Roads We Didn't Choose
Chapter 34 - The Ride
PART 33 /// MASTERLIST
The afternoon sun hung low over Santo Padre.
Not evening yet.
Getting there.
The kind of heat that settled into concrete and lingered long after sunset, leaving the entire yard shimmering beneath waves of rising air.
Lex sat alone on the clubhouse porch.
Her sketchbook rested closed beside her.
A mug of coffee sat forgotten on the railing.
Gone cold hours ago.
She hadn't moved much.
Not really.
The investigation meeting replayed over and over inside her head.
The logo.
The folder.
The memory she'd managed to pull from somewhere she'd thought was buried forever.
The look Marcus and Bishop had exchanged.
Hope.
Determination.
Purpose.
The realization that Erik wasn't gone.
Not really.
For weeks she'd existed inside recovery.
Nightmares.
Coffee.
Sketchbooks.
Phone calls from Chibs.
Tiny victories measured in ordinary moments.
Healing.
Today had shifted something.
Subtle.
Almost impossible to name.
Recovery had stopped being the only thing happening.
The investigation had reached back into her life.
Reminding her that somewhere beyond the clubhouse walls...
there were still people looking.
Still threads waiting to be pulled.
Still monsters breathing.
The thought settled heavily against her ribs.
Not panic.
Not anymore.
Just...
weight.
The clubhouse door creaked open behind her.
She didn't turn.
Didn't need to.
The footsteps were familiar now.
Steady.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Bishop.
He stopped beside the porch railing, coffee already in one hand.
Of course.
The man appeared physically incapable of existing without caffeine.
For several long moments neither of them spoke.
The silence settled comfortably between them.
Not awkward.
Not demanding.
Just...
there.
The breeze drifted lazily across the yard.
Motorcycles gleamed beneath the lowering sun.
Somewhere near the garage, Angel yelled something that made Gilly laugh loud enough for the whole property to hear.
Life.
Normal life.
Finally…
"You're thinkin' too loud."
Lex groaned immediately.
"That's not a thing."
"Says you."
She glanced sideways.
Bishop didn't look at her.
Just took another drink of coffee.
The bastard.
Despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched.
The smile barely had time to appear before the weight settled back into place.
Heavy.
Persistent.
Bishop noticed.
Of course he did.
The man noticed everything.
He didn't immediately say anything.
Didn't try to fix it.
Didn't tell her she was overthinking.
Instead he leaned against the porch railing beside her and watched the yard.
The motorcycles.
The members drifting in and out of the garage.
The sunlight slowly beginning its descent toward evening.
Then…
"Ya know what always clears my head?"
Lex looked at him.
Suspicion arrived immediately.
"Alcohol?"
One corner of his mouth twitched.
"Sometimes."
"Interesting."
That earned her an actual laugh.
Brief.
Real.
Then…
"Riding."
The single word settled quietly between them.
Simple.
Uncomplicated.
Bishop finally turned toward her.
Not pushing.
Not expecting.
Just...
offering.
"If you want."
Her stomach tightened immediately.
Because she knew exactly what he was asking.
Not just riding.
Trust.
Control.
Vulnerability.
Getting on the back of someone else's motorcycle meant placing your life entirely in their hands.
It meant not seeing where you were going.
Not choosing the route.
Not controlling the speed.
Not controlling anything.
Three months ago that would've been impossible.
A month ago she couldn't sit with her back to a doorway.
Three weeks ago sleeping through the night still felt like winning a war.
Two weeks ago leaving the clubhouse had required Stephanie and three armed escorts.
And now...
a motorcycle.
An open road.
No walls.
No exits.
No control.
Every instinct inside her immediately started listing reasons to refuse.
Too much.
Too fast.
Too dangerous.
Too exposed.
Too vulnerable.
She looked toward the parking lot.
Toward the rows of motorcycles waiting beneath the afternoon sun.
Toward the open highway beyond the front gate.
Freedom had never looked quite so intimidating.
Beside her, Bishop waited.
He didn't fill the silence.
Didn't encourage.
Didn't persuade.
Didn't tell her she'd enjoy it.
If she said no...
that would be the end of it.
No disappointment.
No frustration.
No guilt.
The choice belonged entirely to her.
That realization caught her completely off guard.
Because for so long...
choice hadn't belonged to her at all.
She looked beyond the clubhouse fence.
Toward the road stretching into the California desert.
Fear curled low inside her stomach.
Cold.
Familiar.
Predictable.
Then...
something else stirred beside it.
Smaller.
Quieter.
Stubborn.
The same feeling that had carried her into the supermarket.
The same feeling that had reached for a sketchbook.
The same feeling that had pulled a memory from the fog.
What if?
Not fear.
Curiosity.
Possibility.
She drew one long, steady breath.
Held it.
Let it go.
Then stood and began walking toward Bishop’s bike.
"Let’s go."
The clubhouse door opened.
Happy stepped onto the porch carrying fresh coffee and the familiar toothpick tucked into the corner of his mouth.
He paused halfway down the steps.
Watching.
Bishop stood beside his motorcycle.
Lex stood stiff beside Bishop.
...that alone told him everything he needed to know.
The kid was nervous.
He could see it from here.
The way her eyes kept drifting toward the motorcycle.
Then away.
Then back again.
Like she was arguing with herself.
Bishop waited.
Patient.
Not crowding.
Not talking.
Just standing there.
Giving her room to make the decision herself.
Happy took another slow drink of coffee.
The toothpick shifted.
Because he remembered the girl the Mayans led out of that basement.
The one who couldn't sit with her back to a room.
The one who tracked every doorway.
The one who flinched whenever somebody walked too fast.
The one who looked at every stranger like they might become another nightmare.
And now?
Now she stood in front of a motorcycle.
A machine most people climbed onto without thinking.
To her...
it wasn't a motorcycle.
It was trust.
Freedom.
Choice.
Things she'd spent months rebuilding one careful brick at a time.
"Fuck it." Lex's voice drifted across the yard.
Happy's eyebrow lifted.
Well.
There she was.
Bishop's grin appeared immediately.
The idiot.
Happy watched Lex climb carefully onto the bike.
Slowly.
Thoughtfully.
Like she was stepping onto a bridge she wasn't entirely convinced would hold.
Bishop said something.
She rolled her eyes.
He said something else.
She pointed at him.
The gesture looked suspiciously familiar.
Happy took another drink.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Barely.
The closest thing most people ever saw to a smile.
Across the lot Hank appeared carrying a box of supplies.
He followed Happy's gaze.
Saw the motorcycle.
Saw Lex.
Saw Bishop.
Then looked back at Happy.
"You smilin'?"
Happy immediately returned to complete neutrality.
Like somebody flipped a switch.
"No."
Hank frowned.
Long.
Suspiciously.
"Looked like it."
"Nope."
Hank looked toward the bike again.
Then back.
Even more suspicious.
Happy ignored him.
The motorcycle engine roared to life.
Lex stiffened.
Only for a heartbeat.
Then...
she settled.
Her hand reached forward.
Wrapped carefully around Bishop's side.
Trust.
Simple as that.
Happy watched the bike roll toward the clubhouse gate.
Then disappear onto the road beyond.
The yard grew quiet again.
Coffee.
Wind.
Clubhouse.
Normal.
Finally Hank asked,
"You worried?"
Happy considered the question.
Exactly two seconds.
"Nah."
A pause.
The faintest smirk returned.
"They'll be fine."
And somehow...
for the first time since the rescue...
he actually believed it.
The world opened the second they cleared the clubhouse gate.
Everything behind them disappeared.
The road stretched endlessly ahead.
A ribbon of black asphalt glowing beneath the lowering sun.
Wind rushed around her.
Through her hair.
Across her face.
The air smelled like warm pavement.
Dust.
Motor oil.
Dry grass baking beneath the California heat.
Freedom.
The motorcycle vibrated beneath her.
Alive.
Powerful.
Steady.
Every shift of Bishop's shoulders.
Every lean into a gentle curve.
Every subtle movement transmitted itself through the machine.
For one brief second...
panic surged.
Her hands tightened instinctively.
Her heartbeat stumbled.
Then the road opened wider.
The horizon stretched forever.
Nothing boxed her in.
Nothing trapped her.
Nothing closed around her.
The sky seemed impossibly huge.
The wind stole every thought she'd been carrying.
Every memory.
Every nightmare.
Every question.
The investigation.
The basement.
The chains.
Everything.
For the first time in months...
there was only movement.
Only sunlight.
Only open road.
Only now.
The realization slipped quietly into her chest.
Recovery wasn't just surviving anymore.
Sometimes...
it looked like this.
The laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Bright.
Free.
Real.
The sound vanished instantly into the rushing wind.
Gone as quickly as it appeared.
But real.
Ahead of her, Bishop's shoulders shook.
He'd heard it.
Of course he had.
The bastard.
Lex found herself smiling.
Really smiling.
The kind that hurt her cheeks because she hadn't worn it enough.
The kind that arrived without permission.
Without effort.
Without fear.
She looked toward the horizon.
Toward the endless ribbon of road disappearing into sunlight.
And for the first time since the rescue...
she felt something she hadn't realized she'd been missing.
Possibility.
------
PART 35
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