I watch her car drive away, the same Honda Accord she’s had since we first got together.
Would’ve made it pretty fucking easy for that PI to find her then, so I hope they didn’t pay him too much money.
Sighing, I scrub my palms over my eyes and down my face, wiping my lips. As if I can erase the feeling of having Sam’s there just minutes ago.
If I wanted Maggie to know how much she’s hurt me, how much I hate her right now, then why do I feel like such a dick and kind of nauseated?
I’ve never been very good at controlling impulsive urges.
And the second I saw Maggie, I used Sam’s whispered offer like the asshole I am to try to hurt her the same way she’s hurt me.
Only, I don’t know if I actually want to succeed at that, now that she’s gone.
When Sam came in here, claiming she wanted to see if I could look at her car, I told her we were busy, because we really are, but maybe another time and walked her out.
A low groan escapes me. Shit. Wouldn’t be surprised if she comes back tomorrow now.
I can’t completely shut her down, though; she’s done so much for me over the past year or more. Being her friend is the least I can do after she was there for me.
“Come on, asshole. Get back to work,” Jared hollers.
Turning, I find him leaning against the tin siding of the door, his eyes narrowed and his arms folded over his chest.
“Don’t give me any shit.” I walk past him and return to the old Buick, grabbing my wrench and sliding back underneath it.
Staring at the undercarriage while lying on the cool concrete floor, I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a second. Just a second, in an effort to tame all these fucking conflicted feelings.
Maggie’s right. I shouldn’t let how I feel about her get in the way of my seeing Archie. Too bad I can’t help it.
She’s all I see, all I’ve ever wanted. Just being around her makes this hold I’m desperately trying to keep on my anger loosen.
And I need to keep it. The anger.
Because I honestly don’t know if I can ever forgive her.
I’m lying on my bed later that night when Jared walks in and dumps something on the nightstand.
“What’s that?” I don’t take my eyes off the TV.
“All your missed wages.”
That makes me sit up. “What do you mean?” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grab the large envelope, my eyes widening at the sight of all the cash inside.
“There’s a check in there, too,” he says, before making his way out of the room.
“Wait.” I toss the envelope back on the nightstand. “I can’t take that. I didn’t work for any of it.”
He shrugs. “Your business, too. Don’t think I didn’t figure out that you were taking scraps for years before you went to jail and giving us the rest. Besides, I didn’t realize how damn hard it’d be to find Maggie, and I’d planned to give it to her when I did.”
Damn. How the hell he turned out to have such a kind heart after all the shit we’d been through was beyond me.
“I’m not taking it, kid.” I flop back onto the bed, giving my attention back to the old Western movie that’s playing.
Jared sighs. “Figured you’d say that. Well,” he says. “Guess I’ll just take it to Maggie on your behalf then.”
I stiffen. “I’ll do it.”
He doesn’t respond for a beat, but I can feel the smug smile he’s directing my way. “Right. I’m going to meet Vera at the bookstore. Later.”
“Hang on a sec.” I sit up again. “That PI you used, did he get Maggie’s number?”
Jared nods, leaving the room and coming back a moment later with a long, thin envelope full of Maggie’s details. Bank details, car, driver’s license, phone records, even some of her medical history. I skim over most of it, grabbing what I need and entering her number into the cheap cell I got last week.
Jared’s bike starts up outside, and I toss the envelope onto the nightstand. It falls to the floor, probably under the bed, but I’m too busy staring at these numbers to give a shit.
I could call her. Hear her voice anytime I want.
It feels surreal after having no way to see or hear from her for so damn long. After calling her old number from the shitty prison phone and hearing that monotone voice repeating the same thing every time. That the number had been disconnected.
After spending night after night locked away in a six-by-eight-foot cell, with nothing but a weird cellmate and my bone shaking regret for company.
Gritting my teeth against the urge, I shut my phone off and head out to the garage after locking up the house.
Starting my bike, I do my best to ignore the memories of a certain auburn-haired woman who used to love riding with me on it, almost as much as I did.
I need solitude, but being on my own isn’t enough.
I need the steady rumble vibrating beneath me and filling my ears until it drowns out my thoughts. The wind on my face and the feeling of freedom only the open road can provide.
I need to remember that I’m out. I’m in control.
Pulling out of the driveway, I head south toward the warehouse district. My muscles relax, and my mind quiets. And for the first time in fuck knows how long, my heart almost feels free.