Part 5 – The Storm
What kind of fool rides into a thunderstorm with a dying dog—because breaking a promise feels worse?
The sky was already bruising black when we left Miller’s Creek. Clouds stacked heavy on the horizon, fat with rain, lit from within by angry veins of lightning.
Big Jim shouted over the engines: “We should wait it out!”
But Rosie didn’t have time to wait. Her breaths were shallow, each rise of her chest slower than the last. I stroked her head in the sidecar, whispering words she couldn’t hear but maybe still felt.
“No more waiting, girl. Not this time.”
So we rode into the storm.
The first drops hit like stones against my face. The wind whipped sideways, trying to shove the bike off the road. Rosie shifted, curling tighter into the blanket, her goggles fogging from the wet. I wanted to turn back. I wanted to stop. But the promise roared louder than the thunder.
Around me, the brothers pulled close, their headlights forming a wall against the darkness. Joe on my left, Jake on my right, Phoenix behind me, flames tattooed on his neck glowing each time lightning split the sky.
The storm hit full force a mile later. Rain slashed sideways, soaking us to the bone. The road shone slick, oil bleeding rainbow through the water. My hands ached from gripping the bars, my knees screaming with every vibration.
“Grizz!” Jake’s voice barely carried over the thunder. “We need shelter!”
I shook my head. “She needs the ocean!”
As if to prove my point, Rosie lifted her head. Weak, trembling, but there. She pressed her nose against the rain, eyes half-shut, and for a moment—just a moment—she looked like a pup again, alive in the storm.
Lightning lit her face, and I swore I saw Mary there too, smiling through the rain.
We pushed on, but the storm grew worse. Water ran across the blacktop like rivers, every corner a gamble. My back screamed. My vision blurred. And then—disaster.
The Harley coughed, sputtered, and died.
I coasted to the shoulder, heart pounding. The others circled back, headlights cutting the sheets of rain.
“What happened?” Big Jim shouted.
“Drowned out!” I cursed, kicking the starter to no use. “She’s flooded!”
Panic clawed at me. Not for the bike. For Rosie. She was curled tight in the sidecar, shaking, her breath ragged. If we stopped now, if we lost momentum, she might not make it through the night.
I slammed my fist against the tank. “Not like this. Not here.”
Jake knelt beside the bike, rain plastering his hair to his face. “We can fix it. Just give me a minute.”
“We don’t have a minute!” I roared.
But Rosie whimpered. Her paw reached out, resting weakly against my arm.
I froze. Her eyes found mine through the storm. Cloudy. Tired. But steady.
It wasn’t anger she was giving me. It was patience. Faith.
“Do it,” I growled at Jake. “Fix it.”
He nodded, hands flying. Joe and Phoenix stood guard, eyes scanning the road, guns hidden under wet leather. The storm raged around us, but the kid worked like a machine.
Minutes stretched like hours. Rosie’s breaths slowed. My heart felt like it was cracking.
Then—the engine roared back to life.
Jake grinned, teeth white through the rain. “Told you!”
I grabbed his shoulder, squeezed hard. “Good man.”
We loaded Rosie back, tucking the blanket tighter around her. She shivered once, then pressed her head into it, calm again.
We rode all night. The storm chased us like death itself, lightning splitting the sky, thunder rattling our bones. But mile after mile, Rosie held on. Every time I thought she’d slipped away, she’d stir, lift her nose to the wind, as if reminding me she wasn’t done yet.
By dawn, the rain thinned. The clouds broke into tattered gray, bleeding pale light across the wet highway. We pulled into a deserted gas station, water dripping from our leathers, steam rising off the bikes.
I lifted Rosie gently from the sidecar, cradling her against my chest. She was lighter than ever, bones sharp under fur.
Jake spread out his jacket on the concrete, and I laid her down. She sighed, long and shaky, but her eyes opened. She looked around at the brothers gathered—Big Jim, Phoenix, Dutch, Spider—and her tail tapped weakly against the ground.
“She’s tougher than all of us,” Phoenix said softly.
“Damn right,” I whispered, kneeling beside her.
Rosie’s gaze landed on me, then on the horizon. Her nose twitched. Even through the storm, she could smell it—the salt. The sea was close.
“She knows,” I said. “She knows we’re near.”
We rested just long enough to refuel, then mounted up again. The road wound south, the air turning warm, heavy with the scent of brine. Rosie lifted her head at every mile marker, ears twitching, eyes bright despite the exhaustion.
But storms don’t end easy.
A mile from the coast, the sky split open again. The second wave of the storm rolled in hard, blacker and meaner than before.
The brothers hesitated. “We wait this one,” Dutch said.
“No,” I growled. “We finish it. Tonight.”
Rosie barked once, a broken sound but fierce. As if she agreed.
So we rode.
Rain slammed us again, blinding sheets, lightning striking so close the air burned. The road twisted along the cliffs, waves crashing far below. Tires slipped, engines roared, every heartbeat a prayer.
I could feel Rosie pressing against the sidecar wall, fighting the storm with me. Every gust threatened to push us over, but the promise held me steady.
“Hang on, girl,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “We’re almost there.”
And then it happened.
The Harley skidded.
One sharp curve, slick with rain, and the rear tire slid out. My stomach dropped as the bike tilted, sidecar lurching toward the cliff. Rosie yelped.
I fought the bars with everything I had left. My arms screamed, my back felt like it would snap, but somehow—by God or luck or Mary’s hand—I pulled it straight.
We wobbled, fishtailed, then found traction again.
I pulled to the shoulder, heart pounding, rain streaming down my face like tears. I looked at Rosie. She was sprawled in the sidecar, panting hard, eyes wide.
But she was alive.
I pressed my forehead against hers, rain and sweat mingling. “Never again, girl. Never again.”
Behind me, the brothers pulled up, engines idling in the storm. Nobody spoke. They all knew how close we’d come.
We pushed through the last mile, slow, steady. The rain eased as if the storm had spent itself. And then—there it was.
The ocean.
Endless, gray-blue, waves crashing against the sand.
Rosie lifted her head, ears twitching. Her nose worked the air, and her eyes lit with something I hadn’t seen in months. Recognition. Fulfillment.
“We made it, girl,” I whispered. “Just like Mary wanted.”
Her paw reached for me, pressing against my hand. Weak. Gentle. But enough.
The brothers circled around, engines silent now, as I carried Rosie toward the sand. She felt lighter with every step, like the storm had taken some of her weight.
I laid her down where the waves kissed the shore. She sighed, peaceful. Her eyes fluttered shut.
And when I looked down at her collar, I noticed something tucked beneath it—a folded piece of paper, worn with age.
Mary’s handwriting.
A secret I was never meant to see until this moment.
Part 6 – Secrets in the Sidecar
What if the woman you buried years ago left a secret message hidden on your dying dog’s collar?
The ocean stretched endless in front of us, gray-blue under a bruised sky. The brothers stood in a wide circle, engines cut, leather dripping from the storm. For the first time in days, there was silence.
I lowered Rosie onto the sand, her body light as smoke in my arms. She settled into the damp grains, eyes half-shut, nose twitching as the salt air washed over her. For a moment, she looked at peace.
And then I saw it—something tucked beneath her worn leather collar.
A piece of paper. Folded, yellowed, fragile.
My hands shook as I slipped it free. The edges were frayed, the ink blurred from sweat and rain, but I knew the handwriting instantly.
Mary.
I hadn’t seen her words in a decade, not like this. Not fresh, not waiting.
The brothers drew closer, heads bowed against the wind. Jake crouched at my side, his eyes wide. “What is it?”
I unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.
The first words blurred my vision before I even finished reading them.
Grizz,
If you’re reading this, it means Rosie carried you here. It means you kept the promise I knew you’d make.
I had to stop, my throat closing. The world felt like it was tilting.
Joe laid a hand on my shoulder. “Read it, brother.”
I forced myself to continue.
I didn’t tell you everything. I couldn’t. You would have tried to protect me, and some things can’t be protected. You need to know that the night I crashed—it wasn’t just bad luck. They came for me. You know who I mean. If you’re reading this, then you’ve seen him again.
My fists tightened around the paper. Scarface.
But this letter isn’t about them. It’s about you. About Rosie. About Jake.
I glanced at the kid. He flinched like the words had slapped him.
“She knew,” he whispered.
I kept reading.
I found Jake when he was broken. I saw the fire in him, the same fire I once saw in you. I told him one day he’d find you. Because I knew you’d need him. You’d need someone to remind you that life doesn’t end with loss.
The paper shook in my hands. Rosie stirred, paw pressing against my boot as if to steady me.
Rosie is your anchor, but she can’t stay forever. When she’s gone, don’t crawl into the grave with her. Don’t vanish into whiskey and silence. Promise me you’ll ride. Promise me you’ll let Jake carry some of the weight. He’s stronger than he knows. And you, Grizz—you’re stronger than your grief.
The words blurred again. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, salty water mixing with tears.
The last line cut deepest of all.
When Rosie touches the sea, let her go. And let yourself live again.
I folded the letter slowly, holding it against my chest like it was Mary’s hand itself.
The brothers stood in silence, heads bowed. Joe’s voice was rough when he finally spoke. “She knew everything. Hell of a woman.”
Phoenix lit a cigarette with shaking hands. “So what now? You gonna let the dog go here?”
I looked down at Rosie. She was staring at the waves, tail flicking weakly. Her breath rattled, but there was no fear in her eyes. Only waiting.
“Not yet,” I whispered. “She’s still fighting.”
Jake sat cross-legged in the sand, his eyes burning. “She wanted me here. Your wife… she trusted me. I don’t know why.”
“Because she saw you,” I said, voice breaking. “The way she saw me.”
He looked away, jaw tight.
The sky darkened again, thunder rumbling far out to sea. The storm wasn’t finished.
Dutch cursed under his breath. “We can’t stay here long. Weather’s turning again.”
Big Jim nodded. “We ride inland. Find shelter. Then decide what’s next.”
But I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My knees were sunk in the wet sand beside Rosie, Mary’s letter clutched tight.
Jake touched my arm gently. “Grizz… we can come back. She’ll still see the ocean. You don’t have to—”
Rosie lifted her head and barked once. Weak. Broken. But defiant.
The brothers froze.
“She says she’s not done,” Spider muttered. “Damn dog’s tougher than us all.”
I slid the letter into my vest, close to my heart. “Alright, girl. One more ride.”
We pushed inland just as the rain came down again. Sheets of water hammered us, the sky split by lightning. The roads turned to rivers.
The Harley coughed, sputtered, then caught. Jake rode tight on my flank, Joe behind with his shotgun strapped across his back. Rosie huddled in the sidecar, her blanket soaked, her fur plastered, but her eyes still locked forward like she knew exactly where we were headed.
Halfway up a winding hill, the road turned to mud. Tires slipped. Dutch’s bike skidded sideways, nearly toppling, but Big Jim hauled him steady with one massive hand.
The storm howled louder, bending trees, tearing branches across the road.
“This is suicide!” Joe bellowed.
“No,” I shouted back. “This is a promise.”
By nightfall we found shelter in a collapsed barn off a dirt road. The roof was half gone, but it was enough to keep the worst of the rain off.
We built a fire from broken boards. The brothers stripped wet leathers, steam rising from their shoulders. Rosie lay curled near the flames, her breathing shallow but even. I fed her water from my cupped hands. She licked them weakly, then rested her head on my knee.
Jake stared at the fire, silent. Finally, he spoke.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” His voice was tight, angry.
“Who?” I asked.
“Scarface. You had him. You could have ended it.”
I looked into the flames, remembering the knife, the blood, Rosie’s eyes on me.
“Because vengeance doesn’t keep promises,” I said quietly. “It just breaks more of them.”
Jake shook his head. “If you let him live, he’ll come back.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched.
Joe broke it. “Mary’s letter… she knew. She trusted you, Grizz. She trusted that dog. She even trusted this kid.” He jerked his chin at Jake. “So maybe it’s time we start trusting her too.”
I nodded slowly. “Tomorrow, we ride again. Rosie touches the sea in the morning. Then… we’ll see what’s left of us.”
That night, the storm battered the barn, wind howling through the broken rafters. I lay with Rosie against me, her heartbeat faint but steady. Mary’s letter pressed warm against my chest.
Sleep came in fits. Every time my eyes closed, I dreamed of her—Mary standing at the edge of the ocean, Rosie beside her, waving me forward.
When I woke, the fire was down to embers. The brothers slept in a ring around us, shadows curled like guardians.
But Rosie was awake. Her eyes locked on me, unblinking, full of something I couldn’t name.
And that’s when I saw it.
Her collar wasn’t empty. There was more. A tiny metal tube, taped inside the lining. I pried it free with numb fingers, heart pounding.
Inside was another piece of paper. Smaller. Torn.
Just three words, written in Mary’s hand.
Trust the kid.
My hands trembled as I stared at the words.
Mary hadn’t just left me Rosie. She hadn’t just left me promises.
She’d left me Jake.
And I realized, with a cold weight in my gut, that this ride wasn’t only about Rosie’s last journey.
It was about who would carry the road when she was gone.