KICK

I had to help. Hearing her cry like that, hearing her fall apart, and not being able to do … something. It was rippin’ me apart. Which is fuckin’ ridiculous. I don’t know this girl from any other bitch on the street. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I glance up at the late-night chemist from the parking lot.

And I don’t know how the fuck I got here.

I flip the kickstand down and take off my helmet, sliding the fastened strap over the handle bars. And then I ease off the bike and head inside the chemist. It’s warm in here, chasing away the wind-chill from the cold July night. My presence is announced with an annoying fuckin’ ding and I head straight for the aisle with all the shit to fix upset stomachs. I pick up some antacids, some Panadol and then hit the fridge for lemonade, snagging a bag of potato chips on the way to the register. I pay the bored-looking chick on the front counter and then head outside and hang the sack of goodies from the handlebars. I left not knowing where or why the fuck I was going, so my backpack is back at the clubhouse. It’s late, and I likely won’t come across any cops in the three blocks back to the compound anyway.

When I pull in, Tank is leaning up against the outside of the garage. I haven’t seen him since the incident with Ivy in the hall. Grim said he’d taken Ivy to his big fancy fuck-off house in the woods, which admittedly shocked the hell outta me. He’d be better off dropping her at the nearest rehab clinic and getting her into a fuckin’ methadone program, but what the fuck could I do about it? I’m the one that left her in that fuckin’ state in the first place, and everything I’ve done from the time I first got that bitch on her back up until the way I fucked with her in the hall has just encouraged her behaviour, given her hope for something more, when there just isn’t hope—not for me, not for her, not for us.

I take off my helmet, pull the bag from the handlebars and step out of the garage. I’m met with a flying fist, a slash of pain and a pulsing eye socket. “Ah fuck!” I stagger back, drop the bag, and hold my hand to my eye to stem the pain radiating around my whole fuckin’ skull. “What the fuck are you doin’, cunt fuck?”

“Been dealin’ with cleaning up your shit for the last two fuckin’ days. Bitch is a goddamn mess. Won’t eat, won’t sleep, won’t even let me touch her. You fuckin’ broke her, man, and who the hell do you think gets to be the one left holdin’ the fuckin’ pieces?”

“Ivy’s not your fuckin’ responsibility. It’s not your job to step in and take my place, brother.”

“No? Who the fuck else is gonna clean up your mess and make sure the bitch doesn’t OD?”

“I don’t know, her fuckin’ family?” I say, but I know as well as he does that Ivy has no family. Only a sick son of a bitch for a dad who fucked her up so royally in the first place. “Bitch has problems beyond what you and I can fix. She needs help, and she needs away from this clubhouse.”

He shakes out his fist and throws back his head with a roar of frustration. “I wanna beat your fuckin’ head in for this.”

“Yeah? Why the fuck stop at one punch?”

“Don’t fuckin’ test me,” he warns, and scrubs a hand over his face. “I know why you did what you did. I don’t blame you for it. But I won’t lie, if you so much as talk to her in the future, if you build her up again and give her hope that something might one day happen between the two of you, I’ll put you to ground, brother.”

For a beat, all I do is stare at him. Tank, who didn’t kill me when I told him I’d shot down our entire chapter, the dude who feels nothing, is all fuckin’ twisted up over a girl. “Fuck me, does she know your boner’s the size of fuckin’ Uluru for her? All that shit about kicking her out ’cause she’s crying all over the place? That was all you covering up some unrequited love bullshit.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He turns and stomps towards the clubhouse.

I pick up my bag of goodies and start after him. “How long you been pinin’ after that bitch, brother?”

“You breathe a word of this shit to anyone, and I’ll fuckin’ gut you in your sleep. You got me? I will put you to ground so fuckin’ fast your—”

“Jesus Christ, don’t get your fucking panties all twisted up your arse.”

He exhales loudly. “She doesn’t see me that way.”

“So fuckin’ make her see you that way, you douche. Have you never had to chase a bitch your entire life?” I ask. “Ivy’s fucked up, but she’s still a goddamn woman, and she needs that love and cherishment crap more than most. The other stuff? Hurtin’ her and all that? It’s what she’s used to. Doesn’t mean that shit can’t be broken, brother.”

“Fuck me.” He shakes his head. “Who’d have thought I’d be takin’ romantic advice from the un-fuckin’-luckiest motherfucker in love walking the face of the planet?”

“Yeah, well, I might be unlucky, and I might have made a dick-tonne of mistakes, but if you don’t come clean with her about how you feel, you’re gonna regret it.”

Tank scrubs his hands over his cropped hair and stares down at his feet. Sighing heavily, he shakes his head, and then turns to me; his game face back on. Back to being the bastard who cares for no one, and gives nothing away. The dicktard doesn’t even fuckin’ realise that if he showed Ivy this side of himself, if he made her see that he actually fuckin’ cared whether or not she lived or died, he’d have that bitch in the bag. She may not love him straight away, but I know her well enough to know that despite all her fucked up needs, all she really wants is someone to care the way her father never had. She’d grow to love anyone who showed a little bit of fuckin’ interest in her. It’s why she thinks she’s in love with me.

Game face or not, he sounds tired when he says, “Prez wants to see you. He called a meeting while you were out, something about more fuckin’ mess than he can deal with right now.”

“I just gotta take this shit to Indie first.”

He shrugs as he opens the front door to the clubhouse and steps inside. “Your funeral.”

Yeah, it fuckin’ will be if he finds out I didn’t head straight to church. When Prez summons his flock, the flock better fuckin’ haul arse, or Prez’s gonna be lookin’ for someone’s face to bust in.

The lounge is dimly lit, full of smoke and the smell of sex and liquor. Raine’s standing at the bar, a summery dress on, next to no make-up, and her hair all piled on top of her head in a messy knot as she wipes down the bar with a rag, soaking up some spillage left by Country. He never leaves that bar except to take a piss, weigh in at church or head back to the farm once every couple of weeks to feed his fuckin’ chickens.

I glance around and see that ’most everyone is sitting on the lounges instead of taking their seats in the boardroom. In an alcove across the room that houses yet another cum-stained couch, an old pokie machine, and a beat-up coffee table, Ivy is laid out on the sofa. Her skirt is pushed up around her hips, mouth slack, and her eyes are rollin’ back in her head while Killer positions himself at the entrance of her cunt and slams inside.

“Oh, shit” is all I manage to say before Tank is across the room, grabbing Killer in a headlock and dragging him off of her.

Killer thrashes in Tank’s hold, kicking and slapping at the big-arsed motherfucker, but the truth is the kid’s up shit creak without a paddle. None of us are big enough or ruthless enough to take Tank down. It’d take five of us to pull him off of Killer. Dude is completely fucked.

“Brother, ease up,” I say, punching him in the head repeatedly. He shakes it off but doesn’t let go.

“She was clean, you fuck. For two goddamn days she was fuckin’ clean, and you go give her blow so you can get your dick wet?”

“She came to me.”

That riles him even more. Killer’s face turns shades of red, purple, blue and every colour in-between.

“Fuck, brother! Killer’s not your problem. She is,” I say, pointing to Ivy, who doesn’t even look as though she’s registered the fact that Killer is no longer fucking her.

His enraged gaze snaps to me and then he shoves Killer away. The kid gasps for breath, coughing and spluttering as he hits the carpet with his junk hanging out. Tank takes the few steps to Ivy and slaps at her face, trying to get the bitch to wake up.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, it’s a god damn fuckin’ zoo in here!” Prez appears in the hallway having just come from his office.

Grim slinks along behind him, head down, gaze averted. His face is more fucked up than usual—blood trickles from a cut on his lip and his eye is swelling. Not my fuckin’ beef, but Grim keeps to himself mostly, so I’m kinda curious as to what the hell happened to him.

“Get your arses into fuckin church, now!” Prez roars, and the boys scatter. “Tank, get that bitch to a fuckin’ hospital. If she shoots up in my clubhouse again, she’s out on her arse.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Raine asks, rushing over to Grim when she sees the state of his face.

“Leave it,” he growls, and pushes her away, sending her staggering back into me when she attempts to touch him. I grasp her shoulders to keep her from toppling and glance at Prez, he’s watching Grim with the pitch black eyes of a man who wants to cave another’s skull in.

I circle my hand around Raine’s wrist and tug on her arm to get her attention. Her eyes are glistening with tears. I bristle and then remind myself that this is also not my beef to get into. “Don’t take it hard, darlin’. Grim’s an arsehole to everyone.”

She gives me a humourless laugh. “And here I thought I was special?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s because you’re special that he’s sportin’ that black eye.” I wink and fish out my keys and place them in her hand along with the bag from the chemist. “I need a favour?”

After Raine agrees to take the shit I bought to Indie, I head into the boardroom. We’re one man down, and three of us are showing off some kind of injury. I don’t blame Prez for losing his shit at us. I take a seat beside Grim.

“You look even more like shit than usual,” I mutter.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“All of you, shut the fuck up!” Prez roars. “That bitch start talkin’ yet, Kick?”

“Yeah, she’s started. Don’t know if she’s got anything useful for us, though. I think she may have tried blocking a lot of it out.”

“We got a package earlier, left at the fucking gate.” He throws a USB stick on the table. “It’s a copy of the little tape you left behind.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck is right.”

“Seems the cop has done some fuckin’ diggin’, found out which club you ride with. There was a note with that fancy little USB stick there. They want the girl or they release the tape, and you and Tank go down for the murder of the dentist, and the abduction of Kayla Kennedy.”

“If that little fuck goes down, we all go down,” One Eye says. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Why don’t we just hand over the bitch, get the fuckin’ tape back and wipe our hands clean?”

“We’re not handing her over,” I seethe.

“That’s not your call to fuckin’ make, kid,” One Eye shouts. “I knew he’d bring the club down on its arse. I had a feeling about you, you little shit, and here we fuckin’ are.”

“Eat my dick, old man,” I shout back.

“Shut the fuck up!” Prez roars.

“What are you gonna do, Prez?”

“You mean after I kick your fuckin’ arse for bringing this shit down on my club? I’m gonna do nothin’. You, on the other hand, are gonna do some hard-arse fuckin’ suckin’ up to that bitch you got stowed away in your room. You’re gonna play nice, or beat the shit outta her to get me some FUCKIN’ ANSWERS!” He leans back in his chair and runs a hand down over his face, letting out a loud breath. “But first you’re gonna get her the hell outta this clubhouse so she’s not here when that arsehole orders a raid on my club. We’re not handing over the girl. I don’t like fuckin’ being told what to do by some gutless pig that can’t even handle a negotiation properly. You bastards are gonna protect the girl like she’s your own, or I’m gonna be slammin’ some fuckin’ heads together and putting a shitload of my club to ground. You got me?”

Murmured agreement swallows the room. The tension is crippling. One Eye stands up, knocking back his chair. It clatters against the floorboards. “This is bullshit. If he’d fuckin’ shot her the way he was supposed to, the club wouldn’t be in this fuckin mess.”

“SIT. THE. FUCK. DOWN!” Prez roars. There’s a very long pause. Both men stare down the other, and then One Eye picks up his chair and sits down heavily on it.

“You don’t think they’ll be waitin’ for us to move her?”

“Probably. But then again, that would just bring this fucker out of hiding. Might be wise to dangle the bait a little and see who bites.”

I don’t like this one fucking bit, but what choice do I have? I’m the dumb-arse who got us into this situation in the first place.

“When?”

“Soon as fuckin’ possible. Or else your pretty mug is gonna be splashed across every fucking TV station in this country.”

“Where the fuck am I supposed to take her? Her face has already been splashed across every station in this country. We take her outside those gates, people are gonna have questions.”

“My wife’s gonna kill me for this,” Prez mutters under his breath. “You’ll take the girl to my house. No neighbours, no nothing but mountain air and trees. Place is in Mia’s name, so even if the cops are getting’ all up in club business, it’ll still take some time for them to figure where we are. I’ll make sure the old lady’s out of the way, put her up at the fuckin’ Sheraton if I have to. Grim, you and Crazy will head up there too; take Killer with you. I doubt they’ll try anything during daylight hours, but I want the three of you patrolling the grounds at night.”

“We’re gonna waste good men on this bitch?” One Eye asks. Dude needs to fuckin’ quit before he ends up losing his other eye to my blade. “Fuckin’ bullshit.”

“Then aren’t you lucky you’re not going?” Prez says dismissively.

“Indie has no clothes.”

“I’ll have Raine head out and get her some of the shit she needs now, but Mia has a dick-load of boxes full of designer threads I’ve been trying to get her to donate to goodwill. Tell the girl to take whatever she needs from there. Be ready to ride out in thirty fuckin’ minutes, boys. I want us high and tight. Kick, you and the girl will be in the middle.” He bangs the gavel against the table and the brothers disperse. 

 We leave the clubhouse a little before dawn. It took some convincing to coax Indie from the bathroom floor. I don’t think she even really grasped what was goin’ on. The second I told her about the tape and their demands, she’d huddled against the wall again and begged me not to hand her over. When I finally got her out of the room she hurried through the clubhouse as if she’d had a madman gunning for her head. Which wasn’t all that far from the truth.

The road had been quiet, and just when we were twenty minutes from the turn-off to Prez’s place, we picked ourselves up a tail; a black van, not unlike the one Tank and I had sat in a few days earlier as we scoped out the warehouse. It wasn’t obvious at first—it weaved slowly in and out of the light traffic that travelled the M4, but now it’s definitely hangin’ on our arse closer than haemorrhoids.

Prez takes the nearest exit, and we follow suit, keeping formation despite the fact that we have to glide over to the right-hand side of the road to avoid taking out a minivan traveling at 20km an hour. I have a bad fuckin’ feelin’ about this. The soles of my feet itch inside my boots and my gut clenches, setting off my Spidey sense—and my gut is never fuckin’ wrong.

The black van follows us up the off-ramp and onto a quiet country road, hanging back for a bit, but then they grow impatient, cutting off the minivan, and forcing the driver to swerve out onto the shoulder. Prez and the brothers ahead of us increase their speed, and I shout to Indie to hold on and move with me. She squeezes her whole body tighter around my back: arms, thighs, even her tits are pushed as tightly against me as they could be. I rev the throttle, and we take off.

The van edges up alongside Raphe, who’s riding next to me. The window lowers, and I’m staring back at the barrel of a gun. The gun goes off, and Raphe’s tyre explodes. He’s thrown arse over head onto the bitumen and his bike skids out in front of me. I have to do some pretty quick fuckin’ thinkin’ to avoid colliding with the Fat Boy sliding across the asphalt. I jerk left on the handlebars and lean with the bike, becoming an extension of the machine. What surprises me is that while Indie may be screaming my fuckin’ ear off, she moves like a pro. I jerk the handlebars to the right, so we don’t wind up eatin’ gravel and we straighten out, only now there’s nothing between us and the van.

Up ahead Prez and Killer fire off shots. Someone is shooting from behind me—Grim, more than likely. I don’t have time to check because Prez takes aim and fires, blowing out the front tyre on the left-hand side. The van swerves but cuts back in close, too close. They almost take out my bike, and Indie screams as the side of the vehicle brushes our legs. I pull my gun from my holster and take aim. Indie tucks her head into my back. Trigger comes flyin’ up the inside, overtaking Prez and emptying his clip into the windshield of the van. His aim isn’t so fuckin’ great, and a stray bullet slices the air as it whips past our faces. I don’t have time to tell Indie to move, but seconds later I’m taking comfort in the fact that her trembling hands are still holding onto my waist with a grip tighter than death, it means she hasn’t been hit.

Crazy fuck. We make it outta this alive, and I’m gonna beat that fucker’s head in.

I fire off an entire clip. One shot makes contact, and the van swerves across the road, colliding with an oncoming SUV. It’s airborne, and then it comes crashing down in front of us. Prez swerves out into oncoming traffic. Grim hits the brakes, but not fast enough; he’s thrown from the bike and lands on the shoulder. Killer and I both manage to swerve around without incident, but I brake too hard, and Indie’s helmeted head smacks into mine.

For a half second, I’m blinded with pain. It hurts like a fuckin’ bitch, and I pray like hell that we’re not about to be rear-ended because I can’t fuckin’ see straight. I ease us off on to the shoulder of the road, but as I turn the bike around and see my brothers in various stages of devastation, I realise it could have been worse. Prez rides over to the upturned van followed by Trigger, who’s fuckin’ lucky he’s not getting his face pounded in. Prez puts the kickstand down and climbs off the bike, then he leans down to look in the window, fires off several shots and opens the door with a gloved hand. A body falls out, some fat-arsed white motherfucker with his face all pockmarked with bullets. I bring us to a stop near the van, flip the stand and climb off, grabbing Trigger by the cut and slamming him into the side of the vehicle. “What the fuck were you thinkin’?”

He lifts his hands in surrender, his eyes wide with shock and his body all jittery and hopped up on adrenaline. I’m shakin’ too, but I’m not fuckin’ dumb enough to pull half the shit he does when the rush is pumping through my veins. He smiles. “I was thinkin’ about takin’ those motherfuckers down, brother. Prez said to take care of her like she was our own.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He’s like an over-excited puppy.

“And you thought the best way to do that was, what? To cut us off and shoot your motherfuckin’ gun in her face?”

“I saw a chance, I took it,” he snaps back, and my whole body goes rigid. Taking chances is what will get you fuckin’ killed. I pull back my arm and punch him in the face. His head rocks back into the side of the van, and I release him. Trigger doubles over, clutching a hand to his nose.

“You wanna risk your life? Fine. But don’t fuckin’ play with hers,” I say, pointing to Indie. I glance at her. She’s not freaking out, or at least she doesn’t appear to be, but her wide-eyed gaze is glued to me as she sits astride my bike. I can’t explain it, but I suddenly feel awkward under the weight of her stare.

 “Alright you two, back to your fuckin’ corners,” Prez says. He points to Trigger. “You fuckin’ disrespect me by riding front again, and I’m gonna break your fuckin’ nose. We clear?”

“Yeah, Prez. We’re clear.” Trigger holds the bridge of his nose to stem the blood flow and sits down on the asphalt.

“I’m gonna need you to take a look at these men, darlin’,” Prez says to Indie. “You need to tell us if they’re who we’re after.”

Indie climbs off the bike and takes a few tentative steps forward. I realise now that she wasn’t just kicking back on my bike a second ago; it was more than likely she was worried about standin’ up and seeing the faces of the men than just tried to blow our brains out.

She stumbles a little. I reach out my hand to her, and she glares at my upturned palm.

“Sea legs, darlin’. First time on the back of a bike is like stepping off a boat onto land. It goes away, though,” I say, attempting to make her feel better. I glance at Prez, whose brows are raised skyward.

“Douche bag.” Killer coughs into his hand. I glare at him. He coughs again and thumps at his chest, clearing his throat as though something is lodged in it.

Indie places her hand in mine, and I lead her towards the van. We both crouch down to take a better look at the dead guys inside. If Trigger’s bullets hadn’t killed the driver than the steering wheel impaling one side of his face certainly had.

She presses a hand to her mouth and shakes her head, standing to her full height in her bright new tennis shoes and a pair short shorts I pulled from the pile of shit Ivy had left in my room. “It’s not them.”

“Well, who the fuck are they?” Raphe says, limping over to us. His shoulder hangs at an unnatural angle. I glance down the road. His bike is in pieces over the shoulder, about three hundred metres back. The minivan is pulled up beside it and the driver, a flustered-looking mother, stands taking pictures on her phone.

“Sent by the motherfuckers no doubt. Plenty of people got beefs with the Saints, but none that’d be stupid enough to pull this shit in broad daylight,” Prez says. “You two better get outta here. We gotta get somewhere safe and set dumb-arse’s shoulder here. There’s a butt-load of witnesses too many. We need outta here before the cops show up.”

Once our men are all accounted for, I jump back on the bike. Indie slides on behind me and clings to me even tighter than before. I wasn’t sure that was possible, but she’s trembling as she fits her lithe body around mine and tucks her head in against my back. Her teeth chatter and her head bobs against my shoulder blade. I don’t know what to say to her. What can you say to someone who has two men that want you dead so badly they’d hire a couple of dumb fucks to take you out? Beats the fuck outta me, although it’s certainly not like I haven’t been in her shoes before.

I rev the throttle, and we take off, leaving my brothers to clean up the shit, remove plates and hastily scratch off the serial numbers of the bikes that are too far gone to move. They’ll likely give our budding photographer from the minivan a shake down too. That shit’s not pretty, especially with kids in the car, but you do what you gotta to stay the hell out of lock up.

I take a slightly more scenic drive to Prez’s house in the mountains. I’ve been here several times since joining the MC, and if circumstances were different I might even relish taking someone to a remote cabin where it’d be just the two of us, but this isn’t exactly a romantic fuckin’ getaway. And I’m not fuckin’ boyfriend material. Been there, done that, got the scars—both mentally and physically—to prove it.

I pull into the drive. It looks like a damn mansion more than a cabin. Indie takes off her helmet and stares up at it.

“Holy shit, do they have a butler too?”

I shake my head. The bitch nearly got gunned down a little less than an hour ago, her life has gone from normal to full-blown fuckin horror movie in a month, and she’s cracking jokes? “No butler, but Prez would probably appreciate a French maid. You should definitely bring it up with Mia.”

“Is she okay with this?”

“Apparently she made out like she gave a shit, but she gets a fuckin’ week at the Sheraton, so I’m sure she’ll live.”

“She’s not staying with us?

“No, it’ll just be you and me,” I say, and then frown when I remember that’s not exactly true. “And the three bikers outside, patrolling the grounds at night. They’ll sleep in the den downstairs during the day.”

She stops walking and stares at me, her face slackened in what looks like a horrified expression.

“Relax, little spitfire, you’re safe with me.” I shake my head. I need to quit saying shit like that because the truth is she’s not safe with me. Not really.

“What if they find us here? What if they both come and you and the others can’t fight them off?”

“Hey, you’re gonna be fine. I’m not leaving your side, however long it takes. I’ll be here. We’re gonna have men patrolling; they’re not gonna get within a hundred metres of you without us knowing about it.”

“I should have gone to the police.”

“And done what, darlin’?” I ask, staring her down. “This guy is the fuckin’ police. You go to them, and you’ll be dead before you clear the parking lot. Come on,” I say, and tentatively hold out my hand. She stares at it a beat. I let mine fall away, shoving it inside the pocket of my jeans.

I lead her to the house, unlocking it with the key Prez had given me back at the clubhouse in case we got separated. I punch in the security code to turn off the house alarm but switched it to the perimeter. He had this state-of-the-art system installed after a rival club broke in and trashed the place ’cause they couldn’t find Prez. They also made off with a shit-tonne of drugs. We more than made up for the money lost by taking their bikes and selling them on the black market.

I walk from the lounge to the kitchen and shove my overnight bag on the counter. There’s a big-arsed box on top of the island bench with a pink sticky note attached. I pick it up.

Here are the clothes you wanted. This is gonna cost you, Jett, and if I see any of my designer pieces on those fucking stupid club whores parading around your clubhouse, I’m filing for divorce.

Also, I took your other credit card.

M.

XOX

Jesus Christ. No wonder Prez has been looking for affection elsewhere. Mia is a fuckin’ head case. Indie reads the note over my shoulder before I can crumple it up.

“Wow, she sounds delightful. I’m suddenly really glad we’re going to be alone,” she says, and then her face heats and she moves away from me.

“They should fit you. If they don’t, then we’re kinda fucked, ’cause I only brought the one pair of jeans with me and a couple T-shirts.”

I tell her to stay put and decide to sweep the house. Kinda pointless really, seeing as if anyone had broken in since Mia left, we’d be deafened by the alarm, but it might help Indie feel better, and I sure as shit would feel better knowing some arsehole wasn’t gonna jump me and blow a hole through my head.

The house is huge, and the whole sweep takes me a good ten minutes. By the time I come back, Indie’s changed into a pair of dark-blue jeans that hug her arse so tightly that all the blood rushes right to my cock. I lean against the breakfast bar, trying to cover my hard-on from view. Normally I’d revel in that shit, but this situation is anything but normal. If I wasn’t concerned for her safety, I might consider a trip to the bathroom to beat one out. I doubt that would make her feel any more comfortable than me whipping it out right here. Instead, I lean into the cold marble and will my dick to settle the fuck down. It’s gonna be a long couple of days.

I pull a cold beer from the fridge and turn to Indie as the other bikes finally pull in the drive. “You want one?”

She shakes her head and glances out through the large glass front door at my brothers. “I thought you said it was just going to be the five of us?”

“It is. The others will head back to the clubhouse later.”

She nods and collects the box of clothing Mia left for her. “I’m just going to take these upstairs.”

“Okay.” I turn back to the fridge and take out several more beers for my brothers. “Well, when you’re done, come back down, and we’ll talk about the—” I turn to face her and shake my head, realising that she’s already gone, and I’m left standin’ here talkin’ to my fuckin’ self.

Yeah. It’s gonna be a very long couple of days.