As it was, when he said he couldn’t commit to me, when he said there had been others, it hurt me so deeply that I couldn’t even be in the same state as him. I had to run, and then I was afraid that if I failed and went back, I would have to see that, would have to see him with others, and I just couldn’t bear it.
I couldn’t bear it at all, seeing him with another woman. It’s bad enough that I’ve imagined it every night for the past decade. Even if I tried to push it out of my head, I would be lying to myself if I said I never thought about him.
I thought about Axton every day at least once, and the thoughts would travel when I was home alone. They would travel to him. And as much as I would want them to travel to the good times, they didn’t, not ever.
It was always me imagining him with clubwhores. With Daisy. The image is perfectly clear inside my head. I hate it. I wish I could swipe it away—punch it away or something. Turning away from the window, I make my way over to the kitchen.
I should eat something before I go to work.
I tug the fridge open and glide my gaze over the contents. There is nothing that excites me. None of it is appealing. The fruit doesn’t even whet my appetite.
It seems boring.
Closing the fridge, I make my way back to the bedroom to shower and pack my bag for the day. I’m on the schedule every single day. I’m not sure when I’ll get a day off again. I should like that because it keeps me busy, but at the same time, it doesn’t change anything.
When I close my eyes at night, I am still madly in love with that man. When I wake up, when I dance, no matter my exhaustion, Axton is and will always be right there, swimming somewhere in my brain, in my thoughts.
As the water warms up, I think about how Axton made me feel. It was better than I could have ever imagined, and I’d imagined it a lot over the years. I came here in case I needed him. Well, I told myself it was the Vicious Reapers, but really, it was for him. Because deep down, I’ve always known that Axton would protect me.
Once I’m showered, I figure out my outfit for work and pack my bag before I head out of the apartment and toward my car. Climbing inside, I grip the steering wheel, but I don’t start the engine or put it inReverse.
I pinch my eyes closed and breathe.
I’m tired.
So damn tired, but I think it’s time for me to run again.
Opening my eyes, I start the engine, shift the car intoReverse, and decide to get my shit together. Even if I leave, it won’t be today. I have work to do, men to dance for, making them think I’m half in love with them when I do said dancing.
Pulling into the parking lot, I guide my car into my regular spot, but I don’t make a move to get out. I’m not sure if I want to at this point. I am tempted to just leave right now. Run far, far away.
So far.
A knock on my window startles me, and I look over to see Anna. I touch the button to roll down my window. Anna tilts her head slightly, looking over her glasses at me, then smiles.
“Some days it feels like that. You need a day off, babe. Let’s look at the schedule. Come inside.”
Without waiting for a response from me, she spins around on her toes and walks away, straight for the front door. I watch her go, watch her open the door and slip inside without a backward glance. And I don’t move while it all plays out. I watch.
She’s right. I need a day off. Maybe that would get my head on straight. I’ve been so busy worrying about the men after me, about Axton, and then about us having sex, I can’t get everything wrapped up and compartmentalized right now.
It’s too much all at once.
That’s the problem.
PIGGY
Dante Barone.
The name plays on a loop inside my head. Over and over again. There is just something about him. About his gun, his clothes, his car. It’s not adding up as to why he’d be here in Thunder Rock.
After finishing my shift, I drove around a bit looking for that Lexus again, but couldn’t find it. I’m not sure where he was going, but unless he’s staying at someone’s house, he isn’t anywhere in Thunder Rock.
As I walk into my shitbox house, I look around and shake my head a couple of times. This is such a piece of shit, but it’s my piece of shit, I guess. Once I’ve taken my uniform off and showered, I decide to make a phone call because I can’t get that guy’s name out of my head.
“You good?” the voice on the other end of the line asks.
“I’m good,” I confirm. “Got a question.”
