Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(36)
I never understood this saying, but I answer anyway. “A jail bird?”
His deep laugh vibrates through me as he hugs me against the side of his chest. “That’s right, girl. Welcome back.”
He releases me from his hold, and I’m immediately pulled into another hug. This time by Suzie, one of the bartenders. She’s usually the one on duty when I work weekday nights. When I worked…past tense. I’m not sure yet where I’ll be working now.
“Missed you, hunny,” she says. Her lazy drawl is in part from being from the south, but mostly sluggish from the number of shots she’s already downed. It matches her giant, blue-rimmed eyes and redder than red full lips. She’s a walking cliché, but she’s the sweetest woman in the world, and she’s genuine, at that. I smile as she slips back to adjust her bra, squishing her boobs higher toward her neck.
“Damned things just don’t work like they used to,” she says, pulling her fitted shirt down. Then she winks at me. “Don’t take your youth for granted, hunny.”
Rolling my eyes, I laugh. “Yeah, Suzie, because perky tits is what it’s all about.”
“Hell, yeah. Just wait until you’re flopping the flat pancakes around.” She eyes me, one lid half-closed. “Then you’ll know for what.”
The music is cranked up, The Civil Wars blaring over the sound system. My chest tightens; it’s the first song I’ve heard since my incarceration, and it’s Dar’s favorite band. Was Dar’s favorite. She’d be bombed out of her mind, begging Randy or whoever to play them. It looks like someone remembered.
As I work my way through the crowd, some of the members of Lone Breed greet me, either by inquiring about torture techniques in the “hole,” or telling me how my dad would be proud at how I’m hanging in there…and I’m reminded that this—right here—is what I’ve missed so much.
I glance around, slowly easing away from the edge I’ve been toeing since I left Stoney—I wasn’t sure how I’d handle being back. But I breathe the smoke-filled air. Hear the music. Taste the freedom. And it’s almost like nothing has changed.
Then I see Jesse.
He’s at the far end of the bar, his back against the wall. His leather vest is zipped closed, one hand sunk into his pocket, the other holding a beer bottle. He’s staring right at me, a crooked smirk on his face.
I wish I could say that my stomach flutters, or that I feel giddy—for Dar, I wish I could. But instead, a hollow pain carves its way into my chest. Seeing him again…without her…is like a sickness pitting out my stomach, so much stronger than homesickness, but I know that’s what it is.
I miss Dar in this moment so hard, it physically pains me to keep standing. Not to allow my legs to give out. For the first time, I feel tears well in my eyes. With a deep breath and quick blink, I push them back. I give my head a jerk to clear my thoughts.
Before I face Jesse, I take another glimpse around the room—the laughing, dancing, partying. It’s a celebration for me, sure, my welcoming home from rehab. But this is also Darla’s wake in a way. There won’t be any mournful testaments of her life. Prayers to see her to heaven. Cherished, tearful memories shared. By the end of the night, people will be drunkenly consoling me, well-intended sentiments candidly spoken aloud, and there might even be a couple of brawls as some of the MC get rowdy.
This is their way. My way. But I can’t do it. It’s like my dad’s funeral all over again—and suddenly I need fresh air.
I turn and start toward the door. I only get a few feet as people continue to crowd me, telling me how much I’ve been missed, then I feel strong arms circle my waist. My first instinct is to jab an elbow into the person’s ribs, but a deep voice booms near my ear, halting the fight in me.
“I’ve missed you, Mel. God, so much.” Jesse’s arms tighten as he leans his forehead against the back of my head. I swallow, forcing the hard lump down. Words won’t form. But I don’t need to say anything as I’m suddenly swept off my feet. “Time to get the rehab out of the girl!”
“Wait…Jesse. You ribs—oomph.” I’m slung over his shoulder, the air knocked from my lungs.
“I’m healing up just fine,” he says. Cheers and hollers swirl around me as I’m carted toward the bar. I can only see Jesse’s backside—his prospect patch and his black combat boots. The dirty floor. Then I lift my head just enough to see the crowd rooting us on.
I brush my hair out of my face, then Jesse cradles his arms around my back. He flips me over and lays me on the bar top. My stomach bottoms out.
It’s not that I don’t want a drink. I damn well do. I’ve wanted one since the second I stepped foot into Stoney. But it’s my first day out, and seeing everyone, and having Dar’s presence so…present—I’m terrified to lose touch with reality right in this moment. I just need some time to process, to equilibrate, before I lose track.
Jesse reaches across me toward a bottle of bourbon, and I wave my hand in the air. “Jesse! I’m not ready—”
Bringing the liquor bottle back with him, he poises it just above me and looks down, a silky smile stretching his lips. “You are so ready.” And it feels as if a weight thunks right on top of my chest. My whole body tingles, cold, prickly.