Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(50)

Glancing at Boone, I nod. “I’ll see you later?” I hope he hears the thanks in my voice, for helping me earlier.

He shrugs a shoulder. “How about I just follow you there.”

Jesse laughs. “All right, man. Don’t fall behind.” Then he’s off, slapping Tank’s hand in acknowledgment as he hands off the last of his tools and heads to the parking lot.

I move closer to Boone, confusion pinching my face. “Straightedgers like to hang at bars? You think that’s a good idea?”

His hazel eyes—stone gray against the night—narrow on me. “Do you?”

The judgment in his tone immediately sets me off. “I’m not you, Boone. I haven’t sworn myself to absolute sobriety and…” I almost slip and say celibacy, but I backtrack quickly. No matter how he’s acting, throwing that in his face isn’t right. I still don’t know exactly what happened to him to make that choice. “And whatever,” I finish lamely.

He hikes an eyebrow, and I say, “Listen. I really appreciate what you did. For real. I was wigging hard before the race. But this isn’t exactly how I operate.” I rub the back of my neck, anxious to get cleaned up and cooled down. Some kind of buzz on. Even a lame drunk one. “And besides. You really do need to be careful with these guys. Don’t do something stupid, okay?”

A slight smile tugs the corner of his face up. After I saw what he did in the brawl yesterday, okay yeah, I’m sure he can handle himself. But still, it’s not wise to piss off the MC. I’m not sure even I could help him if he gets in too deep.

“I can handle it, Mel. I promise. I’m not ready to leave you yet, is all.”

I cock my head. “You’re not just bulldogging me? Making sure I don’t slip?”

He shakes his head. “You’re your own person. Choices to make and that shit. I’m not your counselor or your PO or group leader. I’m not your boyfriend. I just want…” His face flushes, and again, I see the hint of his vulnerability. His innocence despite his tough exterior shell. “I just want to be your something. Anything.”

“Dammit, Boone. Why do you have to be so adorable?”

The smile that reveals that hard to get dimple speeds across his face, and I admire my ability to make it appear. Suddenly the end of tonight doesn’t look like a bow out to losing, but maybe a slow start toward an ultimate win.

“Come on,” I say, leaving the pit. “Let’s get you some kind of manly virgin drink.” I place my hand over my mouth, feigning a slip up.

“Wow. That was ruthless.” He chuckles.

I shrug. “Boy, you have yet to see ruthless.” I wink.

I swear the look on his face is one of pure terror. I laugh.





Boone

Rolling, and tumble, back down the hole



RANDY’S IS A ROWDY, run-down, biker dive bar on the outskirts of St. Augustine’s drinking district. Had I stumbled in more than a year ago, I’d have found the place really entertaining. I might have gotten drunkenly belligerent and ended up with a severe beating—but I’d have held my own, and it would’ve been a crazy fun memory.

As of now, those “crazy” memories of times like that are more shameful than fond. They were what came before Hunter. And they should have ended then. I should’ve acted like a responsible, boring grown up, and this past year would’ve been some awful, alternate nightmare reality.

So that’s why I’m here. Not for me, but for Melody. Watching her ride my bike and race down that track only heightened my already intense feelings for her, and I can’t walk away now. Not when I know that even as strong as she is, as determined as she is to fight, she’s still holding on tightly to that part of her. The one that doesn’t want to let go of the destruction.

Besides, I have to find some way to tire myself out—so I might sleep through most of tomorrow. Jacquie offered—for this one day—to have one of the doctors at Stoney prescribe me a sleeping aid, or Valium. Or some other drug to help me deal. I’m not about to break my drug-free streak, though. Not yet.

If sleep fails, there’s always Nickel’s. Nothing like a few well planted blows to the head to knock you out for a day.

But since Melody found her way back into my life, I think I’ll put my self-loathing on hold. Focus on her instead. Her needing my help today…I could do that. If she wants it, I’m more than willing to spend the next twenty-four hours giving her whatever help she needs.

She believes her main goal is getting off probation. Which for her might be the ultimate reason—but I’ve witnessed rare glimpses beneath the cover of her existence, and the hard-as-nails girl she shows the world isn’t the smart, poetic woman she hides from most. She’s probably only revealed that depth to a handful of people, if that. And I want to be one of them.

I want to fight not to lose that woman. Whether I’m fighting for her or fighting her.

The stench of cigarette smoke mingling with alcohol fills my nostrils, and I’m somewhat ashamed that it’s not a stink at all. It smells damn good. I’m used to the onset of cravings, but that doesn’t mean they still don’t become overwhelming.

Especially now, while I watch Melody down a shot.

“Another!” Jesse shouts to the blond bartender already pouring more rounds.