Ezra pulled his car into the parking lot in front of the Wild Foxes clubhouse. He stepped out of his car, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound echoed in the quiet night. It was past business hours, but a row of motorcycles still lined the front of the adjacent building, its windows glowing with light. 

Ezra hesitated. Maybe this was a bad idea. Walking into a hornet's nest. There had been some kind of gang war, after all. And yet... not knowing what had happened to Raine gnawed at him. When he'd left the hospital, the guy had still been in a coma. And since Ezra wasn't family, the hospital wouldn't tell him anything. He wasn't even sure if Blaise was still with this club, but it was an innocent enough question to ask.

A silhouette appeared in the window, watching him. Ezra forced himself to move toward the door before they decided he was acting suspicious. These guys were probably paranoid as hell.

And they'd tortured a man.

Shit. What the hell was he thinking?

Coming here had been an impulse. He'd been on his way to a client when he passed the landfill, and suddenly, the memories had come flooding back.

Ezra couldn't say that night rarely haunted him. He thought about it often—about the biker he'd met in that waiting room. The one he'd talked to for hours, listened to music with. Every time a song by From Ashes to New played on his playlist, Phantom's face surfaced in his mind. That intense gaze, the way those fleeting little smiles tugged at his lips as if he didn't want anyone to see them. And the way their eyes had lingered just a little too long, carrying an unspoken weight.

Maybe that was the real reason he was here. Because he couldn't get the guy out of his head. Because he was frustrated that their conversation had ended so abruptly—his brother had been nagging to leave, and Phantom had disappeared into the hospital before Ezra could ask for his number.

He couldn't even remember which club Phantom belonged to.

This was his only lead. And since he was already in the area, it would be stupid not to take the chance. Even if it meant dealing with a bunch of paranoid bikers.

He pushed down the door handle and stepped inside.

The place looked like a regular bar—stools lined up along the counter, pool tables, dartboards. The only giveaway was the sea of leather jackets. And the women, dressed far too lightly for the weather.

Conversations died as every head turned toward him. Strangers, it seemed, weren't common here. Ezra raised a hand in greeting and walked to the bar.

"Hey," he said to the group of men standing there. "I'm looking for Blaise. About six months ago, I helped his friend..."

I picked him up from the landfill. Where you guys dumped his fiancée half-dead.

Yeah, okay. How the hell was he supposed to phrase this? Would they hold it against him that he'd tried to save Raine's life?

"Well?" A blonde man raised an eyebrow.

"I met Blaise at the hospital," Ezra continued. "His fiancée was fighting for his life. I never found out what happened to him, and since I was in the area, I figured I'd ask."

The man studied him, like he could tell Ezra wasn't saying everything.

"Blaise isn't with the Foxes anymore," he finally said with a shrug. "Moved to Addersfield. But his lover's fine. Fully recovered."

"Oh. That's good to hear." Relief washed over Ezra. He hadn't realized how much it had been weighing on him. "Got his number for me?"

"Yeah." The guy pulled out his phone.

Ezra took out his own and typed as the man recited the digits.

"Thanks."

The man gave him a nod and turned back to his beer. Conversation over.

Which was fine. Ezra didn't feel like lingering either. He thanked them again and stepped outside.

The atmosphere in there hadn't been outright hostile. But it hadn't been warm, either. Whatever had happened, the place felt heavy with something—grief, maybe. Or just a lingering sense of distrust. A longing for something lost.

Ezra shook off the thought as he got into his car. He was just imagining things. Couldn't separate those men from the half-dead guy on the landfill.

The sooner he got out of here, the better.

It wasn't until he was home, sprawled on his couch, that he picked up his phone and typed out a message.

Hey, he wrote. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Ezra. I was the one who brought your fiancée to the hospital. I was in the area near your clubhouse and wanted to ask how he was doing, but they said you'd moved and gave me this number.

He hit send.

Twenty minutes later, a reply came in.

Hey! Thanks for reaching out. Raine's doing great, fully recovered. :)

Good to hear, Ezra replied. Then, without overthinking it, he went straight to the point. I wanted to ask you something. I talked to Phantom that night for a long time, and I'd really like to see him again. Just at his club or something, but I don't know which one that is.

His heart kicked up, though he couldn't think of a reason why the guy wouldn't answer. The message wasn't even suggestive—just about reconnecting. And even if it were, Blaise wouldn't care.

Phantom's with the Warriors, at the Bridgewater chapter. Want his number? Now that we've moved, I think he could use a friend. :)

Ezra sat up straighter, warmth curling in his chest.

Having the chance to see Phantom again sent an excited thrill through him. He hadn't realized just how badly he'd wanted it until now.

At the same time, there was something sad about it. Could use a friend meant he probably didn't have many.

Thanks! I'll stop by soon.

With a small smile, Ezra set his phone aside and headed to the kitchen. He could always ask for Phantom's number later. A spontaneous visit felt better than just texting.

. . .

He didn't consider himself vain. But today, he spent more time in front of the mirror than usual, trimming his beard, styling his blond hair with gel. And though this wasn't a date, he put on a cologne he usually saved for them. Not that he'd had many.

His last real date had been over a year ago. And they never lasted. Usually, he was too busy, too distracted.

But this? This felt different.

If Phantom texted him now, he wouldn't let days go by without answering. None of his dates had ever stuck in his mind the way Phantom had.

And now, finally, he was going to see him again.

A little nervous anticipation was only natural, he told himself as he got into his car.

Navigation set. Just over an hour's drive. No traffic.

Alright, here we go.

He connected Spotify and drummed his fingers on the wheel.

Hopefully, the night wouldn't end in disappointment.