I sound as grumpy as I am, but I find it hard to give a shit. I know I shouldn’t take any of my personal shit out on him, but at the same time, he’s here talking to me. He started this dialogue, and I am clearly not in the mood. I know what I feel like, and I can only imagine what I look like.
“You’re here when you should be there.”
Wrapping my hand around the beer bottle, I push away from the bar and begin to move toward the front door. I reach for the handle, pushing it open as I move into the bright sunlight of the morning.
I need this to sober me up. I need it to remind me that I’m alive, even though on the inside, I feel dead.
Cold and fucking dead.
I know I should be there. I know I’m here and I should be there. I don’t need him or anyone else to remind me of that. What I need is to get the fuck over this shit and move on, or bury it deep down inside me and forget that I ever fell in love.
Bury it, it is, because I’m never going to be able to forget about Cidney. Not in a million fucking years.
Walking outside, I wince as the sun threatens to blind me. Lifting my beer to my lips, I take a long pull, closing my eyes and allowing the cool liquid to slide down my throat. My head is still thumping, but the sun feels good, almost healing. And it’s nice to be completely alone for a moment.
Unfortunately, I’m not alone for long. The rumble of a bike breaks my peace, and I open my eyes, watching as the president of the Wilmington club roars up to the clubhouse. I watch in silence as he parks his bike, then throws his leg over the side.
I expect him to walk past me and into the building, but he doesn’t. Instead, he faces me and makes his way toward me, stopping directly in front of me. I watch him silently, knowing he’s got something on his mind.
I’m not going to ask him, though. He can tell me whatever the fuck it is he’s thinking. Prez clears his throat, rocking back on his heels as he lets out a low whistle. I have no fucking clue what’s going on, so I arch a brow in question, waiting for him to continue.
“Your people have been trying to get a hold of you,” he states.
I snort. “Not my people any longer,” I murmur.
He curls his fingers around my shoulder before he gives me a small shake. “Still your people, Goose. Even if you aren’t there,” he murmurs. “But I need you to contact them, tie up whateverloose ends they’re hounding you about. And then, when you do that, I got a job for you.”
Tipping my head back slightly, I look up into his eyes. “A job?”
He chuckles. “A job. You’ve been here a few days now. It’s time for you to earn your keep. But Thunder Rock has been trying to get a hold of you, and you should probably figure out why. Seems a bit important.”
I thank him, and he shakes my shoulder slightly before his hand falls away. I watch as he makes his way toward the building. He tugs the door open and slips inside. When he is gone, only then do I tug my phone out of my pocket.
There are ten missed calls on my notifications and countless text messages. Plus, I’ve ignored about this many, too. I don’t know what the fuck they could want me for. This seems really over the top. Searching for the only name in my phone that I actually want to call, I find my brother’s and touch the send button.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he demands as his greeting.
I don’t respond to his words, mainly because I’m not beholden to fucking answer to him. Thankfully, he doesn’t make it a pissing contest, because if he did, the way I’m feeling today, I would just end the call and turn my whole fucking phone off.
“What’s up? You called the president here to tell me to call you, so I’m calling you.”
“It’s Cidney. It’s bad. She’s in the hospital.”
CIDNEY
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sounds of the hospital are not comforting. In fact, I hate them. My eyes slowly open as I look up at the ceiling aboveme. Everything hurts. Every single part of my body aches, and I know it’s in my head because I’m on some serious painkillers.
Or maybe it’s just the anticipation of the pain meds wearing off, I’m not sure. Either way, I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to be in pain. But here I am, and the pain is imminent.
“You’re awake.” The deep voice is one I recognize, but only barely.
Turning my head slowly, I blink a few times as my vision adjusts, and then I see him standing just a few feet away. He’s got a clipboard in his hand and is wearing a white coat.
Oh god.
How embarrassing.
