His dark bangs flop over his eyebrow ring, Unlike the ponytail he sported last time I saw him, he’s shaved the sides of his head and left it long on the top.
“How are you, babe, and don’t say fine because I will kick your ass all the way upstate.” His warm smile reminds me of what I miss about him. The biker badges on his jeans jacket do just the opposite.
“I’m surviving. The Feds were here and suggested I was high or drunk or some shit.”
“Were you?” The fact he has to ask is yet another reason we can’t be together.
Not wanting to start a row, I let the anger roll off me, and give him a crooked smile for old times’ sake. “God, no. You know me, goody-two shoes. That hasn’t changed. Sit, sit.”
I point to the chair vacated by Dash earlier and after plopping down, he scratches his six-inch scraggly beard. “I don’t understand. So why they givin’ you grief?”
“They went into my apartment and found ancient pills in my medicine cabinet, from... before.” My throat tightens making it hard to talk. “They also wanted to understand why I left the military and implied it was due to my piloting skills.”
Kade purses his lips and clenches his right fist. “Those bastards. Did you tell them what your fucking commanding officer did?”
My eyes sting and despite promising myself I would never again cry over the incident, a tear escapes. “You know very well, I can’t.”
I wipe my face on the rough hospital sheet then swallow back the lump in my throat. “As soon as they find the black box, I’ll be vindicated. The copter had a mechanical failure. I’d stake my life on it.”
He grasps my hands. “Why don’t you come home, with me? You could work in the garage. You’re a damn fine mechanic. Fuck this shit.”
“And be your old lady? We’ve discussed this. The biker life is not for me.” I like the country and fresh air, but the rest is too much.
“I’m renting a small farmhouse now. It would be different. Weed is legal, I’m legit.” The hope in his eyes saddens me and although it’s nice seeing him again, it was wrong of Dash to call.
“Mary misses you.” At the mention of his Harley, I laugh.
“I’m serious. No one has your touch, baby. Ever since you left, she sputters and coughs. She needs you.” He’s joking but his message is clear.
“Is there someone else?” As he takes my hands in his, I wait for a twitch of hormonal response but there’s nada, zilch.
“I’m considering taking my vows. Sister Mary Lanita Manuel. It has a kind of ring to it, don’t you think?” My smile is so fake, even he notices.
“Listen up, babe. Ink’s old lady is a shaman. When you’re sprung from here, you should come and speak to her.”
I roll my eyes. “So she can shake rattlesnake tails over my head? I’m better off doing it my way.”
“She’s helped a lot of people, Lanita. Don’t kid about this shit. It’s serious.” He digs into his pocket, pulls out a card, and hands it to me.
I sigh. He treats my past like it’s his business to fix. My eyes droop and I yawn. “If it gets out of hand, I promise to keep her in mind.”
He kisses me on the cheek. “You need anything, anything at all, you call me, okay?”
“I will. Thanks, Kade.”Why can’t I settle for a super nice biker, work in his chop shop, grow weed, and live happily ever after?
I fight sleep but soon lose the battle and dream of a headless zombie who chases me across the desert. My jeep runs out of gas, my comm unit fails, and the others on my team fade away until I’m the last one standing. Shoeless, the sand burns my bare feet. Fingertips claw at my back, grab my shoulders, and force me to the ground. As enormous hands circle my neck, I scream but no one hears. They never do.
I wake in a pool of sweat, the monitor beside my bed shrieking. A male nurse has my wrist and takes my pulse. “Are you alright, Ms. Manuel?”
“Yeah. I have PTSD.”Courtesy of my bastard commanding officer.
The caring man in scrubs softens his expression. “Are you taking anything for it?”
The untouched pills in my medicine cabinet come to mind. “No, no, but don’t worry. My nightmares seldom bother me anymore. I bet the accident triggered it. I’ll call my shrink in the morning.”
“Well, if you need to talk now, we have a psychiatrist on staff.” He pats my hand, wraps the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm, then crunches the Velcro shut.
As nylon fabric tightens on my bicep, I take deep breaths.Why the fuck does everyone think talking fixes shit?“Thank you. I promise to reach out if my symptoms worsen.”
