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Fucking smiled at me.
I sure as hell never deserved that smile.
I’m not surprised she left without telling me, but it hurts. I didn’t want her to leave, I just wanted to feel like I could breathe.
When she was in the same room as me, when we were in the same house, I couldn’t take a full breath. She was there. Too close. Too much. Too bright.
I couldn’t handle it.
I pull into the parking lot of a bar called Sacrifice’s Altar and it looks like the perfect place to get lost for a while. I’m pretty sure they just opened. But what the fuck do I know? When I partied with friends it wasn’t at a bar. If my friends and I wanted to get wasted, we’d go to someone’s house.
I’m relieved to see there are a few bikes parked out front. It soothes something in me I didn’t realize was ruffled to begin with. My bike has been a sore subject around the dinner table since moving in with Jerry.
He hates the thing. Mom never cared for it much either, but considering she wasn’t the one working on it or paying for it and she couldn’t afford to help me get a car, she couldn’t say much. Now that Jerry’s gotten me the truck, he thinks he can tell me to get rid of my bike.
Not fucking happening.
Fuck. I don’t even know if I can go back to that house now.
What would be the point? Evelyn is gone and I have no clue if she’s coming back. The weight of fucking up and being a damn failure is weighing me down and my hangover is not helping.
I stride into the bar with a confidence I don’t really feel. It’s time for the perfect hangover cure—more alcohol. I’ll deal with what I’m going to do next later.
I glare at the bartender when it seems like he’s going to ask me for my ID, and he shrugs like it’s not his problem. It really isn’t. I’ve looked older than I am for a while and I went and got my first tattoo the day I turned 18, the bottom of it is peeking out of my shirt right now.
Fuck, I should have showered when I went to Jerry’s house, but I just needed to get the fuck out of there. What am I going to do now that Evelyn is gone? Is it a blessing?
It doesn’t feel like one. It feels like I’m swallowing boiling acid and it’s eating me from the inside out. I would give almost anything for the chance to make it right with her. I don’t know how, but I wish I could try.
But then wouldn’t I be in the same damn place? Pining for a girl I can’t have for reasons beyond my control.
Do those reasons even matter to me?
Two guys slide onto stools at the bar, one on either side of me. When I glance over at one and then the other, the first thing I notice is they’re wearing club cuts. I don’t know which club runs this bar until I look up and take note of the Devil’s Saints MC logo burned into the wood above the cash register.
I slam back the rest of the bottom shelf Hammond Whiskey in my glass and motion to the bartender for another. I’m going to need it and not just because my heart feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest the farther Evelyn gets away from me.
Is she driving? Is she flying? Is she going to be safe in New York? Fuck. That’s so far away.
“You look too fucking young to have so much weight on your shoulders, man,” one of the guys says.
When I look over at him, I notice that he has a patch on his cut that says ‘Bronco’. There’s concern in his eyes and it makes me want to punch him. I don’t need anyone’s concern or their fucking pity.
I snarl, “What’s it to you?”
He holds up his hands and nods to the bartender, like he’s giving him permission to serve me again. I huff out a humorless chuckle and don’t waste time when my glass is refilled. I down it in one go, and the burn feels damn good until it hits my stomach and sours.
“I’m not one to get involved,” Bronco starts and the guy on my other side, who looks to be about the size of a damn mountain, snorts, but it doesn’t faze my bar top therapist in the least, “I’m just saying starting out your day like this might not be the best idea.”
“Maybe not.” My shoulders slump, but I’m still pissed and hopeless. I never make good decisions when I feel trapped and that’s all my emotions are right now—a cage I can’t escape.
Without thinking about my actions too much, I stand so quickly that the barstool I’m on goes clattering to the floor. I land a sucker punch to Bronco’s jaw. Both men are up just as quickly and the other guy, whose name I didn’t catch, grabs me and traps my arms against my body.
Bronco wipes some blood away from his lip where I’ve split it and grins at me. It’s not a cruel twist of his lips, but it promises violence all the same. He lands a punch to my gut, and I wheeze out a breath.
“You’ve got balls, man, I’ll give you that.” Bronco looks almost fucking gleeful as he adds, “I think you’ll fit right in with the Devil’s Saints. That’s your bike out there, right?”
I nod and the man holding me lets go slowly when it seems like I’m not going to make another stupid move. I don’t know whether I will or not, but I do feel a little better. When I turn and look at the mountain of a man, I notice his patch says ‘Enforcer’ and ‘Monk’.
