CHAPTER TEN
Tank
She spoke. Her voice was raspy and deep but somehow, beautiful and magical all at the same time. What the hell was I thinking? I must have still been slightly drunk but not enough to make me forget the things I wanted to.
The plate of eggs smelled horrible. She may not have poisoned them, but I had a feeling only by looking at them that they just might kill me. I poked my fork at a clump and quickly shoved it into my mouth. They were so overcooked and rubbery you could have used them for tires. I swallowed hard, trying my best to show no reaction.
They were, by far, the worst thing I had ever put in my mouth.
I picked up a piece of bacon and it was so burnt that it practically crumbled between my fingers. My eyes looked over to find her watching me. I raised an eyebrow at her and she simply shrugged, like it was no big deal. Like she didn’t give a shit if I liked it or not.
I thought about my mom as I did my best to choke down everything. My mom raised me right, despite being part of the MC, and I could hear her in the back of my mind telling me that it would have been rude if I didn’t eat it. After all, this chick had gone through all of the trouble of making it for me. After the plate was cleared, I chugged the juice down trying to wash the horrible taste out of my mouth. I found myself feeling slightly better after, even if it did feel like I had rocks sitting in my belly.
I stared at her, wondering who she was and why I was there. I couldn’t remember anything after my world went black. When I passed out I went down hard.
How the fuck did she even get me here?
I decided not to try and imagine it. I squinted as my gaze swung to the window to the right of me. The light was too bright but I could still make out that I wasn’t on ground level. Trying to figure out where I was and how far from the bar, where my truck was parked, I might have been, I searched the sight outside. I was practically sitting on the floor. The cheap, lumpy mattress was sunken in so far under my weight that I could feel the hardwood floor beneath it.
I swung my gaze to the room I was in. The paint that I imagined was once white was now a dirty gray and peeling in sections. There was practically no furniture and it barely looked lived in. The place felt more like a flop house than anything. Did this chick live here? Fuck, and I thought the cabin was bad. This place was bare. If she cooked me breakfast, there must have been electricity at least.
The seconds went on in an odd silence that made me uncomfortable as fuck. I didn’t try to talk and she didn’t seem like the chatty type. I watched her through my still blurry eyes. I could only imagine what she must have been thinking and I wondered what the hell would make her think that bringing someone like me home was a good idea. Hell, maybe she was crazy.
“Thanks,” I finally muttered out.
I cleared my scratchy throat. I hated talking. I remembered a time when I loved it. I loved to read my son stories and tell him jokes. I loved to sing along to all those shows he would watch over and over. I missed it all and it hit me like a cannon to my heart. Instead of going deeper down that hole, I decided to turn my focus on her.
She sat there unmoving, unaffected by my gruff thanks. The only thing that moved was her eyes as they slowly darted over every inch of my face. For a moment I felt self-conscious. Her eyes slowly blinked, cutting off my view of the molten chocolate color for a brief second. I noticed that her makeup was slightly smudged under her eyes. She looked tired and I found myself wondering if she had even slept last night.
“Don’t mention it,” she said waving me off with one hand. She was almost cold and calculated. Like she took a moment to thoroughly think over her words before she spoke them. Had I been less hungover, I might have found it odd.
“Right,” I cleared my throat and did my best to stand without stumbling. “Well, I’ll be goin’ then.” I found myself pausing, hoping she would stop me.
However, I got nothing from her. Not a name. Not even a small sign saying she wanted to know more about me. She, for the most part, seemed indifferent. I couldn’t figure her out and for some fucking reason, it bothered me.
I shook it off, thinking I didn’t need to give a fuck. I wasn’t here to make friends or get to know people. I was here for solitude and I blamed fucking Loch and Axe for the fact that I was even having to make my way out of this so-called apartment.
I grunted and turned away from her, making my way to the door next to the kitchen. I thought about asking her where I was but decided I would just find my own way back to my truck. The walk and fresh air would have done me good anyway. I felt her eyes on me every step I took until the door was closed behind me.
It was a crisp fall morning and the cool air hit me as I stepped outside. I glanced at the building as I walked down the narrow and rickety as fuck stairs. The same faded burgundy that I recognized coated the outside of the building. I was behind the bar and so it looked like I wouldn’t be walking that far. I quickly walked around the building and hopped in my truck. I sat there for a moment trying to pull myself together and make sure I was sober enough to drive.
When I got back to the cabin, I immediately flopped down on the couch. My whole body hurt. I had no one to blame but myself. My head was pounding because I drank way too much. And my muscles were stiff because I fucking drank too much and left it up to fate or what have you on where I would end up. And my damn luck, it ended up being some really fucking odd chicks place.
The bright side, I was sure I didn’t sleep with her. Not only was I too wasted to perform, but I was pretty sure she wanted nothing to do with me. And who could blame her. I was a fucking mess.
I closed my eyes. I needed more sleep. No, I needed more booze. It was the only thing that kept the darkness at bay, and while I was teetering on the edge of the end waiting for that final push, it was the thing that kept me in check.
I pulled on the chain around my neck, freeing it from my shirt. The picture was so small in my huge hands. My beautiful boy smiled up at me. I remembered the day that picture was taken. It was his fourth birthday party. My mom had gotten him a bicycle that looked like a Harley. He loved that thing. I remembered watching him ride it, thinking he was just like his old man. He was a mini version of me. I had no doubt that he would grow up to ride. And maybe one day, if he wanted, he would join the Steel Paragons.
But that wouldn’t happen now. He would forever be stuck at the age of five. He wouldn’t breathe another breath. I wouldn’t get to hear him laugh again. I wouldn’t get to hold him in my arms again. I wouldn’t ever get to see the way he looked at me like I was his hero again.
At one time, I had been. I had been a man worthy of that look in his eyes. I had wanted to be a hero in every way for him. But now, I would never be that. I was the opposite—a monster, a failure. In the end, when it mattered the most, I’d let him down in the worst way possible. I couldn’t save him. I let him burn in that house. And all that I wished, was that it was me instead. I would have given my life that day to save his. I failed him and I would forever live with that.
Tears ran from my eyes as I closed my hand around the locket, squeezing it so tightly that I felt like I was going to crush it. This was the last thing I would have as a reminder of the best thing in my life.
I let my eyes drift shut as I welcomed the pain and disappointment. The sadness that I would never outrun or forget. And I didn’t even deserve to.