Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(52)

At this point, the bar has noticed their spat. Heads turning their way, conversations dying down. I glance at Jesse. His countenance suddenly changes; he’s aware of the gathering attention, and he shifts in place, latches his hands to his elbows. Sweat beads at his hairline.

Melody checks the crowd, then slams him with a disgusted look. “Can’t have any negative publicity for the prospect, can we?”

Stepping into her personal space, he lowers his voice. “Please, Mel.” He jerks his head toward the back of the bar.

I’m about to cut in, voice my opinion on what a bad idea going off with this guy is, when Melody says, “All right.”

What? I’m crossing the distance, not about to let this happen, but she stops me halfway in my pursuit with a severe look.

“It’s fine,” she reasons. “I got this, okay?”

No, it’s not okay. But I’m on her turf. Her ground. Her way. I’m the invader, having swooped into her life…not really understanding what I wanted from her, or us—this. But I did want something, and it’s not fair to ask anything of her when I can’t give her all of me in return.

I’m a selfish bastard.

With a forced nod, I back away. “Text me if you need me,” I say. “I’ll be outside.” And with that, I turn and head out of the loud, smoky bar.

I don’t look back to watch her disappear with Jesse. I can’t block any of the bad from her life; she has to make her own choices. I’m a f*cktard for getting involved with her shit in the first place.

I push open the door, letting the humid night air welcome a blast of clear thoughts. If Mel can’t leave the scene behind, won’t get sober, then how far into it am I willing to go to protect her? I know from firsthand experience that no one and nothing can make a user stop using.

No scare tactic, no amount of pain, no quantity of remorse, can force someone straight. If anything, those are only more reasons to get high; drown out the fear and the guilt. One last time…then I’ll deal with tomorrow. A classic user mantra.

It was the one I recited to myself, over and over, then again the night Hunter died. I was singing that tune as I put the needle to my arm, f*cked that girl hard, high as a kite, while he was taking his last breath.

Frustrated, I dig out the cigarette pack from my jean pocket, thump out a cigarette and fire it up. I inhale a deep drag and lean against my bike. I haven’t smoked in months. But I keep them close, just in case. And this is a stressful, just-in-case kind of moment.

Streetlamps light the asphalt parking lot a surreal gray. Cars coasting along the A-1 fill the void of sound with a distant zip and hum.

I’m contemplating jumping on my bike and hauling ass, getting out of Mel’s way, when a bang shatters the deceptive quiet. Cigarette butt between my lips, I swing my head toward the sound.

The front door of the bar slams against the outside wall as Melody storms out, yanking away from Jesse. He’s trying to pull her back inside, but she rips free of his hold and through the doorway. She loses balance with the forward momentum and stumbles to her hands and knees on the sidewalk.

I toss my cigarette, already marching toward her.

Jesse pushes the door closed, then kneels beside Mel.

The door swings open again, and Tank sticks his head out. He says something to Jesse. “It’s okay,” Jesse assures him, waving him back inside. “I’ll take care of her. Just a rough night.”

As I get closer, Tank eyes me with a squinted gaze, then another member of the MC pops up beside him. Jesse glances at me quickly before nodding to his friends, and they disappear back into the bar.

Jesse moves his head closer to Mel’s and whispers in her ear. She shakes her head. “It’s over. It’s never going to be the same. All this…” She motions sloppily around. “We can’t have it back, Jess. Over. Gone. Oblivion.”

Her words are tumbling out with her sobs. Shit. She’s really messed up. How long was she gone? Five…ten…fifteen minutes? While I was out here pouting. I curse under my breath as I kneel beside her. I never should have left her.

“Mel, let’s go.” I quickly check one of her hands, noting the scratches, brush off the loose debris and concrete rubble, and pull her arm around my waist. I tuck a hand under her other arm and begin to lift.

“What the f*ck?” Jesse’s on his feet and staring me down. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

I’m one short second away from losing all self-control. I get Melody to her feet, her weak body leaning into mine. Her head sways awkwardly on her shoulders. If this guy sucker punches me with her in my arms, it’s the last action he’ll do tonight before I end him.

Looking into his dark, glassy eyes, I say, “She’s done, man. I’m just taking her to her apartment. I think she needs to sleep it off—pick up with you when her head’s on straight, right?”

His brow furrows, hands fisted, arms flexed. “I’m telling you, this does not concern you. You’re just one of many and I’ve been here, will be here, when you’re a speck in the rearview mirror.” He wiggles his fingers in front of his face, smiling, eyes ablaze.

And I realize he’s f*cked up. I mean, not coherent, talking way out there f*cked up. Meth, maybe. Or MDMA. Fear seizes my chest as I pull Mel closer to my side.

“What did you give her?” I demand.