Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(58)

I can’t help it, I laugh. Imagining ultra-straightedge, always-in-control Boone losing his shit in the middle of a store—well, it’s not funny, but it’s amusing. “That’s how you got started with the backyard brawling?”

“No, that’s how I found out that I had an outlet. I actually didn’t beat the shit out of the guy. I stopped and ended up letting him kick my ass. It felt right. And afterward, I slept that night. I hadn’t slept a full night since Hunter died. And for a split second, my conscience was clear. I ached and bruised and was locked up, but the all-consuming pain was less than it was the day before.”

“Then that’s when you went looking for it.”

He nods. “I play the part at Stoney. Tell a story and talk to counselors, putting on a good show to keep me in line. But the real release, the freedom from my addiction owning me, comes from getting my face punched in.”

“Damn. Do you even know how warped that is?” I dip my head, finding his eyes. “You’re punishing yourself. I mean, what if the next time you don’t walk away from the fight?”

Something seems to resonate within him, his features conveying acceptance. Shit. This guy has a death wish.

“I know,” he says. “But how much more warped is living a user’s lifestyle, Mel? That’s rolling the dice every day, isn’t it? I don’t think an addict can ever truly be a healthy individual. I mean, shit. Who the hell is really mentally healthy, anyway? But brawling, I at least have control over that. I say when, who, how long. And it doesn’t hurt anyone else. Not even me. Because I get more benefit from it than injury. It’s better than a prescription.” His gaze is so intense, my breath halts. “It sure beats the hell out of lame ass NA meetings.”

“At least you admit they’re lame,” I say, pushing my hair away from my shoulders. “You should have owned up to this a while ago, we would’ve had so much more to talk about.”

This gets a tiny, crooked smile, and I can see he’s relieved I’m not probing further on his relationship with Hunter. For all I know, the guy is gay. Or maybe bi-sexual. He swore once before that he wasn’t, but maybe that’s only because he didn’t want to think about it. Have me ask questions. I mean, he did have a hard-on at the lake. But then, that could be nearly a year’s worth of pent-up sexual frustration needing to vent.

Regardless, I like seeing this side of Boone. The reckless, get-out-of-my-way rebel. It’s hot. And he needs to know that he can move on. Especially since he admitted that sex isn’t a trigger for him. He’s only punishing himself.

I push off the couch.

“Where are you going? It’s your turn to answer some unpleasant and uncomfortable questions.”

On my way to the bathroom, I say, “I’ll be right back.” If I’m going to commit to this, I can’t be the least bit sober. I don’t want to harbor any guilt for what I’m about to do.





Boone

Taste only yearning, make me full



I NEED TO GET the f*ck out of here.

Mel’s been in the bathroom longer than needed, and I know she knows I’m aware of what’s going down in there. She’s got a stash. I’m pretty sure it’s not blow, because she’s more than skeeted up; she’s overly wired and teetering on sketchy.

Jesse looked like he was jacked on meth. And if that’s what she’s on, then she’s not coming down for a long while. Only thing I can do is keep her from getting bored, going out and doing something that might get her hurt, until she comes down. Which won’t be pretty.

My own cravings are through the freaking roof. Just knowing she has a bag of something in there is causing my hands to slick with sweat. My stomach to roil with cramps. It’s for just this reason I choose to be a loner. I should have kept it that way.

I’m two seconds from walking out the door, needing to put my fist through something, when Mel exits the bathroom.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “We were getting somewhere. Don’t ruin it.”

I exhale, so tired my bones ache. But I commit to staying just long enough to make sure she won’t up and leave the moment I do. “All right, then. My turn.”

As she thunks down beside me, close enough for me to smell the girly-scented shampoo she uses, I curl my hands into fists and ask my question. “Did Jesse…take advantage of you?”

Her face pales. “Fuck, Boone. What kind of question—?”

“Did he?” With everything she said back at the bar, I got the clear impression something as f*cked up as that went down between them. Which is why I cannot understand how in the hell she’s still hanging around the *.

If she wasn’t coasting on losing her shit earlier tonight, he’d be a dead man right now.

Mel shakes her head. “No. I mean, no. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience…but I was really f*cked up. And we’ve had sex before.”

“Doesn’t mean a guy can’t rape someone he’s had sex with before,” I counter. She’s smarter than this.

She blanches, then recovers quickly, anger evident on her face. “Hey. We were getting it on, and I’d just shot up. I started to spiral, like really hard. I did change my mind…but it was too late. I don’t think he heard me, or noticed how messed up I was. He was way messed up too, and just really caught up in the moment.”