Losing Track (23 page)

Glancing at Boone, I nod. “I’ll see you later?” I hope he hears the thanks in my voice, for helping me earlier.

He shrugs a shoulder. “How about I just follow you there.”

Jesse laughs. “All right, man. Don’t fall behind.” Then he’s off, slapping Tank’s hand in acknowledgment as he hands off the last of his tools and heads to the parking lot.

I move closer to Boone, confusion pinching my face. “Straightedgers like to hang at bars? You think that’s a good idea?”

His hazel eyes—stone gray against the night—narrow on me. “Do you?”

The judgment in his tone immediately sets me off. “I’m not you, Boone. I haven’t sworn myself to absolute sobriety and…” I almost slip and say celibacy, but I backtrack quickly. No matter how he’s acting, throwing that in his face isn’t right. I still don’t know exactly what happened to him to make that choice. “And whatever,” I finish lamely.

He hikes an eyebrow, and I say, “Listen. I really appreciate what you did. For real. I was wigging hard before the race. But this isn’t exactly how I operate.” I rub the back of my neck, anxious to get cleaned up and cooled down. Some kind of buzz on. Even a lame drunk one. “And besides. You really do need to be careful with these guys. Don’t do something stupid, okay?”

A slight smile tugs the corner of his face up. After I saw what he did in the brawl yesterday, okay yeah, I’m sure he can handle himself. But still, it’s not wise to piss off the MC. I’m not sure even I could help him if he gets in too deep.

“I can handle it, Mel. I promise. I’m not ready to leave you yet, is all.”

I cock my head. “You’re not just bulldogging me? Making sure I don’t slip?”

He shakes his head. “You’re your own person. Choices to make and that shit. I’m not your counselor or your PO or group leader. I’m not your boyfriend. I just want…” His face flushes, and again, I see the hint of his vulnerability. His innocence despite his tough exterior shell. “I just want to be your something. Anything.”

“Dammit, Boone. Why do you have to be so adorable?”

The smile that reveals that hard to get dimple speeds across his face, and I admire my ability to make it appear. Suddenly the end of tonight doesn’t look like a bow out to losing, but maybe a slow start toward an ultimate win.

“Come on,” I say, leaving the pit. “Let’s get you some kind of manly virgin drink.” I place my hand over my mouth, feigning a slip up.

“Wow. That was ruthless.” He chuckles.

I shrug. “Boy, you have yet to see ruthless.” I wink.

I swear the look on his face is one of pure terror. I laugh.

Boone

Rolling, and tumble, back down the hole

RANDY’S IS A ROWDY, run-down, biker dive bar on the outskirts of St. Augustine’s drinking district. Had I stumbled in more than a year ago, I’d have found the place really entertaining. I might have gotten drunkenly belligerent and ended up with a severe beating—but I’d have held my own, and it would’ve been a crazy fun memory.

As of now, those “crazy” memories of times like that are more shameful than fond. They were what came before Hunter. And they should have ended then. I should’ve acted like a responsible, boring grown up, and this past year would’ve been some awful, alternate nightmare reality.

So that’s why I’m here. Not for me, but for Melody. Watching her ride my bike and race down that track only heightened my already intense feelings for her, and I can’t walk away now. Not when I know that even as strong as she is, as determined as she is to fight, she’s still holding on tightly to that part of her. The one that doesn’t want to let go of the destruction.

Besides, I have to find some way to tire myself out—so I might sleep through most of tomorrow. Jacquie offered—for this one day—to have one of the doctors at Stoney prescribe me a sleeping aid, or Valium. Or some other drug to help me deal. I’m not about to break my drug-free streak, though. Not yet.

If sleep fails, there’s always Nickel’s. Nothing like a few well planted blows to the head to knock you out for a day.

But since Melody found her way back into my life, I think I’ll put my self-loathing on hold. Focus on her instead. Her needing my help today…I could do that. If she wants it, I’m more than willing to spend the next twenty-four hours giving her whatever help she needs.

She believes her main goal is getting off probation. Which for her might be the ultimate reason—but I’ve witnessed rare glimpses beneath the cover of her existence, and the hard-as-nails girl she shows the world isn’t the smart, poetic woman she hides from most. She’s probably only revealed that depth to a handful of people, if that. And I want to be one of them.

I want to fight not to lose that woman. Whether I’m fighting
for
her or fighting
her
.

The stench of cigarette smoke mingling with alcohol fills my nostrils, and I’m somewhat ashamed that it’s not a stink at all. It smells damn good. I’m used to the onset of cravings, but that doesn’t mean they still don’t become overwhelming.

Especially now, while I watch Melody down a shot.

“Another!” Jesse shouts to the blond bartender already pouring more rounds.

“Fuck it,” Mel says, waving a hand in the air, her eyes half slits. “Why not. Not like I have anywhere special to be tomorrow. Not like I’m picking up my new Breakout.”

“Aw, come on,” Jesse plies her. “Who the fuck is this? Since when do you whine like a little bitch?”

My hackles raise. I know this is their typical banter, and it works for them. I really don’t want to be
that
guy—the one who demands a girl drop her friends for him. We’re not even to that point yet, and I wouldn’t request it, regardless. I hate those guys. But this isn’t about me and her,
us
. It’s about her recovery. And this guy is toxic to Mel.

“Fuck you,
bitch
,” Mel tosses back at him. “I can act anyway I want. I’m not the one who totaled his bike
and
mine. I think you owe me some cash on that one.” Her head sways a little, following the loose movements of her body on the stool. “Actually, duce, you owe me a lot more than that, like a—” Biting down on her bottom lip, she cuts herself short.

For a quick second, I watch her battle her drunken state; blink hard, shake her head. Lick her lips, as she tries to fight something back. I glance at Jesse, feeling like the third wheel between them. His expression is sheet pale. What she just said to him has no real meaning for me, it’s all drunk talk—but he looks like he’s two seconds from either bolting or exploding.

With a less than steady hand, he reaches for the shot glass in front of him and throws it back. “I don’t want to do this here,” he says, low, intended only for Mel to hear.

Mel takes a fast glance at me, blinks, then swivels in her stool to face Jesse. “I figure here is the proper place, wouldn’t you agree? Here is where—”

“Stop!” he shouts. “Not here. Not now.” He sends her a stern glare that makes Mel sit up, her lips trembling. But it’s not from fear; it’s anger.

Whatever they have to level between them isn’t going to go well at this point. Jesse’s holding his liquor better than Mel, but he’s on something. He talks a little too loud, looks around a little too much, paranoid—the opposite response to alcohol.

He groans and runs a hand through his messy hair. “I knew this was coming,” he says. “I fucking knew it. We should’ve just hauled ass out of this town. Got the fuck away.”

I push the glass of water to the front of the bar, ready to move in a flash if one of them gets physical. My eyes are on Mel, waiting to see if she snaps or welcomes the lethargic effect of the liquor. She’s teetering. Could sway either way.

Her hands are gripped into fists by her sides. Her eyes are watery, on the verge of angry tears, and she’s eased herself to the edge of the stool. The heels of her knee-high boots pressed to the bar under her seat, ready to spring.

The music overhead changes, a new song starting up. And in the quick moment of quiet, I hear Mel’s deep breaths. She reaches for her shot glass and swallows the amber liquid in one gulp. “Fuck this,” she says. “I’m through, Jess. I need to get out of here.”

He turns and faces her. “That’s what I’m saying. We—”

“No,” she cuts him off. “I need to get the hell out of this bar. Right now. You’re missing the point, like usual.”

His thick eyebrows pull together. “What the fuck does that mean?”

She shakes her head, pushing herself away from the bar. “Have a good night, prospect.” Then she’s off the stool, and I’m on my feet.

Jesse grabs her arm, stopping her retreat. “You’re not leaving. Come on.” He pulls her toward him as he hops off his own stool.

“Let go of me, Jesse. I’m out. I can’t do this—”

“Like hell,” he snaps. “We’re doing this.” He hauls her toward the back of the bar, and I’m moving to break in-between them.

I’ve kept my cool this whole night—told myself I’d just make sure Mel got home safely. Didn’t get too fucked up. Slip from her record drug-free month. Wouldn’t get involved in her personal business. But I’m not idly standing by while this guy—friend or not—hurts her. And I’m not thinking physical, though in his state he’s not taking no for an answer. He could, unintentionally, strike out. It wouldn’t be the first time something went down that way.

In the few seconds it takes me to reach them, Melody has broken away. She sways some on her feet, then notices me, frozen, waiting to know my next move.

“Back off, bare-knuckle.” She slurs a bit, but the words are still delivered with a stinging clarity. They’re true. Truth sucks. “Not looking for any hero action tonight, okay? I got this.”

My teeth grit under the pressure of my clenched jaw. “Maybe a little hero action is just what you need.” Soon as it leaves my mouth, I deflate. Fury evaporated. My anger wasn’t supposed to be directed at her, and I hate that I’m so easily provoked.

She doesn’t seem to notice, though. She’s smiling, amused. “Got a white steed, guy? Or you planning to whisk me away on your heroic bobber?”

Jesse’s the one who speaks next. “Bullshit. Mel, you don’t even know this asshole. It’s not like you…you’re acting like—”

“What? Who?” Her head whips around. “It’s not like me, it’s like
Darla
? Huh? Is that what you were going to say?” Her whole body tightens with rage. “You calling her a slut? You calling
me
one? You’re fucking slut-shaming me?” She shakes her head, laughing. “You are such a fucking hypocrite!”

At this point, the bar has noticed their spat. Heads turning their way, conversations dying down. I glance at Jesse. His countenance suddenly changes; he’s aware of the gathering attention, and he shifts in place, latches his hands to his elbows. Sweat beads at his hairline.

Melody checks the crowd, then slams him with a disgusted look. “Can’t have any negative publicity for the prospect, can we?”

Stepping into her personal space, he lowers his voice. “Please, Mel.” He jerks his head toward the back of the bar.

I’m about to cut in, voice my opinion on what a bad idea going off with this guy is, when Melody says, “All right.”

What
? I’m crossing the distance, not about to let this happen, but she stops me halfway in my pursuit with a severe look.

“It’s fine,” she reasons. “I got this, okay?”

No, it’s not okay. But I’m on her turf. Her ground. Her way. I’m the invader, having swooped into her life…not really understanding what I wanted from her, or us—
this
. But I did want something, and it’s not fair to ask anything of her when I can’t give her all of me in return.

I’m a selfish bastard.

With a forced nod, I back away. “Text me if you need me,” I say. “I’ll be outside.” And with that, I turn and head out of the loud, smoky bar.

I don’t look back to watch her disappear with Jesse. I can’t block any of the bad from her life; she has to make her own choices. I’m a fucktard for getting involved with her shit in the first place.

I push open the door, letting the humid night air welcome a blast of clear thoughts. If Mel can’t leave the scene behind, won’t get sober, then how far into it am I willing to go to protect her? I know from firsthand experience that no one and nothing can make a user stop using.