Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(82)

Damn, we’re a f*cked up pair—but who ever said anything was easy?

His letters were a comfort, though; hearing him making progress in the real world gave me faith that we’d find our own way. A better way. But first, there’s a promise I have to keep.

“It’s a long ride. Are you sure you don’t want to rest first and head out tomorrow?”

Strapping my tote to the back of my seat, I say, “No way, and give Jacquie the chance to change her mind? I’ve been counting down the days until I could give Florida the ol’ middle finger salute goodbye.”

Boone chuckles. “And yet, the fact that you’re now following the rules doesn’t seem to hinder your bad girl image at all.”

I reach over and lightly punch his arm. “Are you trying to start some shit? You want me to get all rowdy on you?”

As I move in for another playful punch, Boone traps my wrist and pulls me to him. He gazes down into my eyes, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I would love nothing more.” Then his lips lower to mine, caressing them into a tender kiss.

With my hands trapped behind my back, I lift up onto my toes to match the passion in his kiss.

The deal Jacquie and I struck was simple: instead of handing my case over to a judge to decide my fate, I admitted I had a problem. Checked myself back into rehab. And if I got positive feedback from my counselors, I could get off of probation early with my license back to boot.

It’s amazing what can happen when you work with the system, instead of against it. But you didn’t hear those words from me. It goes against every value I once held close—what my father taught me, what the MC instilled in me—but the truth is, all that’s still a part of me, it’s just not the only part.

I’m all about the layers these days.

Like Sam’s dead trees. I like to think of my heartwood in layers. There’s some brittle places, a broken limb or two, even some death. But there’s also new growth, sprouting around the decay, healing, and transforming my tree into something amazingly beautiful and new.

And as I wriggle free of Boone’s hold, linking my arms around his neck, I’m more than eager to explore all the new layers with this guy of mine.

He pulls back enough to whisper against my lips, “Let’s go. Before I change my mind and steal you away to somewhere private.”

“We’ll find plenty of little clandestine places for that on the road.” I give him a wink.

Then I’m saddling my Breakout, loving the tingle seizing my stomach as I kick-start the engine. My baby roars to life, awakening the rider’s soul deep within me, and an irrepressible smile curls my lips.

I dip into my back pocket and tug out Dar’s pink bandana. I wrap it around my wrist, letting her know I’ll be there soon. I don’t plan to let her father keep me away or have the final say; she’s coming with me. Where she belongs.

Then I tie my own bandana around my neck and pop my helmet over my head.

As Boone rides ahead of me, leading the way back to my hometown, I know we have a long road ahead of us. The bumps and detours will happen. Some pit stops longer than others. And I may even fall a few times.

But once you’ve lost track, it’s not impossible to find your way again. Hope is the key.

No matter how painful the well-worn track marks of your past—you can pave a new future. That path before me is lined with hope.

And, hey. I have a mean ass ride for the journey.





Boone

Some Years Down the Road



I’M A FUCKING MESS.

I got the call first thing this morning. My throat closed up, unable to respond to the person on the other end of the line. My stomach a ball of knots, my feet already carrying me off the job and to my bike, giving no explanations as I hung up the phone and peeled away.

Now, walking through the hospital’s emergency doors, the quick rush of cool air hits my face, sending a shock to my system. And as I approach the counter, I can barely force the words from my mouth.

The receptionist just stares at me, eyes wide. Then, “Can I help you?”

I nod. “Uh, yeah. Melody Lachlan? She was admitted this morning?”

The lady inhales a deep breath and turns to her computer screen. She starts typing, then pauses. I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. Then she types some more. Fuck shit. Come on!

Agitation hikes my defenses, so when she turns and says, “Do you have identification?” I take off toward the side door leading to the emergency rooms.

“Sir! You have to fill out—”

But I don’t stop to hear the rest. I’m pushing through door after door, winding down the maze of halls. Nothing is going to keep from her—paperwork be damned.

Finally, I spot a nurse who looks like she has a clue. “Can you tell me which room is Melody Lachlan’s?”

She looks me over and shakes her head. “You didn’t get a pass—”

“Please,” I beg her, forcefully unclenching my fists. “I just have to—is she okay? I can’t be late.”

Pushing the strands of blond hair away from her eyes, she cocks her head to the side and lets a smile slip. “First time?”

That question doesn’t gut me as badly as I expect. Maybe because I’ve been preparing myself for it for months. Or maybe because I’m too concerned for Mel in this moment to process it fully.