"I don't know what you're talking about."
“Do you mean whether you’re screwed, or do you need me to explain numbers to you? Like, I could do both, but if you want me to explain numbers, it’s going to take some time and I’m going to need a pencil and a lot of paper. I’ll do it, because you can do a lot with numbers — even make things explode or makereally, really powerful engines — but I’ll also be a little unhappy because I wasn’t mentally prepared for you to be so… dumb.”
“I don’t need you to fucking explain numbers to me, and I sure as fuck don’t think I’m screwed.”
“Sure you don't." He signals Molly for a beer, then turns back to me with that knowing look I've come to hate — it makes no sense coming from someone who once told me one of their favorite hobbies was ‘explosive gardening’ and, when I asked him what the fuck that was, he just said ‘boom, flowers.’ Since he outranks me, I keep my mouth shut while he continues. "Word of advice from someone who's been around the block: when a woman gets under your skin like that, you've got two choices — run like hell, or accept that you're about to do something monumentally stupid."
"And which did you choose?"
“Do you even need to ask?”
No, I don’t. He’s got ‘monumentally stupid’ written all over him.
Mayhem takes his beer and wanders back to the argument about carburetors, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my whiskey and the growing certainty that I'm about to make a choice I can't take back.
I drain my glass. Pour another.
Outside, I hear a sputtering engine turn over — Riley's old sedan coughing to life in the parking lot. I picture her behind the wheel, hands tight on the steering wheel, eyes checking the rearview mirror for threats that may or may not be there. That thought makes my fists clench.
I take a long drink, eyes on the rain beating against the windows.
“I sure as hell ain't doing anything stupid when it comes to her,” I murmur into my glass.
It's a lie. I know it, even as I say it.
Chapter Five
Riley
The next morning, Ironwood Falls smells of rain and pine. I park behind The Noble Fir and take a deep breath, feeling every ache from another night in my car. I'm not broke — my account's technically above zero — but a hotel room feels too risky. Too expensive, and too stationary.
This morning I splurged on a cupcake from a bakery in town and a day pass at the gym for their shower. Small luxuries. Baby steps.
Today is about moving forward. One day, one paycheck at a time.
Because that’s all I can do.
And I am not going back.
Between shifts and tips, I know I can save enough for a deposit. Maybe find a studio apartment, something small with a lock that actually works. Then I’ll buy a second lock and a deadbolt and get that put on the door, too. I’ll open a new bank account. Change my name, maybe. Cut the last threads that tie me to my old life.
I’ll do everything I need to make my time in Ironwood Falls not just something I survive, but something that helps me turn the page on a terrible chapter in my life.
And — most importantly of all — I’ll keep away from Breaker.
Which is easier said than done.
He’s sitting at his usual corner table when I enter the bar that serves as part of the Twisted Devils clubhouse. The light hits his jaw just right, illuminating its sharp, masculine shape and the curve of his throat, and the dark tattoos creeping from the neck of his shirt. He’s impossible to ignore. As if he knows that I’m watching him, which can’t actually be true because he hasn’t even looked up from his coffee cup when I enter, the muscles in his forearms flex, making a ripple of strength that turns my knees weak.
No, I can’t ignore that.
“Riley.” His voice rolls over me like gravel and heat.
I freeze. Swallow. Approach.
“Breaker. Good morning. Um, hey, do you need something?”
“More coffee,” he says, tone lazy, eyes anything but — no, his eyes are very active, studying me like I’m one of those explosives he dealt with in the Marines. “And a plate of eggs, hash browns, and bacon.”
