A loud click pulls me out of my thoughts. I remove the nozzle and twist the cap back on. Not bothering with the helmet, I move my motorcycle closer to the convenience store to free up space at the pump.

The bell rings as I push open the door, announcing my arrival. A blast of air washes over me, sending a much welcome chill over my exposed arms and neck. The clerk gives me a mumbled greeting that I return with a small nod, before making my way toward the coolers in the back. There’s only one other person in the small store: a guy about my age with messy ash brown hair and a grease-stained t-shirt and jeans.

Grabbing a couple waters and a bag of jerky, I make my way toward the register. Scoping out the rack of lottery tickets on my way, I debate whether I should buy a few scratch-offs. I’m not usually one for gambling, but it’s become this little game I play with myself. Using them as a sort of gauge when arriving in any new town.

Win: stay.

Lose: go.

Simple as fucking that. Let the universe call the shots. I’m done trying.

For some reason, I’m more hesitant to play this time. I don’t look too closely as to why that is.

The guy I spotted when I came in is paying for a pack of gum and an energy drink when I approach the counter. At the last second, I reach behind me and grab whatever ticket my hand lands on first. I don’t look down to see what it is.

The clerk finishes ringing the guy up. When he turns to pocket his wallet, my eyes catch on the silver hoop threaded through his bottom lip. He mumbles his thanks, grabs his stuff, and turns toward the door without a backward glance.

The bell rings just as I set my stuff on the counter. I turn my head to find an older man has entered the store, stopping the younger guy with a big grin and a back slap. Paying them little notice, I hand my card over to the store clerk.

“—you tell that McAllister boy I don’t want any problems.”

My fingers jerk, stuttering against one of the bottles of water. It tips over and I fling my hand out just in time to catch it before it can roll off. Squeezing it in my palm, the plastic crackles, threatening to burst.

Blinking hard, I ignore the blood whooshing in my ears and hastily try to catch the rest of the conversation going on behind me.

“—won’t happen again, I promise,” a different voice says tiredly.

A grunt. “You’re a good kid, Mason. I don’t wanna see you slippin’ to old ways.”