The Iron Vipers clubhouse was quieter than usual that Saturday morning, and even the motorcycles outside seemed to carry a different kind of weight because today was the annual memorial ride.
Every year, the club rode together to honor the members who had died while wearing the Iron Vipers patch.
It wasn’t a celebration, and it wasn't a funeral because those men had been gone for years, but the club refused to let their names disappear.
I stood beside my motorcycle in the clubhouse parking lot while Jace checked his bike one last time.
“You ready?” He asked and I nodded.
“I think so.” I said.
He looked at me for a second, and then he reached for my hand.
“You don't have to say anything today.” He said.
“I know.” I said.
“You can just ride.” He said and I squeezed his hand.
“I wan
