Dream Chaser (Dream Team, #2)(68)

We disconnected, and thus commenced me giving some time to being pissed at whoever was out there fucking up my life.

Onward from which I spent probably fifteen minutes (or more like twenty) trying to figure out what to say in a text to Boone.

You see, I’d been here with dudes.

He’d fucked up, but I’d fucked up too.

And in order to grease the wheels of his apology, you had to make the first move.

I settled with:

Missed you at my side last night.

Can we talk?



Just to say, he didn’t reply.

*



I didn’t bother taking a shower that morning because of the plans I decided on that day, but I got dressed, went out, offered an already-awake Axl breakfast (he declined, and his declination was frosty—awkward), drank some of the coffee he’d made, and told him my plans for the day.

Which were to go to my house and work.

Then I asked, “Is that okay?”

“You do what you gotta do,” he replied in a way that it would not be lost on any woman with even a modicum of experience with prideful, alpha guys actually ended with the unspoken, you will anyway.

Hmm.

“Aug’s gonna be here in thirty, so if you could manage to hold off until the pass-off, that’d be appreciated,” he said somewhat formally.

Okay, the good news about this was, Boone’s buds were loyal.

Very loyal.

The bad news was, just the day before, I’d realized what truly awesome guys they were, and clearly, I’d lost that.

The other bad news was, even trying to keep myself tight and not go off half-cocked, I was thinking Axl was kinda being a dick because, as mentioned, shit was extreme and in the eye of that storm through no fault of my own was me.

However, I did not share that with him because there I was. The new Ryn. Thinking before I did or said anything stupid.

Instead, I reiterated my invitation to make him breakfast. He reiterated his aloof declination. Auggie showed.

And I was passed off.

*



The only good part of the rest of that day was that Auggie had so much testosterone swirling through his system, he was completely unable to watch me tear out carpet soaked in dried cat urine without helping me do it.

As in, seriously seeing to helping me do it.

It took, maybe, five minutes before he was on the phone.

The next minute, he was at my side, helping me rip up carpet.

It took, maybe, thirty minutes after that before the driveway to the house was filled with bikers on bikes.

And thus, in order to watch me, help me, get more help for me, and more help for him watching me, Auggie had called in reinforcements.

I met them, these members of the Chaos MC, and they included a hot dude I’d met before during Evie’s thing that got us introduced to Brett (huh), a guy named Dutch. Also his equally hot brother, who was named Jagger. Their brother through their MC, the also hot Joker. And a scarier-than-Mo-looking dude (who I would find was hilarious), Hound.

By the end of the afternoon, I not only had all the carpet out in the house, they’d pulled their bikes out of the driveway, arranged for a dumpster to be hauled in and dropped, that dumpster was full of carpet, and the debris of two of the walls in the living room that they’d helped me demolish.

So yeah, that was a good part of my day.

The bad part was, I ended it in bed with my phone in my hand, Axl on my couch, my last text to Boone on my screen, hanging there like a lonely, desperate soul.

I added to it:

I know you’re angry. I understand why.

I’d like to get us beyond that.

Can we please talk?



By morning, and through the next day that was a lot like that day, though Joker didn’t show, but some dude called Boz did, Boone did not text.

Mom had gotten in touch to share she’d managed to get Portia to school the day before, and she did not say things were still not all that great in the world of Angelica, Brian and the kids, but I read between the lines.

Lottie had also gotten in touch, and I had not shared that the boys were not my biggest fans at the moment, but somehow I had a feeling she was reading between the lines.

And thus all the girls had checked in, but they were all busy, so they couldn’t come over and provide moral support.

But all day I got a bunch of fun gifs and memes to bolster my spirit.

Their intentions were super sweet.

It just didn’t work.

*



Day three Post Fuckup with Boone, my emotional check was slipping.

I’d woken up not with a phone call from my family, also not with a response to my latest string of texts from the day before.

These included,

Honey, we need to get past this.

Please text me.



And,

Right, you’re beginning to scare me.

I fucked up. You fucked up. The only way to get beyond that is to talk it through.

Please.

Text.



And last,

I’m going to bed without you again.

And I don’t like it.



Needless to say, I was doing all the work in trying to unfuck us and Boone’s completely ignoring that, coupled with his buds treating me like I’d cheated on him or something, making a bad situation worse, meant my control on behaving like an adult in a relationship that was important to her and thus she was going to put in the work slipped.