CHAPTER 44: COCO

The alley behind the biker tavern is almost completely empty at this hour, the neon lights flickering above their heads in tired pulses. The only real sound is the soft roar of the grill and the distant hum of motorcycles passing through the main street.

Ethan sits rigidly in his seat, shoulders tense, as if even being here is a chore. His beer sweats beads of cold water onto his fingers, but he doesn’t wipe them away. He just stares at the half-filled glass, swirling it gently, watching the ripples as though they might reveal something he’s missing, something he refuses to admit.

Bulldozer stands over the grill like he owns the place, his huge frame blocking most of the rising smoke. Every now and then he taps the end of the tongs against the metal, the clinking sound sharp in the quiet. He seems relaxed, but the way he glances at Ethan every few seconds betrays that he’s actually paying very close attention.

"So," Ethan finally mutters, his voice low and unamused. "Why did you even call me here?"

Bulldozer snorts without turning around.

"Is it a crime to want to spend time with another rider?"

Ethan takes a slow drink, then sets the cup down with a soft thud.

"You’d rather spend your time with Spike," he says flatly. "You always do, and you and i we aren’t that close to be sitting here like some old friends "

Bulldozer lets out a loud bark of laughter, one that echoes so hard through the alley that a stray cat scatters off behind a dumpster.

"Hah! At least you’re honest," Bulldozer grins as he flips the meat with practiced ease. "But I won’t deny it. Spike’s performance was insane during the elimination round. That kid was running purely on instinct."

He points at the grill with the tongs.

"He’s probably still recovering from his pheromone overload. Whenever that boy pushes himself past his limit, he practically destroys his scent glands. One day it’s going to cost him."

Ethan remains quiet. Too quiet.

His fingers tighten around the beer glass again, creating little dents in the plastic.

Bulldozer lowers his helmet visor halfway to observe him more closely.

"...But what about you?"

Ethan’s eyebrow twitches.

"What about me?"

"How’re you handling your pheromone overload," Bulldozer says bluntly, "without Lucien?"

The silence that follows is suffocating.

The grill crackles.

Heat envelops the air.

Somewhere in the back, a motorcycle tears down the path with a loud snarl.

But Ethan doesn’t move.

He doesn’t breathe.

And for a moment, Bulldozer wonders if maybe he pushed too far.

But then—

"I believe that wasn’t what you actually wanted to talk about," Ethan replies, voice cold enough to frost the beer in his hand.

Bulldozer smirks.

"Alright, fine. You got me, but i was still curious , cant blame me "

He flips another piece of meat, but this time the motion lacks its earlier ease. He’s watching Ethan now, his expression shifting from amused to serious.

"Then let’s get to the real question," Bulldozer says. "Why is Lucien riding with a new rider , Hunter?"

Ethan’s eyes sharpen instantly, like a switch being flipped inside his head.

"...We broke up," he says curtly.

Bulldozer’s arm freezes mid-flip.

The tongs hover above the grill, smoke curling around them like ghostly fingers.

"well that is not surprising for what i seen from the elimination rounds , but For what reason?" Bulldozer finally asks.

Ethan’s grip tightens again, knuckles whitening. His jaw shifts. He stares at the grill as if every answer he doesn’t want to admit is buried somewhere in the charcoal.

"I don’t find it necessary," he says, voice clipped, "to explain it to you."

Bulldozer raises an eyebrow.

"Didn’t ask for the specifics," he replies calmly. "Just trying to figure out why you’re suddenly acting like you’ve swallowed a wasp nest."

Ethan’s eyes flick sharply toward him, and Bulldozer sees it.

Not anger.

Not annoyance.

Jealousy.

He almost smiles.

Almost.

Instead, he stabs the tongs into the grill and starts moving the meat around with unnecessary force.

"I’ll tell you this much," Bulldozer says, voice lowering. "That new rider didn’t approach Lucien, his brother. Lucien approached him. And that’s unusual. You know it. I know it."

Ethan looks away, throat tightening visibly.

The neon lights catch the edge of his profile, outlining the tension in his jaw, the frustration in his eyes.

He tries to take another drink.

But the glass is empty.

He hadn’t even noticed.

Bulldozer throws another piece of meat onto the grill, the flames flaring up between them, illuminating Ethan’s tightly controlled expression.

"You want another beer?" Bulldozer asks.

"No."

Ethan clenches his fist.

"I’m leaving soon."

"Running away?" Bulldozer teases.

Ethan doesn’t rise to it.

He just stares at the grill, not at the food, but at the fire.

And for a moment, Bulldozer sees something raw behind his calm demeanor:

Regret.

Anger.

Possessiveness.

And something like heartbreak.

But Ethan covers it quickly, lifting his chin.

"I said what needed to be said," he mutters. "The rest doesn’t concern you."

Bulldozer gives a quiet chuckle.

"Oh, but it does," he says. "Because the day you let go of Lucien—"

He points the tongs at him like a warning.

"Someone else was bound to pick him up."

Ethan’s eyes flicker.

Just once.

Then he stands.

"Enjoy your meal, Bulldozer."

He starts to walk away.

But Bulldozer calls after him:

"Ethan."

Ethan pauses without turning.

"...What?"

Bulldozer’s voice is low, almost gentle, rare for someone his size.

"Whatever happened between you two...

You don’t look like a man who wanted it."

Ethan’s breathing stutters.

Just for a second.

But that’s enough for Bulldozer to know he hit the mark.

Ethan doesn’t reply.

He simply walks off into the neon-lit street, the shadows swallowing him whole.

Ethan left the alley with a heavy exhale, swinging his leg over his bike. His gloves tightened around the handles as the engine roared to life beneath him. The vibration usually calmed him, usually made his mind clear.

Not tonight.

As he sped down the nearly empty road, the streetlights streaked past like blurred lines of gold, but no matter how fast he pushed the bike, Bulldozer’s words clung to him like barbed wire:

"Why is Lucien with a new rider?"

"You don’t look like a man who wanted it."

He gritted his teeth, leaning forward as the wind tore against his jacket.

He hated how those words dug under his skin.

He hated even more that they were true.

He slowed only when he reached a stop sign. The city was quiet, the hum of his bike echoing through the intersection. He stared blankly at the massive screen on the building ahead, bright, bold, showing trailers of the upcoming tournament’s second round.

Spotlights. Cameras. Riders.

Lucien’s face flashed for a moment with the rest of his cohort.

Ethan swallowed hard.

Bulldozer’s voice replayed again ,relentless, accusing, too honest:

"For what reason?"

He tightened his grip and whispered under his breath, the confession slipping out like a wound splitting open:

"Because I was simply a fool... to see what was right in front of me."

The light flicked from red to green.

He drove.

When Ethan reached home, the garage door slid shut behind him with a heavy clang. The silence wrapped around him in a way he didn’t like, too hollow, too still. He set his helmet on the shelf with a soft clack and trudged into the house.

His couch welcomed him like an exhausted friend, and he collapsed onto it, head tipping back, eyes closed.

But the quiet wouldn’t leave him alone.

He pulled out his phone.

Typed:

Ethan to Lucien: "How are you?"

He Deleted.

Typed again:

Ethan to Lucien: "When can we meet for the presentation?"

Deleted.

He tried one more time:

Ethan to Lucien: "Sleep well."

His thumb hovered.

His heart beat louder than it should.

Delete.

He tossed the phone aside, dragging both hands over his face.

"Damn it..."

He sat up straighter. Something was off. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first, until he really listened.

The house was too quiet.

No soft whining.

No nails tapping against the floor.

No jingling collar.

Nothing.

"...Coco?" he called out, leaning forward.

No response.

He frowned and stood, heading to the kitchen. He grabbed the dog food bag and poured some into the metal bowl.

The sound echoed sharply.

But the other bowl, the one from the morning, still sat there completely full.

Untouched.

Ethan’s heartbeat tripped.

"Coco?"

He checked the living room.

Nothing.

Bedroom.

Bathroom.

Hallway.

Empty.

The pit in his stomach twisted.

"Coco?! Come here, boy!"

He rushed outside, the cold wind hitting him like a warning. He scanned the yard, the gate, the shadows. His breath grew shallow.

"Coco!" he yelled again, louder, voice cracking around the edges.

"COCO!! Shit—COCO, WHERE ARE YOU BOY?!"

His voice echoed down the street.

Still no sound.

Just silence.

Terrible, heavy silence.

And that’s when the fear set in.

Not annoyance.

Not irritation.

Real, sharp fear.

"shit where the fuck did you go Coco?"