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“I don’t believe you.” His face is still pale, and a line sheen of sweat is coating his forehead.
He frowns. “I pushed myself too hard these past few days. I’ll just ice my leg down. It’ll be okay.”
But now I’m more reluctant than ever to leave. “I’ll go look for an ice pack. Or peas. Or whatever you have. I hope it’s not only lasagna.”
“We finished the lasagna. Ray…” His face is open, raw, unsure, hopeful.
“Just tell me this.” I poke a finger at this chest. “Tell me, Storm. What were you doing in the fucking storm that night? The night I found you.”
His mouth quirks a little. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“Not funny.” I roll my eyes at him. “What were you thinking?”
He’s still leaning heavily into the wall. He licks his lips and looks away. “I needed to feel alive.”
“By dying?”
“By risking it. Don’t you want to risk it?”
“Been risking everything, all my life. It’s not as good as it’s cracked up to be.”
“Surely some things are.”
“Things, maybe, but not people.”
I turn to go, and he grabs my arm, holding me still. “What do you mean?”
I don’t glance back at him. I gently pull my arm free, and when I reach the bedroom door, I tell him. “I won’t risk your life. And that’s why I have to go.”
STORM
Risk my life? What the hell?
I push off the wall and limp back to the bed. Christ, I’ve fucked up my leg pretty good. Probably when I raced like I had hellhounds at my heels to tell Raylin to get out of the house when I saw the trucks arriving. Or maybe from putting too much weight on it when I pounded into her.
And fuck if my cock doesn’t stir again at the memory.
I ease myself down on the mattress and rub a hand over my face. Risk my life. Whatever. What have you done, Raylin? What’s going on with you?
She doesn’t come back immediately, and I wonder if she slipped out the house and is gone, while I’m sitting here, waiting for her to come back. To explain. Not like I can run after her with my leg on fire. I massage the cramped muscle and wish I could forget.
I need a drink. I wonder if I can hobble down the stairs to raid the liquor cabinet. I bet it’s still stocked, even after all this time.
Shit, I sometimes wish I’d stayed at my last job. It was a bikers’ bar, down by Tallahassee, and life was simple there. Break up some fights, mix up some drinks. Fuck some pussy.
What I really wish is that Hawk and Rook were here. We’d go on a bender that would never end. But they aren’t here.
They don’t even know where I am. Nobody does. Though they did vanish while I was still in the hospital, so fuck them. Guess they decided I’ve had enough handholding and back-patting for a guy my age. Guys my age are supposed to have their head on straight. To know a thing or two about life.
But turning twenty-one is not all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, I can now drink legally. As if it’d have stopped me before… And I’m independent from my uncle.
Cause he’s dead.
I reach up and rub my chest. Why the fuck do I feel this pain when I remember this little fact? Motherfucker wasn’t worth it. Crushed all joy out of my childhood. How many times I wished for him to drop dead when I was younger?
And yet. Maybe it was the way he died. Before his time. Reminds me too much of… of others.
Goddammit, why am I thinking of this now? It’s been over a year now. A year since I got the call about his passing and returned to town. A year to find my feet and calm the hell down.
