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“Don’t know, man.” I scrub my hand through my hair. I feel gross. I need a shower. I need Kayla. “Seth got one, right? Zane inks the guys when everything’s resolved in their lives. Nothing’s resolved with me.”
“What do you mean?” Tyler’s brows draw together. “What’s going on with you? Come on, spill. Don’t make me drag Zane out.”
“Look, I gotta go. I’m all right, honest.” I sidestep him and wish for a smoke. Maybe I’ll buy a pack on the way. “See you tomorrow, Ty.”
He grumbles as I walk away, hair in his eyes, hiding his expression. I bet he’s stressed out about the event, too, and doesn’t need any shit from me. Just as well.
The need to see Kayla is eating me up alive. This is sick. I’m the one who drove her away, and now all I can think about is her.
Serves me right, I guess. A fitting punishment for my past. For being so worthless.
Maybe Zane didn’t tell me about the tattoos because he doesn’t think I should be in the brotherhood, either. Maybe he forgot to let Tyler know.
All my life I’ve expected this, waited for the other shoe to drop. For the rejection. Like with my father, and my mother, and my brother. Waited for the moment they realize I’m no good, and they throw me out like trash, telling me never to come back.
And maybe sometimes I force the issue, push their buttons and poke where it hurts, to see if they’ll do it. Rejection is like an old shirt on my shoulders. Familiar. Safe. It’s the way the world spins.
So yeah, Kayla’s silence is safe. She’d kept me off balance with her kindness, her forgiveness. Guess the world is now back on rote. I should take it for what it is and move on. Let her go.
I try.
As I wait for the bus, leaning against the bus stop, hands deep inside my pockets, I think about her. As I ride home, and then walk the few blocks to my building, she’s smiling and talking inside my head. And while I ride up in the elevator and unlock my door, she’s lying naked underneath me, moaning my name.
Then, as I wander inside my empty apartment, she’s putting her arms around me and telling me everything’s gonna be okay.
Fuck. I still can’t stop thinking about her.
Desperate measures. I break out the bottle of Jack from the bottom cabinet in the kitchen, and suck it straight. Like mother’s milk. It goes right to my head, since I’ve barely eaten anything all day, and I return to the sofa to continue with the self-medication.
Never cared if I was alone before. Managed not to think about it. Decided not to care. I need to find that I’m-all-outta-fucks place in my mind again.
I lift the bottle and salute the motherfucking world. “You suck,” I tell it. “Fuck you.”
Not good enough.
Did the cards tell her this would happen?
Why am I hung up on a girl who lets cards and omens dictate her life? How’s that different from my old man’s addiction to gambling?
Jesus fuck. I kick at the coffee table, send it crashing to the floor. I’m over this, dammit. Over her. Maybe the booze wasn’t such a good idea after all, making me feel sorry for myself. That’s bullshit.
I guess… I guess I’ve been deluding myself, thinking I expected this. That this is like everything else in my life. Deep inside I was hoping Kayla would be different, that she’d hold on to me. Insist to find out more. Insist I was innocent. That she’d fight for me.
Guess I was wrong.
Chapter Fifteen
Kayla
“Are you telling me that was the end of your conversation?” Amber asks, an accusing look on her pretty face. She pops a popcorn into her mouth and turns her back to the Sons of Anarchy rerun we’ve been sort of watching. “He basically implied he knows you’ll kick him to the curb when you find out who he really is, whatever that means,” she waves a hand back and forth, “and you drove him home?”
“Better than kicking him to the curb, isn’t it?”
I haven’t told Amber what he said about getting a kid killed. I’m not sure I should, not without knowing more about it.
“Kay.” She scowls at me, the look spoiled by a piece of popcorn sticking to the corner of her mouth. “Kayla Cynthia Everett.”
“Who’s Cynthia? That’s not my middle name.”
