funeral.
Mia was propped up in the bed. Bandages on her forehead. An IV in her arm. Her hair was a mess. There was still a smudge of soot on her cheek that someone had missed.
She looked at me.
“Are you the biker?” she said.
“Yes.”
“My mom said you saved my life.”
I couldn’t answer that. I just nodded.
She studied my face. And then she tilted her head a little.continue reading …
