Losing Track (17 page)

Rolling my eyes, I laugh. “Yeah, Suzie, because perky tits is what it’s all about.”

“Hell, yeah. Just wait until you’re flopping the flat pancakes around.” She eyes me, one lid half-closed. “Then you’ll know for what.”

The music is cranked up, The Civil Wars blaring over the sound system. My chest tightens; it’s the first song I’ve heard since my incarceration, and it’s Dar’s favorite band.
Was
Dar’s favorite. She’d be bombed out of her mind, begging Randy or whoever to play them. It looks like someone remembered.

As I work my way through the crowd, some of the members of Lone Breed greet me, either by inquiring about torture techniques in the “hole,” or telling me how my dad would be proud at how I’m hanging in there…and I’m reminded that this—right here—is what I’ve missed so much.

I glance around, slowly easing away from the edge I’ve been toeing since I left Stoney—I wasn’t sure how I’d handle being back. But I breathe the smoke-filled air. Hear the music. Taste the freedom. And it’s
almost
like nothing has changed.

Then I see Jesse.

He’s at the far end of the bar, his back against the wall. His leather vest is zipped closed, one hand sunk into his pocket, the other holding a beer bottle. He’s staring right at me, a crooked smirk on his face.

I wish I could say that my stomach flutters, or that I feel giddy—for Dar, I wish I could. But instead, a hollow pain carves its way into my chest. Seeing him again…without her…is like a sickness pitting out my stomach, so much stronger than homesickness, but I know that’s what it is.

I miss Dar in this moment so hard, it physically pains me to keep standing. Not to allow my legs to give out. For the first time, I feel tears well in my eyes. With a deep breath and quick blink, I push them back. I give my head a jerk to clear my thoughts.

Before I face Jesse, I take another glimpse around the room—the laughing, dancing, partying. It’s a celebration for me, sure, my welcoming home from rehab. But this is also Darla’s wake in a way. There won’t be any mournful testaments of her life. Prayers to see her to heaven. Cherished, tearful memories shared. By the end of the night, people will be drunkenly consoling me, well-intended sentiments candidly spoken aloud, and there might even be a couple of brawls as some of the MC get rowdy.

This is their way.
My
way. But I can’t do it. It’s like my dad’s funeral all over again—and suddenly I need fresh air.

I turn and start toward the door. I only get a few feet as people continue to crowd me, telling me how much I’ve been missed, then I feel strong arms circle my waist. My first instinct is to jab an elbow into the person’s ribs, but a deep voice booms near my ear, halting the fight in me.

“I’ve missed you, Mel. God, so much.” Jesse’s arms tighten as he leans his forehead against the back of my head. I swallow, forcing the hard lump down. Words won’t form. But I don’t need to say anything as I’m suddenly swept off my feet. “Time to get the rehab out of the girl!”

“Wait…Jesse. You ribs—
oomph
.” I’m slung over his shoulder, the air knocked from my lungs.

“I’m healing up just fine,” he says. Cheers and hollers swirl around me as I’m carted toward the bar. I can only see Jesse’s backside—his prospect patch and his black combat boots. The dirty floor. Then I lift my head just enough to see the crowd rooting us on.

I brush my hair out of my face, then Jesse cradles his arms around my back. He flips me over and lays me on the bar top. My stomach bottoms out.

It’s not that I don’t want a drink. I damn well do. I’ve wanted one since the second I stepped foot into Stoney. But it’s my first day out, and seeing everyone, and having Dar’s presence so…
present
—I’m terrified to lose touch with reality right in this moment. I just need some time to process, to equilibrate, before I lose track.

Jesse reaches across me toward a bottle of bourbon, and I wave my hand in the air. “Jesse! I’m not ready—”

Bringing the liquor bottle back with him, he poises it just above me and looks down, a silky smile stretching his lips. “You are so ready.” And it feels as if a weight thunks right on top of my chest. My whole body tingles, cold, prickly.

My lips go numb, and my tongue thickens, my stomach rocky like I’m going to be sick as a memory surfaces of the last time I was with him. I try to raise my head, but someone is holding it firmly in place. Suzie. She’s laughing.

Panic floods me. My whole body locks up, and I don’t understand why, or what I’m feeling. The sudden need to flee. All these emotions rush me and seem to last forever in the brief time it actually takes Jesse to tip the bottle to my mouth.

The warm, amber liquid hits my closed lips, runs down my cheeks. The smell of alcohol engulfs my senses, and my mouth waters.

“Open up, Mel! You can do it! It’s like riding a bike,” Suzie says. The crowd around us is chanting and encouraging me on, laughing, like I’ve simply forgotten how to take a shot. No one notices the fear seizing my limbs and mind. Not even Jesse, who’s still smiling as he tips the bottle again for another bourbon bath.

On instinct, I open my mouth and push my tongue to the back of my throat, so I don’t choke. When the hollow of my mouth is full, I gulp down the warm liquor. I repeat this action five times, hearing the room
whoosh
in and out of my ears, growing louder with claps of praise.

Finally, I kick my foot, tapping out.

I’m pulled up by my hands as Jesse helps me sit forward. The bar spins, and I blink a few times, trying to stop the dim lights from swirling. Tracers flash before my vision. I swat them away.

“Damn, Mel. I thought you were going to choke there for a second.” Jesse rubs my back, laughing as I shake my head. “What did they do to you in there?”

Annoyed, I shove his hand away and hop off the bar. “I need to go to the bathroom.” I glance back to see the disappointed look on his face, but he doesn’t say anything as I take off through the crowd.

I head for the exit, bypassing the restroom, and push open the door. The muggy air blasts me in the face, making my stomach feel queasy. As the door closes behind me, muffling the sounds from inside, I inhale a full, clean breath.

The bite of alcohol stings the back of my throat. I exhale a hot breath, tasting the bourbon on my tongue. It’s already clouding my thoughts. Dulling my senses. I should relish this feeling, begging the numb to finish dulling the ache—but I’m frightened. It’s so stupid, and I can’t for the life of me understand
why
.

Maybe because it’s the first time in a long while that I’ve drank without Dar. Maybe I’m scared to do anything without her. But no, I don’t think that’s the problem. It’s the guilt that I’m here and she’s not—that I shouldn’t be here, partying and having a good time, when she’ll never get to again. And as I continue to contemplate the many, mounting reasons, my head grows foggy and lightheaded, and I smile. I want another shot. That’s all I crave, just to finish the job and empty my head completely.

“When your daddy died, I stayed on a straight drunk for a week.”

I whip my head around, quickly wishing that I hadn’t as I stumble a bit on my feet.

“Whoa,” Tank says, a smile lighting his weathered face. “Take it easy, lightweight. No need to prove nothing to no one. You should pace yourself, ya know.”

Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “This wasn’t my idea.” I realize my bandana has slipped from my hair, so I yank it off and start to wrap it around my neck.

Tank nods as he leans his back against the brick wall of the bar. “I know, girl. Jesse’s not doing such a good job conveying his…apologies.” I raise an eyebrow. “Look, he’s like a son to me. I’m his mentor, but I’ll be the first to admit he doesn’t have the first clue when it comes to, uh, expressing his feelings.” He says this last part like it tastes bad in his mouth, and I laugh.

“Please don’t tell me the MC is in group therapy or some shit,” I say. “I don’t think I could handle you guys being down with the times.”

He chuckles, long and deep. I’ve missed his laugh. It reminds me of when he and my dad would hang out in the dining room all night, playing cards and telling raunchy jokes. My heart pangs with so much loss.

“Hey, we’re trying,” he says, nudging me. “All I’m saying, Little Rider”—he winks at me, and the use of my father’s nickname almost brings on the tears—“is you have to give the man a break. He’s been in a black funk since that night, and he’s counting on you to help get him through this. He needs you. Every man needs a good woman, and I know you’re hurting, baby…but your daddy would want to see you settled with a good man. The two of you, you and Jess, could come out of this together and on top.” He places a hand on my shoulder, but I’m so shocked about the words leaving his mouth, I don’t even acknowledge the touch. “Take some time, then do what’s right by yourself. Don’t let your girl’s death ruin two lives.”

With that, he gives me a quick one-armed hug, pats my shoulder again, and nods his head. “I’ve got a lot more drinking to do before the track tomorrow. You going?”

And like that, the topic of my future prospects is over. I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t have a bike. I might need to—”

“Use Jesse’s. It’s the least he can do. And he’ll help you replace your Breakout.”

He says this like it’s final. No arguing. So I say, “Sure. Sounds like a plan.” But my stomach is churning, and I’m wishing I had a ride right this minute. To get out of here and try to think through what’s happening.

“Good girl,” he says. Then he leaves me with my muddled thoughts.

For Christ’s sake…

I slap a hand over my mouth, feeling the rage bubbling up inside me about to spew everywhere. I don’t know what angers me more: the fact that my dad’s best friend is more concerned about his prospect getting the boot over how I’m handling the death of my best friend, or that the MC have clearly put Jesse’s future in my hands.

It’s fucking simple; if I become Jesse’s ol’ lady, then he’s innocent of Dar’s death. My acceptance will clear him in their eyes, and he’ll become a full-patch member. Shit fuck. I was going to back him anyway…at least, I think. But I don’t like being told I
have
to do something. Least of all, forced into some twisted relationship for the benefit of the MC.

I know Tank means well. Hell, he’s like a second father to me. But my dad never would’ve put on the pressure like this. My dad would never have wanted me to settle with one of the MC, anyway. He made that clear a long time ago, and it’s a rule I’ve always stuck to. One of the only ones I’ve ever followed.

It’s a good one for a reason, too. And I don’t plan on breaking it for anyone, not
even
my dad’s best friend.

This sucks. Getting older and growing up and seeing people in a whole new light fucking sucks.

People really are selfish assholes.

I suck up my butthurt feelings and toss my head back, determined not to let them see me crumble. I’ll mourn Dar in private. I’ll do what I have to until I get my ride and can get the hell out of here. No one dictates my choices.

The scary thing; I didn’t know how much I depended on Dar for added backbone until this moment. I was stronger when I was with her, when I was looking out for her. I’m horrible at taking care of just me.

Melody

To the scentless air, free of blame

FIRST CHECK-IN WITH MY PO after being released from rehab and I’m already about to bolt. This Jacquie chick comes off more like a therapist than a parole officer, and I got enough of the head shrinking at Stoney.

One thing I will admit that I didn’t think was possible: I miss Nurse Bridge. Out of everyone there, she was real, she had grit. She didn’t sugarcoat anything and she always said what was on her mind. I miss her candid little quips. Her overbearing, big mama fortitude. And I just miss feeling like I wasn’t a complete loser for being me around her.

My PO looks too young, too innocent, and too sweet to be in charge of my freedom. But maybe this is a good thing. She won’t come down too hard on me when I slip. Because I won’t lie to myself and claim I’m going to stay off the white—that’s one thing I don’t do; lie to myself. I know there will be many temptations over the next months, and I’d be so full of it to think I’m not going to buckle once.