Chapter 8

I smiled as I heard her laugh just before the door closed. Monique loved to tease me, and I was beginning to enjoy it more and more. I decided to go into the office to have my coffee and croissant rather than head home. There was always something I could work on for a few hours, even on a weekend.

Rather than sit at my desk, I chose a seat by the window overlooking the café, watching the town slowly come to life as I sipped my latte. Now that I knew Pierre was Monique’s cousin, I felt an unexpected sense of relief. But why had it been bothering me in the first place? I had no claim over her. With her teasing and little shows, I was just a passing distraction for this beautiful young woman. In the fall, she would return to M.I.T. and I would become nothing more than a humorous anecdote for her girlfriends.

I exhaled, irritated with myself. It was ridiculous to feel this way. She was too young, too free-spirited—yet, she was getting under my skin.

Realizing I had put myself into a foul mood, I abandoned my seat at the window and returned to my desk, burying myself in work to distract from my thoughts. I spent the next few hours answering correspondence, planning staff assignments for an upcoming project, and indulging in a bit of self-pity.

By one in the afternoon, I had had enough. The mood still clung to me like a fog, and I knew I needed to shake it off. A bike ride would help clear my head.

At home, I changed into my cycling gear, grabbed my helmet, and wheeled my bike onto the street. The familiar weight of the pedals underfoot, the smooth hum of the tires on pavement—it was a ritual, a form of meditation in motion. I set off out of town, taking my usual three-hour route through winding country roads, where traffic was sparse, and the scenery was uninterrupted.

I pushed myself harder than usual, letting my body work out what my mind couldn’t. The rolling hills, the scent of damp earth from last night’s rain, the distant hum of cicadas—it all should have been soothing. But no matter how fast or far I rode, I couldn’t escape my own thoughts.

Monique’s laughter. The way she leaned in just a little too close when she spoke to me. The way she looked at me—as if she saw something I had long forgotten about myself.

Damn it, John. Get a grip.

I was so lost in thought that I barely noticed the shift in the weather until the sky darkened ominously. The wind picked up, and the first droplets of rain hit my arms, cool against my overheated skin. I checked my watch. Two hours had passed. I needed to head back before the storm made the roads treacherous.

I adjusted my pace, mindful of the slickening pavement. The country roads I favored could be unpredictable in the rain, their worn surfaces turning into something akin to glass when wet.

Then, the horn.

Loud. Close.

Too close.

I barely had time to register the blinding headlights cutting through the rain before a force like a wrecking ball struck my left side.

Pain. The world spun. The sound of my own body hitting the ground was muffled by the rain and the ringing in my ears. Then—nothing.