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Nicole
(ten years ago)
“I don’t understandwhy you’re not getting what I’m saying, Nicole,” Jeremy sneered. “The bottom line is this, I no longer want to be with you. Plain and simple. You’re not my type. You never were and you never will be.”
“I was your type three months ago when you said all the right things, lured me to your bed, and took my virginity,” I dryly replied.
Don’t let him see you cry, Nicole. He doesn’t deserve to see your tears,I internally chant.
Right now, I’m holding back my tears of sorrow by a sheer force of will. I refuse to let him see how his words are hurting and affecting me. Breaking me. To think that I’ve wasted almost a year on someone so unworthy, somebody who has turned out to be so shallow and downright rude had me angry at myself.
“Pssh, it was a pity fuck,” he snidely retorted as if he’s some sort of prize.
“I see, so you’re saying I was a pity fuck that warmed your bed and whom you continued to manage to get there several times a week since then.”
“Until something better came along.” He did not just go there! The nerve of this piece of shit! What gives him the right to treat me this way?
“Well, you can see yourself out. Please, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya.” Standing, I pulled my sweater closed and moved to my front door. After I opened it, I continued to stare Jeremy down and waved him out of my place until he stomped out, huffing and puffing like he was the big bad wolf and wanted to blow my house down.
While I wanted to slam it shut, I wouldn’t give him or any man that sort of satisfaction or give him enough control of seeing how hurt I was, so I quietly closed it behind him then made sure it was securely locked before I slid down the wall to the floor and hugged my knees to my chest, crying silently at the horrible, hateful things he had spewed at me.
* * *
A good cryand a shower later, I managed to gather all the things Jeremy had left behind at my house and shoved them into a garbage bag then dragged it out and set it out by the curb near the other trash. He could come pick them up or let the neighborhood strays piss all over them for all I cared. Grabbing my phone, I opened up our text stream.
Me: Your stuff is in bags out by the curb. Since trash runs tomorrow, you might not want to wait to come pick them up otherwise, head to the dump. Have a nice life.
His response was less than stellar, but I kept my head high and poured myself a glass of wine before settling in to read.
It was my escape from reality, had been for a long time, and now that I recognized my happily-ever-after was never going to happen like it does in my favorite novels, I would focus on my book boyfriends only. At least they don’t make promises they won’t keep.
Stealth
Ever since Tressa’sbest friend, Nicole, or Nini as Tressa called her, stormed into the clubhouse that fateful day, I’ve been out of sorts and discombobulated. I know in my gut that she’s my fated mate, something I never thought would come to light or happen to me. The thing is, I’ve been alone and lonely for so damn long, I’m unsure how to proceed and that’s just not like me. I’ve always been cool and collected, but she confounds me and has me questioning my every move. She’s only been gone for two weeks now, and there’s still another week or so to go before Chaos and Tressa head to her so they can help her pack everything up and bring it here, yet it feels like it’s been years since I’ve laid my eyes on her.
Stalking into the kitchen, I see Nonna cutting up biscuits and right on cue, my stomach growls. “Morning, child. There’s a fresh pot of coffee already brewed, and I grabbed the creamer from the store for you, the brand you like since I noticed the other day that you were out.”
“Thanks, Nonna,” I mumble my gratitude, before I make my way over to the coffee pot to pour myself a much-needed mug of the nectar of life. It’s the key to my morning happiness. It’s the only thing that’ll wake me up and put me in a better, less sullen mood.
“You’re not sleeping again, Stealth,” she says accusingly, slathering the biscuits with a copious amount of honey. When she sees me watching what she’s doing and drooling, she smiles. “I know you boys love these things. Got bacon in the oven cooking now, so when these are done, you can eat your fill.”
“No, I’m not,” I finally reply, adding just a little bit of creamer to sweeten my coffee before taking a long, appreciative drink.
“There’s enough time for you to go for a run. I’ve found over the years that it clears my thoughts when they’re jumbled,” she suggests.
“Y’know what, Nonna? A run sounds like a fantastic idea,” I convey.
Finishing my coffee, I rinse the mug and set it off to the side to dry since I’ll use it again after I get back from letting my wolf stretch his legs. Nonna nods, so I know she won’t put it in the dishwasher; she’s used to how we do things around here.
Once I’ve stepped onto the back porch, I stretch my arms in the air to loosen my muscles for the impending run, and quickly strip down, placing my folded clothes in one of the chairs then swiftly shift into my wolf counterpart. As big as I am in real life, my wolf is also larger than the average wild animal, which is a good thing seeing as I’m the club’s sergeant at arms. Letting out a long, anguish-filled howl, I finally start running toward the back quarter of our property, allowing the small prey the luxury of living and not running in fear of me since my sole focus is on setting things right in my head space again, not hunting and eating.
Besides, while I enjoy the occasional snack and pursuit when running, why fill myself up on unsatisfying morsels and fur wedged in my teeth when I have Nonna’s honey biscuits with bacon to look forward to? Shaking my head, I increase my speed, getting lost in the memories of how I came to be in the Zephyr Hills Phantoms Motorcycle Club, a member of a brotherhood that took me in when I was lost, bereft, and alone.
* * *
“Stealth, you have to go,”my mother whispered as I lay groaning on the ground. “He’s going to kill you one of these times!”
I want to snort, “no shit” but I ache too much to deal with the repercussions of being smart mouthed. “I know, Mama,” I replied, taking stock of my numerous injuries.
