-Roxy Delgado:
The music throbbed against the walls of the clubhouse, low bass reverberating in my chest as though it was another heartbeat. Laughter rose and fell around me, glasses clinked against wooden counters, and the familiar scent of motor oil, leather, smoke, and cheap whiskey hung in the air like it always did. This was home—loud, alive, unfiltered—but tonight it only made me feel hollow.
I sat at the bar, glass in hand, staring at the amber liquid swirling inside. My throat burned with every sip, but I welcomed the pain. It gave me something else to focus on besides the gnawing ache in my chest. The ache that had started yesterday the moment Sloane grabbed her bag, wouldn't meet my eyes, and stormed out of my house like I was poison.
I did what she asked me to do, I called the owner of the hospital that worked in, I asked him to give her her job back, i did not want to take her dream for her even though I hated the fact that she left me because of it.
