A feeling of regret strikes me the next day, long after Stacy and I have left that extravagant heaven. I shouldn’t have broken down like that in front of her. It’s not that I don’t like it when other people see me cry. I’ve never had a problem with that. It’s just that I shed tears for another woman. As heartbreaking as my story was, perhaps I should have kept it to myself. A night that was supposed to be all about the fun, turned into a festival of sobs and sniffles. It didn’t last more than ten or fifteen minutes, but I should have avoided that altogether.

Nevertheless, that dreadful feeling is soon overshadowed by something, much, much more pleasant: bliss. I feel lighter, as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. And the reason why could not be simpler. I delivered my promise to myself and to Stacy. I made a memory; a sweet, delightful memory that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Our kiss in the pool was just the beginning. Four drinks later, we were all over each other in the master bedroom. Our passionate encounters were only interrupted by a little conversation, some hugging, and a lot more eye contact. I hope my gesture has the same impact on Stacy as it had with me, but even if it doesn’t, I’ll try to ensure that my next gesture is even more impressive.

That night, Ray and I decide to go on a trip east. It’s the only part of the island that still eludes us both. We enter the freeway in high spirits, because some locals have praised Agios Nikolaos and Elounda, two, major tourist destinations. The former is a scenic town, filled with great nightlife, whereas the latter is a jet set haven. All kinds of celebrities visit it every summer, from sportsmen to oil tycoons. Neither of us is interested in running into LeBron James, Eva Longoria or the army of paparazzi that follow them around all the time. We just head there out of sheer curiosity.

“Come on, admit it,” Ray teases, nudging me with a heightened shoulder. “You’d just love to take a selfie with Scarlet Johansson. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Selfies? No,” I say, speaking my mind, giving him a wicked smile. “Maybe a naked picture after the sex: of her, not me.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Michael Donovan,” he gestures towards me, raising his tone as if he’s presenting to a crowd of some sort. “Computer geek, guitar player extraordinaire, ladies’ man and all business.”

“I wouldn’t sell that picture, you know that,” I reply, as his Cherokee speeds under the freeway bridge. “I’d show it to my son someday. He’d be proud that his old man got to sleep with such a beautiful woman.”

“What if his mother saw it?” Ray goes on, holding back a sneer. “I’d like to see you talk your way out of that.”

“Isn’t it sad that women can’t understand our need to show off our success in that area?” I wonder, a touch of disappointment in my tone.

“Sure, but imagine the roles being reversed,” he suggests, turning his head right to face me. “What if we found a naked picture of Brad Pitt in her nightstand? I bet that would bum hard.”

“I guess you’re r…” I don’t have enough time to finish my sentence. The racket of a Harley’s thunder-headers pierces my ears, causing the windows of the SUV to rattle and vibrate. It picks up even more in volume and intensity as I roll down my window. I lean forward and check the passenger mirror. I cover my eyes to protect myself from the reflection of the motorcycle’s headlights. My stomach chills in fear when I see Dean’s silver Harley. In the blink of an eye, it speeds past Ray’s Cherokee. Our eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then he returns his attention to the road up ahead. However, we’re in for a bigger surprise. Our little brother is not alone. Stacy is sitting behind him, her blonde hair flowing in the wind. She whips her head around and glances beyond our car. Within seconds, I discover what she had focused on. A deep grumble of an engine compels me to check the passenger mirror once more. This time, a black Range Rover is hurtling towards us. Before I can utter a word, it bypasses the Cherokee with ease.

“Something’s wrong,” remarks Ray, urgency creeping into his voice. “The kid doesn’t run for no good reason.”

“Floor it,” I urge, my gaze following the monstrous off-roader. It’s on the fast lane, roughly three hundred yards behind Dean’s motorcycle. The engine of the Cherokee roars along the road as my pulse rises. “Fuck!” I cry out, banging my fist against the dashboard. “Who did he piss off?”

“I don’t know, man,” Ray replies, his tone weakening as he swerves left and into the fast lane. He overtakes a massive truck, not leaving the Ranger Rover out of his sight. “Keeping up is going to be hard. That’s a goddamn monster. I don’t think we have enough power.”

“Give it everything it’s got,” I command, glancing down at the speedometer. We are doing eighty miles per hour.

“Michael, this is a Cherokee, not a Porsche!” Ray groans, gripping the stirring wheel tighter.

“They are chasing Dean and Stacy!” I shout, pointing out the windscreen. “What are we going to do, give up on them?”

I may be waiting for a reply, but my friend doesn’t speak. Instead, he frowns, breathing faster as he shifts down. A massive amount of torque slams us both back into our seats as I throw another glance over at the speedometer. We have just exceeded ninety miles an hour, and the needle is climbing fast.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” I praise, but my joy is short-lived. Alas, Ray has a point. Our Cherokee may be accelerating, but we can’t draw nearer the Land Rover. To make matters worse, the strangers have closed the distance between them and Dean’s Harley. The huge SUV blocks the motorcycle from view as the road up ahead straightens out. Our little brother swerves right, in an obvious attempt to let the Range Rover pass. The driver indeed overtakes them; yet, what he does next freezes the blood in my veins. He swerves right, getting right in front of Dean’s Harley. His taillights flash red for a fleeting moment. And it is this moment that wreaks havoc upon our brother and Stacy, leaving us to watch in horror and utter disbelief. The motorcycle sways to the right first, and then drops to the road with a bang. Hundreds of sparks rise up in the air as hot metal makes contact with the asphalt. Stacy lands hard on her side and rolls away to the right, heading straight for a short bush. Dean is catapulted forward, arms flailing in the air. He falls flat and hard on his chest, banging his forehead against the road.

All four wheels of the Cherokee lock up as Ray hits the brakes, just a few feet away from Dean. I lunge from the passenger seat, my adrenaline in the ozone layer. The headlight of the Harley is illuminating Dean’s leather outfit. His long hair is all over the sides of his neck and his cheeks. I drop to my knees beside him, and reach down to his shoulder. With a firm grip, I manage to flip him over. The sight that fills my view makes my heart plummet into an abyss of horror and sorrow. His eyes are shut. Blood is gushing from a large wound on his forehead, just below his hairline, soaking tendrils of his hair and skin alike.

“No…” I whisper, my voice cracking as I lean over towards him. “Wake up, kid. Come on,” I urge, swallowing hard. “Stay with me, you hear?” This is all I have the heart to tell him. Gazing up his lifeless face, I bite my lower lip, struggling to hold back the tears, to no avail. A river of tears rises up in my eyes. Before I know it, two of them topple off the edges and land on his jacket. Life is slipping away from the boy I found on the street one day, and raised as if he was my brother. The very image of him in filthy, torn-up clothes, holding a tin can returns to my mind. “I didn’t save you so you could die on me, kid,” I whisper, caressing the side of his neck with shaking fingers.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Ray shouts, rushing over to our spot.

“How’s Stacy?” I ask, putting some force in my voice.

“She’s banged up, but she’s conscious,” He informs me, coming to an abrupt halt over Dean. “Oh, shit…” He sighs, clasping his hands behind his head, elbows pointing outward.

“And to think coming here was his idea,” I utter, my gaze settled on his eyes, another tear streaming down my cheek.

“Don’t talk like that, Michael,” Ray advises, squatting down beside me. “He’s tough. He’s going to pull through this.”

At that, the sound of a siren rips through the atmosphere. I whip my head around, curious as to the ambulance’s exact location. The blue light is just a spec, but it’s on the fast lane, hurtling past a huge row of cars.

For once, I wish I could be like Ray. I wish I could share his optimism and have the same, calm approach on everything. Still, I’m not. I can’t help fearing the worst. And I can’t even begin to imagine what our lives will be without Dean, the little brother we have been raising for years. I cannot picture our apartment in New York without the flamboyant biker we both love with every single cell in our hearts.