The Biker's Rules
My heart leapt and plummeted all at once.
I wanted her to explain the photo, to tell me it was a mistake — that she loved me and only me.
But by the time I dragged myself out of the shower, cold water shocking my nerves into awareness, she was gone.
Vanished. Like some impossible mirage that my heart still aches for.
Kettle whistling loudly on the stove.
The fear hit me then, sharper than anything I’ve ever known.
Picture Harry Potter staring down a Boggart-turned-Dementor — multiply that terror by a hundred-thousand, add another billion for good measure — and sprinkle in a dash of sheer panic.