It’s been years since I’ve been in this place—the heart of the underground street racing scene in Thatcher’s Bay. The dimly lit alley reeks of gasoline and anticipation, and the familiar revving of engines creates a cacophony that drowns out the world. I stood amidst a sea of racers, my fingers gripping the handlebars of my motorcycle, feeling the vibrations of the powerful machine beneath me.
The last time I’d been here, I was a reckless teenager with nothing to lose, desperate to get some money to pay my mother’s debt. Now, I was a man burdened with the weight of memories and regrets, haunted by the ghost of a love lost—by Sky.
I’d told myself I’d never come back to this place, that I’d left it all behind. But tonight, I needed something to drown out the relentless thoughts of her. The ache in my chest, the way her memory haunted my dreams—it was a torment I couldn’t escape. I needed this race, this rush, to remind myself that I was still alive.
I glance around at the other racers, their faces obscured by helmets, their bikes gleaming in the dim light. Some were old faces, others new, but they all shared the same hunger for victory, the same desire to prove themselves in this unforgiving world.
‘Hey, Noah,’ a voice calls out from behind me. I turn to see a racer I vaguely recognize, his helmet adorned with a skull motif.
‘Long time no see,’ he continues, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
I nod in acknowledgment, not in the mood for small talk. ‘Yeah, it’s been a while.’
‘You’re not the king of the streets anymore,’ he says, a hint of challenge in his voice, even though I had definitely never called myself that.
I clench my jaw, memories of my past glory flashing before me. ‘That was a lifetime ago.’
He chuckles, a dark and bitter sound. ‘Well, things have changed. There are new contenders now, and they’re hungry. It’s not the old days anymore.’
I don’t respond, my focus on the race ahead. I’m not here to prove anything to anyone else, and certainly not to some fuck head I can’t even remember. I’m here for one thing: to drown out the memories of Sky that are literally chasing me from my bed.
I can’t get it out of my head…the way she’d responded to me in my room. The flash of her eyes. The exhale of her breath. The feel of her pressed against me.
It’s everything I’ve been obsessing over, every single fucking day. Everything I couldn’t forget.
The signal’s given, and we’re off, the roar of engines and the screech of tires filling the air. The world around me blurs into a frenzy of lights and shadows as I tear through the streets of Thatcher’s Bay. The adrenaline surges through my veins, and for a moment, all thoughts of Sky fade away. There’s only the race, the rush, the thrill of pushing my limits.
As we speed through the winding streets, I find myself neck and neck with another racer, his bike a sleek machine of power and precision. The corners come fast and sharp, and I lean into them with a practiced ease. My bike’s tires squeal in protest, but I hold my ground, refusing to yield an inch.
We race through narrow alleyways, dodging obstacles with a reckless abandon that comes from years of experience. The memories of my past victories and defeats come flooding back, and I embrace them, drawing strength from every one.
The race continues, a relentless battle of wills and skills. I push my bike harder, faster, determined to maintain my lead. The other racers are close behind, their engines roaring in my ears, but I refuse to let them catch up.
In the final stretch, I surged ahead, my bike’s engine screaming in protest as I push it to the limit. The finish line is in sight, and victory’s within my grasp. The world around me fades away, leaving only the road and the sensation of speed.
As I cross the finish line, triumphant and victorious, a surge of adrenaline and emotion washes over me. I pull my bike to a stop, the engine still revving as I bask in the familiar rush of adrenaline. The onlookers who have gathered cheer, their admiration and awe palpable. It was a heady feeling, one that I only got nowadays when I was out on the water.
As I dismount my bike, the other racers approach, their faces a mixture of respect and envy. ‘Good race, Noah,’ one of them says, extending a hand.
I shake it, the rush of victory still coursing through my veins. ‘Thanks.’
Another racer claps me on the back. ‘You’ve still got it, man.’
I smile, a sense of pride swelling within me. ‘Yeah, I guess I do.’
But even as I revel in my victory, the memory of my little stalker creeps back into my mind. I can’t escape her, no matter how hard I try. She’s like a ghost, haunting me, taunting me, refusing to let go.
I needed something more than a race to forget her, something more permanent. But for now, I would take what I could get—the rush of the streets, the thrill of victory, and the knowledge that I was still alive.
Even while knowing that there’s no adrenaline rush…no high on earth, that compares to loving her.
I don’t head home after the race. Instead, I take a loop around the island, tracing the familiar contours of the coastline. The night air is cool against my skin, and the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore fills my ears. It’s the same as always, the same as it’s been for years, but everything reminds me of her.
She was only around for four years, but it’s like she imbued herself into the very essence of this place. Every corner, every curve of the road, every hidden cove along the coastline—it all echoes with her memory.
As I ride, I can’t help but think of her the night of prom, standing on the beach with the wind tugging at her hair. She had this way of looking at the world, like she saw something beautiful in every moment. It was infectious, and for those four years, I felt a certain privilege to be able to see the world through her eyes.
I pass by the lighthouse, its beam of light cutting through the darkness. It was our spot, Skylar’s and mine. We used to sneak out here at night, away from prying eyes, away from the judgment of the town. We’d lie on the grass, our fingers entwined, and talk about our dreams, about the future.
But the future had other plans for us. It tore us apart, like a storm sweeping across the sea, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. I can still hear her voice in my head, the way she said my name with that soft, teasing lilt. It haunts me, like a melody that I can’t forget.
I take a turn onto a winding road that leads up into the hills. The scent of pine trees fills the air, and I can almost imagine her sitting behind me on the bike, her arms wrapped around my waist, her laughter carried away by the wind.
The road leads to a secluded spot, a cliff overlooking the ocean. Skylar and I used to come here to watch the sunset, to feel like we were the only two people in the world. The memories flood back, and I can almost see her standing there, her hair catching the last rays of the setting sun.
I dismount the bike and walk to the edge of the cliff, the ocean stretching out before me, vast and endless. The moon casts a silvery glow on the water, and for a moment, I can almost convince myself that she’s still here with me.
But she’s not. She’s gone, and all that’s left are the memories. The memories of her smile, her laughter, the way she used to curl up against me on cold nights. The memories of our fights, our misunderstandings, the way we pushed each other away.
I sit down on the edge of the cliff, my legs dangling over the side. The wind tousles my long hair, and I close my eyes, trying to hold onto the feeling of her presence, even if it’s just a ghost of a memory.
I can still see the tears in her eyes, the disbelief there too, because she’d believed in me, like no one else ever had.
She’d become someone else outside of Thatcher’s Bay, but the Sky I’d known was still there. She’d proven that to me tonight.
I open my eyes, and the tears sting. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, angry at myself for still holding onto her, for still letting her haunt my every thought.
But I can’t help it. Skylar was my first love, my only love. And no matter how hard I try to move on, how many other highs I chase, she’s always there, in the back of my mind, in the depths of my heart.
I take a deep breath and stand up, the wind whipping around me. And then I race back to the place that only feels like home now that she’s returned.
I get home, my footsteps muffled by the carpeted hallway as I make my way through the darkened house. It’s been a long night, and the memories of the race still swirl in my mind, but they’re overshadowed by the memories of her. She’s all I can think about, and I can’t escape the pull of her presence.
I find myself outside her bedroom door, the door that I used to sneak into when we were in high school, just like I’m doing now. It’s as if the past has come full circle, and I’m back to where it all began. I listen through the door, my ear pressed against the wood, straining to hear any sign of life.
But there’s nothing, just silence. She was always a deep sleeper growing up. And I’m hoping that hasn’t changed. I try the door, and it clicks open with a soft, barely audible sound. I slip into the dark room, my eyes adjusting to the faint light filtering in from the window.
And there she is, lying in bed, her features bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. She’s beautiful, more like a dream than a real human being it seems. Her chestnut hair spills across the pillow like a silken waterfall, framing her delicate face. The curve of her cheek, the long sweep of her eyelashes, the gentle slope of her nose—it’s all so achingly familiar and perfect.
I approach the bed with a heavy heart, my eyes fixated on her peaceful form. She’s so still, so fragile in her slumber. My gaze falls to the open bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. Hmmm. She never used to need those growing up. I wonder what keeps her from sleeping nowadays.
I can’t help but hope it’s me.
But just as the thought crosses my mind, so does my guilt.
Fuck.
I hope it’s not because of me she needs those wretched pills.
I sit down softly on the edge of the bed, my heart pounding in my chest, and reach out to touch her cheek, my thumb tracing the curve of her lips. She stirs slightly, a soft sigh escaping her parted lips, but she doesn’t wake.
I’m a desperate, foolish man as I lower my head to kiss her forehead, my lips trembling against her skin. She’s so precious, so fragile, and it’s torture to be this near to her.
I can’t help myself. My lips brush against hers for a moment, and I slide under the covers and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. She fits against me as if we were made for each other, and for a moment, it’s like we’re back in those high school days, when we thought we could conquer the world together.
I lay there beside her, the minutes stretching into hours, watching my Sky sleep. I’m entranced by the delicate lines of her face and the soft curve of her lips. My fingers tremble as they brush against her cheek, the sensation of her skin sending a rush of warmth through me. She’s perfect, so perfect, and it’s a stark reminder of just how much I’ve missed her.
My heart aches with a love that’s never waned, a love that’s only grown stronger in her absence. I can’t help but think of all the moments we’ve lost, all the years we’ve spent apart, and it feels like a lifetime of regret weighing me down.
I’ve missed her laughter, the way her eyes would light up when she was excited about something. I’ve missed the feel of her hand in mine, the way she used to fit perfectly against me. I’ve missed her, every single day since she walked away.
But as I watch her now, her breathing steady and calm, I wonder if there’s a chance to get her back. The thought lingers in the corners of my mind, a flicker of hope. Could we ever find our way back to each other? Could we heal the wounds of the past and start anew?
But then I brush the thought away, reality crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I hurt her, deeply and irreparably. I broke her heart…and if her feelings were anything like mine were…I broke her soul too. I can’t just erase the pain I caused. There’s no way she’ll forgive me, no way she’ll want me back in her life.
I continue to touch her, to stroke her cheek with the lightest of caresses, savoring the feel of her under my fingertips. I commit every detail of her to memory, as if trying to capture this moment forever. The way her hair spills across the pillow, the way her lashes rest against her skin, the way her lips part in sleep—all of it is etched into my heart.
As I lay there with her, I realize how desperately I want to protect her, to keep her safe and happy. I want to make up for all the times I failed her, all the times I let her down. I want to be the person she can rely on, the person who makes her smile, the person who loves her with a depth that knows no bounds.
But for now, all I can do is watch over her, be here in this moment, and hope that one day she’ll find it in her heart to forgive me.
As the first faint light of dawn begins to filter through the curtains, I know I have to go. I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, my lips lingering for a moment as if trying to convey all the words I can’t find. Then, with a heavy heart, I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her.
I close the door behind me, my steps echoing in the empty hallway as I make my way out of the house. The weight of the night hangs heavily on my shoulders, and my body feels feverish…crazed from being that close to her. I wince as I adjust myself, feeling like my dick could batter through a wall.
As soon as I get up the stairs to my room, I’m in my small bathroom, turning on the water to scalding hot. I stand there, my dick throbbing, my nerves burning with restless energy. I’ve been getting off to the memory of her for years. But seeing her again…touching her skin…taking in her beautiful face….fuck, it’s so much better. My hand wraps around my dick, stroking it root to tip as I think about her kneeling in front of me—those ruby red lips wrapped around my dick, her hair slicked back, drops of water coating her perfect breasts. It’s the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen. In my mind, it’s her hands stroking my cock, exploring me as she sucks on my head. Her rosy nipples peek out from under that stunning chestnut hair.
Fuck.
She slowly slides her hands up and down the length of me. And I’m going to die of agony. The smell of her is still coating my skin, even in the shower, like it’s permanently etched into me, like a tattoo.
“Noah,” she whispers, and my breath is coming out in gasps.
“It’s so good, baby,” I murmur as her lips move up my dick. Her pace increases, and I’m moaning her name as I fall over the edge, pumping hot cum into her mouth, so much that it drips out of her red lips, spilling down her chin and onto her breasts.
I cry out her name as I come for real, ropey cum hitting the wall of the shower in thick strands.
I haven’t had an orgasm like that since she left.
Fuck.
I don’t understand much about life or love.
But one thing I do understand…I’m never going to be over Skylar Ames.
And I don’t want to be.
