She stopped 3 ft away from him, grocery bag hanging from one wrist, and studied his face. His breathing was shallow, uneven. His hands shook against his knees. "Baby, are you all right? " Her voice cut through the noise of the street like a church bell, warm, unbothered, impossibly kind. The biker blinked slowly like he wasn't sure she was real.

I'm I'm fine," he muttered, but his voice cracked halfway through the lie. Loretta tilted her head. She'd raised three children and buried one husband. She knew what fine looked like. "This wasn't it.

When's the last time you had water? " He didn't answer. How long you been sitting here? Still nothing. Loretta sighed. The kind of sigh only grandmothers can make.