The Harley purred between Luke's thighs as he navigated the winding coastal road, Iris's arms locked around his waist. She'd lost so much weight these past weeks that he could feel each individual rib pressed against his back, but her grip remained fierce as ever.
"Left at the next overlook," she called over the engine's growl, her voice thready but clear. The morning air smelled of salt and pine, carrying the distant cries of gulls from the cliffs below.
Luke took the turn slow, mindful of her fragile state. The parking area stood empty this early, just as he'd hoped. When he killed the engine, the silence rushed in - no beeping machines, no hushed doctor voices, just the crash of waves and the whisper of wind through sea grass.
Iris sagged against him as he helped her off the bike, her legs buckling immediately. Luke caught her with a practiced motion, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She felt frighteningly light in his arms, like she might dissolve into the salt air if he held her too loosely.
"Put me down, you Neanderthal," she protested weakly, but there was no real heat behind it. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he carried her to the overlook's low wall, where he'd already stashed a blanket and thermos.
The Pacific stretched before them, endless and blue, the horizon line blurred by morning mist. Iris leaned into Luke's side as he wrapped the blanket around them both, her breath coming in shallow puffs against his neck.
"Remember our first race?" she asked suddenly, nodding toward the stretch of road below. "You wiped out on that curve back there."
Luke huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Only because you cheated."
Iris's answering smile was worth every mile, every sleepless night, every heartbreaking moment of the past months. The rising sun painted her face in gold, smoothing away the shadows of illness just for this moment. She looked almost like herself again - the wild, vibrant woman who'd challenged him on that moonlit road a lifetime ago.
They passed the thermos back and forth, the sweetened coffee warming them from within. Iris managed three sips before her hands began to shake, but her eyes remained bright as they traced the coastline.
"Tell me about Paris," she murmured as the sun climbed higher. "The trip we were going to take."
Luke closed his eyes, painting the picture for them both - cobblestone streets at dawn, croissants eaten on the Seine banks, a rented motorcycle taking them deep into wine country. Iris sighed contentedly as he spoke, her fingers laced through his where they rested on her stomach.
By the time he finished describing their imaginary picnic beneath the Eiffel Tower, her breathing had evened out into sleep. Luke held her closer, memorizing the weight of her against his chest, the rhythm of her heartbeat where his hand rested just below her collarbone.
The ocean roared below, waves crashing against the cliffs with timeless persistence. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp against the salt wind. And in his arms, Iris slept on, her face turned toward the sun like a flower seeking light.
Luke pressed his lips to her temple and made her another promise - this one silent, just between him and the sea. Whatever came next, wherever this road led, he would carry her with him always. In every sunset, every open road, every moment of borrowed joy still to come.
The morning stretched golden around them, precious and fleeting as a held breath. For now, she was here. For now, that was enough.