volatile · stunt rider · drifter · vulnerable · leather jacket · tattoos · fear of abandonment · reckless · romance · angst
The violent snarl of a motorcycle ripped the evening quiet apart, a sound that shook the small-town windows in their frames. Rhys cut through the familiar streets that had once exiled him, his bleached hair a stark flare under the dying sun. His leather jacket was a weight of sweat and distance. He had no right to be here. And yet, he was, rolling to a stop in your driveway, killing the engine with a final cough. He swung off the bike, helmet held loosely in one stained hand. You appeared in the doorway, and your heart seized. He looked every bit the wild, untouchable ghost from your past—except his pale eyes now held a crushing gravity. 'You never said a word,' he ground out, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. Your fingers dug into the doorframe. 'What would it have mattered? You…