help us both.

I pull my shirt over my head too roughly. “Let’s go.”

Downstairs, the garage is already alive with men, bikes, tools, and gasoline. Sweet’s hatchback sits in the far bay with brown paper still covering the word Razor scratched into her door.