Todos os capítulos de His Best friend's Daughter : Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

kyra povThe pale morning light filtered through thfor them to come outunfamiliar curtains of Rayne’s guest room, casting soft, gray shadows across the ceiling. I lay completely still beneath the stiff cotton top sheet, staring up at a small, hairline crack in the plaster.For the first few seconds after opening my eyes, my brain tried to place me in my old bedroom at my father’s house. I listened for the familiar, lingering routines of my old life, the distant drone of a morning talk show coming from the living room television, the low rumble of my dad’s boots dragging across the floorboards, or the heavy silence that usually settled over the house like a thick, suffocating fog whenever he sat staring at my mother’s empty side of the bed.None of those sounds came.Instead, the only noise was the faint hum of a refrigerator down the hall and the distant rhythm of city traffic four floors below.I turned my head on the pillow and looked around the small, uncluttered room. My suitcase

Aiden POVThe silence in the house was a heavy, physical thing, pressing against my chest until every breath felt like dragging glass into my lungs.I sat on the edge of the leather sofa in my music room, the door pushed half-shut to keep out the quiet emptiness of the rest of the house. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the fine dust motes floating in the air and highlighting every scratch on the vintage hardwood floor. My acoustic guitar sat on its stand in the corner, untouched. The soundboards and mixing gear were dark, their red and green lights unblinking for the first time in months.Spread across the low coffee table in front of me were dozens of old photographs, glossy four-by-six prints from a time when life was simple, before the world tore itself apart.I picked one up with a shaky hand. It was an old shot from our first major tour, Tor and me standing backstage, covered in sweat, arm-in-arm, grinning like a pair of idiots who thought we

Tor POVThe deafening roar of twenty heavy American V-twin engines echoed off the corrugated metal walls of the staging barn, vibrating through the concrete floor and rattling straight up into my boots.It was eight in the morning, and the air held that sharp, damp chill that always hung over the valley before the sun fully cleared the tree line. Exhaled breath blossomed into faint white clouds as the guys tuned up, checked tire pressures, and strapped down cargo nets over their back seats. The smell of unburnt gasoline, hot chrome, exhaust fumes, and damp leather filled the space, a scent profile that had meant home to me for more than half my life.Every late summer, the Devil’s Wolves hosted the Annual Fallen Road Charity Ride. It was our biggest public event of the year, a fifty-mile run through the winding mountain passes to raise money for the regional animal rescue and the soup kitchen complex. Normally, this morning would be filled with loud, crude banter, heavy slaps on the s

Tor POVThe high-pitched, relentless ring of the shop’s landline phone echoed off the exposed brick walls of the garage for the hundredth time since seven this morning.It buzzed, chimed three times, hit the automated machine, and then went dead for two seconds before starting the entire cycle all over again. Over and over. A shrill, mechanical alarm that cut straight through the low hum of the exhaust fans and the heavy smell of gear oil and stale coffee.I didn't answer it. I hadn't answered it in four hours.I stood over the hydraulic lift in the center bay, my knees locked tight, holding a torque wrench in my right hand. The bright overhead shop light caught the polished chrome frame of a 2018 Softail, illuminating every speck of grease on my forearms. I leaned my weight forward, set the socket against the rear axle nut, and pulled until the wrench gave a sharp, metallic click.Across the bay, the main glass display window offered a clear view of the street out front. Every few mi

Tor POVThe midnight air was thick with the heavy, damp chill of early autumn, carrying the quiet, sharp scent of river fog and wet asphalt.I pulled the truck onto the quiet stretch of industrial road leading to the shop, the headlights cutting pale, yellow beams through the low-hanging mist. It was past two in the morning. My shoulders were tight, every muscle in my back aching from a fourteen-hour shift spent wrestling with rusty exhaust manifolds and rebuilding a stubborn transmission. I’d driven Kyra back to Rayne’s apartment hours ago, waiting by her bedside until her soft, rhythmic breathing told me she’d finally fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.Seeing her break down in the shop today had torn a raw, bleeding hole straight through my chest. She was trying so damn hard to be strong, offering up her mother’s heirlooms and her own gear just to keep my head above water. But I wasn't going to let this town or a bunch of internet cowards drain the light out of her eyes. I’d break