The Man in the Shadows

Lucy

The night air was sharp against my skin, carrying the smell of oil and asphalt. I pulled my jacket tighter, but the cold wasn’t what made me uneasy. It was the silence—the kind that left room for old memories to creep in. I told myself I was safe now. Not there. Not with him.

But shadows didn’t know the difference.

A low rumble reached my ears, faint at first, then growing louder. My chest seized. Headlights carved through the dark as a motorcycle appeared, the growl of its engine vibrating through the ground. My legs told me to run, but I stayed rooted, caught between fear and fascination.

The bike slowed, then stopped just a few feet away. The rider pulled off his helmet, shaking out dark hair. Broad shoulders, leather jacket, jeans torn at the knee. A scar slashed across his jawline, making him look even harder, sharper.

“Road’s no place for a girl alone this late,” he said, voice rough like gravel.

My pulse jumped. “I’m fine,” I blurted, though the crack in my voice betrayed me.

He studied me, eyes sharp and unflinching. “Name’s Blake. You lost?”

For some reason I answered. “Lucy.”

“Pretty name.” His mouth curved faintly, not a smile, not really.

Compliments had always been traps. I stepped back, wrapping my arms around myself. “I should go.”

“Go where?” His gaze flicked toward the endless stretch of road. “Ain’t much out there but miles of nothing.”

He wasn’t wrong. I clenched my jaw. “I’ll figure it out.”

He leaned on the handlebars, steady as stone. The silence stretched until I thought I’d break under it. Finally, he jerked his chin toward the bike. “Diner’s down the road. Coffee’s hot. Food’s greasy. Better than freezing out here. You coming or not?”

Every instinct screamed no. But my legs moved anyway.

The ride blurred into wind and adrenaline, my hands gripping the back of his jacket so tightly my knuckles ached. The bike was alive under me, loud and untamed. For a moment, with the world rushing past, I felt something dangerously close to free.

The diner was small, its neon sign buzzing faintly. Inside, it smelled like bacon grease and burnt coffee. Blake slid into a booth at the back, nodding for me to sit across from him. His presence filled the space, heavy and unshakable.

When the waitress came, he ordered two coffees and a plate of fries without asking me. The old me would’ve flinched at that, bracing for control. But with him, it felt different. Like he assumed I deserved something warm.

I wrapped my hands around the mug when it came, soaking up the heat.

Blake studied me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like you belong out here.”

My throat tightened. “What do I look like, then?”

“Like someone running from something.”

The words landed hard. I dropped my gaze. “I’m not.”

“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t push.

The silence was worse than his questions, heavy with things unsaid. I shifted in my seat, nerves buzzing under my skin.

When the fries came, I ate slowly, watching him from under my lashes. He was relaxed but alert, scanning the room without even trying. He looked like a man who could walk into chaos and still keep his balance.

“You come here a lot?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Through here sometimes,” he said, voice low. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was amused I’d asked. “Why? Planning to follow me?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Forget it.”

He smirked faintly, then went quiet again.

By the time he paid the check, the diner had thinned out. Outside, the cold hit harder. I wrapped my jacket tight, but it wasn’t enough.

Blake lit a cigarette, the flame flashing across his scar before fading back to shadow. “You got somewhere to go?”

I shook my head, then regretted it.

He exhaled smoke, eyes on me. “Then you’re not walking back out into the dark.”

My stomach twisted. “So what? You’ll decide that for me?”

“No.” His voice was calm, steady. “You will. But don’t mistake pride for smart.”

The words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. Because he was right—I had nowhere to go, nothing but stubbornness to keep me moving.

He ground the cigarette out beneath his boot, then swung a leg over the bike. The engine roared to life. He looked at me once, steady and unreadable.

“You coming?”

My heart hammered so hard it hurt. Fear clawed at me, but under it, something stirred. Something I hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

I stepped forward.

And I chose.