Volt
I sit on my bike across the street from the Grizz, watching the door. I saw those assholes, Tommy and Dutch, go in earlier and had to restrain myself from going over there and kicking their asses. I know they’re in there giving Fallon a hard time, and it sets my blood boiling. I know she can take care of herself and she certainly doesn’t need me to play bodyguard for her—and I’m sure it wouldn’t be welcomed, especially right now—but the thought of anybody mistreating her pisses me off.
It’s been about a week since my talk with Adam at the clubhouse, and she still hasn’t called. I know I should just let this go. Her silence is all the answer I need. Or at least, it should be. Something about Fallon though just makes it impossible for me to let her go so easily. I know I should take Adam’s advice and just go in there and talk to her. Put me out of my misery one way or the other.
And I’ve tried. I’ve almost called her more times than I can count, and when I realized I was never going to be able to push the call button, I rode out to Pineville. Every night for the last three nights, I’ve sat here on my bike, across the street from the bar, trying to talk myself into getting off my ass and going in there. And every night for the last three nights, I haven’t been able to manage it. I’ve sat here on my bike like a pussy, unable to move.
I think part of my problem is that I know that if I go in there, it’s likely going to be the last time I see her. The last time I talk to her. Fallon’s radio silence for more than a week now is a pretty strong indicator of where I stand in her life. Apparently, telling a woman I was witness to the cold-blooded murder of a friend and fighting a war against a drug cartel is a relationship deal breaker. Who knew?
My phone rings so I slip it out of my pocket and check the display before I connect the call and press it to my ear.
“Yeah,” I say.
“You gonna go inside and talk to her?” Adam asks. “Or are you just gonna sit outside all night like a pussy?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Fallon. I assume you’re still sitting outside her bar like a lovesick puppy still,” he replies. “You work up the nut to go inside and talk to her yet?”
“Dude, shut the fuck up. I’m at home.” I cringe at such an easily checked lie.
“I’m at your house right now,” he replies.” And you’re not here. Weird, huh?”
I slap my forehead and groan, kicking myself in the ass for telling such a stupid lie. But he caught me flat-footed, and I didn’t know what to say. My bad.
“And since I don’t hear the normal bar noises in the background, I’m assuming you’re not actually in the bar,” he goes on. “Which leads me to conclude that you are in fact, sitting outside the bar, trying to work up the nut to go inside. You know, same thing you’ve been doing the past few nights.”
“You following me or something?”
I turn around and scan the street around me for any familiar cars or bikes but see nothing. Not the club van, not Adam’s personal truck, or his bike. It’s just me and some cars that belong to residents around here.
“I don’t need to follow you to know what you’re up to. Not when I can read you like a book, brother,” he says. “Besides, I’m smart. And you’ve given me enough clues the last few days for me to put two and two together and figure out where you’ve been spending your nights since it’s obviously not playing Star Battle with me.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You’re an asshole.”
“Sometimes,” he replies. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“Is there a reason you called, or are you just trying to bust my balls?”
“It’s time to go to work, man.”
I glance at my watch and mutter, “Shit. Didn’t even realize how late it got.”
“That happens when you’re sitting outside a bar in a puddle of your own misery.”
“I’m going to kick your ass when I see you,” I tell him. “I’ll be to the clubhouse in twenty.”
Adam laughs on the other end of the line. “See you then.”
***
“You getting anything?” I ask.
“Not yet. You got a clear line of sight?” Adam asks, his voice sounding a little tinny coming through the Bluetooth piece in my ear.
“Hang on.”
I shift over a foot and aim the directional mic. “Anything?”
