Chapter 95. Rewriting History

I shifted under Colt’s intense stare, but went on, “I don’t think any of the other bikers saw us earlier. Only Delilah did.” 

“Delilah wouldn’t do that,” he replied with a contemplative expression.

“Can I see it?” I changed the topic, “the building,” and my finger touched his computer.

He opened it, but as he navigated to his emails, my eyes caught something.

“Ten years?” I asked, and his eyes met mine. 

He squinted in confusion.

“It’s been eleven years since senior high. Why are they having the decade-old reunion now?”

My least favorite topic of discussion would always high school, all the humiliation I had faced, the snickers, dirty names and abuse. I inhaled then, feeling a flicker of flames at the thought that my bullies were still walking about freely.

But when my eyes found Colt's again, my anger died down. I at least got one good thing out of high school.

“Do you keep in touch?” A small smile appeared on his face.