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Except as I drive away, I think about returning to my little house. Tomorrow, I’ll spend eight hours in my failed dream. I don’t know what I plan to do once the shop closes.
Returning to Vegas would be smarter than starting over in McMurdo Valley. I know people in the industry there. I could find a job cooking or managing. I’m familiar with the area. Dating and making friends would be easier.
By now, the sun’s gone down on McMurdo Valley, stealing away the beauty which drew me here. A motorcycle roars up behind me on the two-lane road. It slows before racing into the empty lane and going around me. I watch the man speed into the darkness until only his taillight remains.
Hopeful again, I feel a smile on my face. Not about keeping my business or finding love. Tossing aside common sense, I let myself dream of Hobo.
I see his blue eyes lined with impossibly dark lashes. In my mind, he’s watching me. I don’t care whether he has a home or a job. The real Hobo likely has many problems which led to his current situation. He might be mentally ill and dangerous. He could be addicted to drugs. He might have a woman he loves more than I can imagine.
However, the Hobo in my mind is beautiful and kind and only sees me.
Feeding my dream of that imposing yet tender man, I refuse to give up on McMurdo Valley yet.
TOMMY
I’ve never been oneto suffer many regrets or disappointments. The key to this kind of living is never raising my hopes. I take each day the way it is and keep moving forward no matter what awaits me.
Maybe that wasn’t always my truth. I might have been a child with big dreams. It’s possible watching my sister covet what she couldn’t have gnawed at me until I refused to want for anything beyond the basics for myself.
Now, I find myself coveting something that isn’t mine to have.
Leaving Xenia as the storm approaches, I skip the tent and instead retreat to the clubhouse to stay dry. Everyone at the Pigsty is in a sullen mood since Eagle—who grew up as Rhett—moved out.
Out of everyone I know, he might be my favorite person. Kourtney seems alien to me much of the time. My other club brothers and our one club sister can feel like they’re speaking a different language. Eagle, though, excels at silence and low expectations. We fit right together.
Last year, he met Irina. They hit it off right away, not something Eagle does with most people. However, shit was complicated, and they took a while to nail things down.
These days, they’re married and even have a little girl named Clementine. Eagle, Irina, and their little baby just moved into a new home not too far from the Pigsty.
After my shower, Walla Walla—formerly Martin Carter—offers me a bowl of shrimp chowder.
“Irina made it before she moved out,” he says, sounding sad. “I’m going to miss her cooking.”
Everyone nods, sinking into a familiar melancholy, much like when first Ruin, then Nomad, and finally Armor moved out. I’d visit to find everyone glum and stoned.
Now, they’re sulking over Eagle.
