Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(18)

It wasn’t until Marcy DeLuca—the spawn of Satan and your resident mean girl (every school has one)—cornered Darla in a bathroom stall that we became friends. I’d never thought much about the shy girl, who wore the same clothes for every day of the week. Who seemed content to mind her own business. Hell, I kind of admired her for that. But when Marcy started to read her journal aloud to the cackling Marcy clones, and I watched as Darla crumpled to the floor and started hyperventilating, a fierce need to protect her coupled with my hatred for bullies and I reacted.

I ripped the journal from Marcy’s manicured fingers and pushed her up against the wall, threatening to tell the whole school about the time I caught her drunk, getting it on with Carter Lemons (your resident school troll) at the bonfire.

I handed Darla her journal. Slit my gaze at the bitches as they retreated. I didn’t ask Darla questions about the parts of her journal I’d heard, regarding her sickening dad—and I think that’s why we became friends.

I came from a broken family and so did she. No explanations needed.

Before Dar, I never needed anyone. I learned early on that you couldn’t trust people. My dad didn’t keep his promise to always be there, and my mom…well, that’s on the ol’ man, too. He left me behind with her.

And I made damn sure I didn’t let anyone close enough to discover my weaknesses and use them against me. I didn’t need anyone to spell it out for me; I was angry, not stupid. I knew what my problems were. Dar knew her issues, too.

From then, we were inseparable. Sisters. Dar began to come out of her shell around junior year, when we were finally old enough to get into our local biker dive bar. The MC lifestyle had been a part of me forever—the biggest part. And it was the closest thing I still had to my dad. But that aside, I loved the idea of hitting the road whenever I wanted, going anywhere I wanted—the freedom. The escape.

Dar loved this idea, too. She’d listen with rapt attention any time I talked to her about the idealism. But she also enjoyed the attention she got from bikers. That was her escape.

I didn’t judge. She deserved to have fun after the shitty childhood she’d suffered with her dirt bag father and emotionally unavailable mother. I knew she’d never be serious enough about a single one of those guys to abandon me. And I’d laugh in any guy’s face who thought I’d ditch her and go on the road with him. That was our signal to bail. It was an unspoken understanding between us. It would always be us.

“Mind if I sit?”

A gruff voice interrupts my reverie. I blink.

“You look deep in thought about those mashed potatoes,” Boone says as he slides into the seat across from me.

I realize I’m still holding up the spoon, the soggy starch side-dish dripping clumps onto my plate. Putting the utensil down, I push the tray away and straighten my back. “I didn’t actually give you permission.” Cocking an eyebrow, I glance over his baby blue T-shirt and the colorful tats that peek out from beneath the sleeves and travel down his forearms.

“Isn’t that really just a formality?” He scoops up a spoonful of his own soppy potatoes. “Besides, this isn’t grade school. No assigned seats. They trust us to make good choices.”

I smirk. “Yeah, because obviously, that’s what got us in here.”

This earns me a grin from him, and he lays his spoon on the tray without taking a bite. “So you accept responsibility. That takes years for some, never for most. That’s a major step, Melody.”

My insides flare, and I cut my eyes at him. This whole “savior to the masses” thing he has going on has got to be an act. And if it’s not, it’s annoying as hell. “Look, if Doc Sid sent you to ‘reach out to me”—I make air quotes—“I’m not interested. Just tell him I’m on, like, step number three or whatever. Whichever one you’re preaching about. That should make him happy, and get him off my back.” I mumble this last part.

“That’s step number one.” Tilting his head, he smiles. It’s infuriating, with that damn dimple. But I’m less charmed by its powers today, and it’s more condescending than cute this second. I think about punching it. “And he didn’t send me. I just thought you could use the company.”

From my peripheral, I spy every other table circled by groups. This isn’t a very big place, maybe thirty patients admitted at any given time, but I’ve discovered they clump together quickly here. Like the lumpy mashed potatoes.

“I won’t die of solitude for the next twelve days. In fact, I prefer it.” My gaze holds his, owning the bluff, only my words couldn’t be more false. I’ve always surrounded myself with people; close members of Lone Breed, like Jesse, who cruise to the same rallies. New friends I meet on the road, chums for a night of partying. Whatever crowd my latest boy toy hangs with. Patrons I get to know at the bars where I’ve scored a job.

And then there was always Dar. Even when I counted myself as alone, she was there. This is the first time in my life since I left home that I have absolutely no one.

Boone’s gaze squints, as if he’s trying to suss out the truth. The guy is sharp; I doubt I’m fooling him. “Maybe I need some alone time.” I shrug. “Did you ever think of that, oh wise one? To think things through for myself and shit. Your being here might be hindering my personal growth.”