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Which is how I find myself breaking another one of my rules later that night.
A massive silver skull with a crown and wings sprouting out the sides of it splashes across the wall in front of me. Still, I get out of my truck with a grunt, slamming the door and locking it with my key fob before strolling through the rows of bikes like I belong. Even if I want to turn and leave with every passing second.
Avery. I repeat her name like a fuckin’ mantra as I open the metal door and step into the dimly lit area. The smell hits me first, or rather the lack of it. I thought I’d be surrounded by cigarette smoke, or even stale alcohol. But the only thing that hits me is vanilla mixed with bourbon. Clean and smooth, it surprises the shit out of me.
Women in various stages of undress mill about, surrounded by men all wearing similar leather jackets. No one pays attention to me standing there, waiting for a confrontation.
Deacon James pushes away from the bar when he turns and sees a newcomer in his club. I hold out my hand in greeting. He ignores it, pulling me into a quick hug.
“Matthews,” his gruff voice pours over me. “I’m sorry about Keegan.”
“I know.” The response comes automatically. I can’t tell him it is okay or fine or anything of the matter. I can’t even thank him for his feelings. Knowing, that’s all I can provide and my fucked-up emotions are already starting to rebel against that little show of emotion.
“What can I do for you?”
He eyes me, taking in the uncomfortable way I hold myself, and I try my best not to walk out the door without asking my favor.
I’ve already come all the way out of town, so I decide to just get it over with.
“I need your sister’s phone number.”
I don’t expect the punch that lands on my jaw a fraction of a second later. Nor do I expect to hit the floor after that. The bar fight that erupts?
Now that, I can see coming from a mile away.
12
AVERY
My phone rings. Actually rings. Not just vibrates or lights up, but actually rings with noise. If it hadn’t gone off at one in the morning, I may have taken a moment to marvel at the fact that it can do that. Instead, I almost throw it against the wall for waking me up.
I’d been having a good dream. Carter, on my bed, doing everything I walked away from that night. Ugh, I know as soon as I wake up, I’ll never be able to get that dream back again.
“Someone better be dead,” I growl into my brother’s ear. “I swear to everything up above that if there’s not something wrong with Rett, I’m gonna slit your throat and bathe in your blood.” Yeah, I get violent when it comes to my sleep being interrupted.
“I need you to get to my house.” He sounds impatient. “I can’t believe I had to call you repeatedly for you to answer.”
“My phone is on do-not-disturb, you asshole. No wonder you got through, though. If you call over and over it must ring since you’re on my favorites.” I roll back over to grab my pillow before remembering what he said first. “Wait. Why do you need me to go to your house?”
Deacon grumbles something incoherent, and the background noise around him drowns everything out for a few seconds.
“What?” I put the phone on speaker, already climbing out of bed to put some pants on. “What’s happening?”
“Bar fight,” Deacon tries again. “There was a bar fight, and I’m dealing with the cops, because one of the girls got freaked out and called it in. The babysitter has a test in the morning for college, and I need someone there with Rett while he sleeps.”
I shrug on an old shirt and slip into shoes after dropping my phone on the bed.
“Yeah, I’m on my way,” I tell him and yawn. “Keep your pants on.”
“Thanks, Avery.” Deacon hangs up, and I’m left sitting in the dark without the backlight on my phone to light the way.
With one last look at my bed, I grab a change of clothes, my backpack for school, and head out the door. Yes, I carry a backpack. With everything I need to teach with, a backpack is just easier to carry than a tote or purse.
Chris snores on the couch, and I contemplate grabbing a bowl of warm water to stick his hand in, but I don’t have enough time. Rett’s well-being comes before my incessant need to prank Chris and get the upper hand. Even if I need to get back at him for leaving me with Carter at the bar that night.
At least the drive from my house to Deacon’s keeps my mind occupied. I roll down the windows and blast one of my favorite songs to keep me alert. When I pull into the paved drive that leads down to his house, I can see the front porch light on and Deacon’s babysitter sitting on the stoop.
“Thanks, Miss James.” Linc’s little sister, Emma Hayes, smiles at me as I drop my bags on the steps next to her. “I really have to get home and get a few hours of sleep. I’ve got midterms tomorrow and I’m a raging bitch if I don’t get at least four hours of sleep.”
