I might have barely ever left the house, but it was better than waving guns in the air and risking my neck every other day, that was for damn certain.
“I’m getting peace and quiet,” I said, rummaging in his cupboard for coffee. “That’s what I need for now.”
“Suit yourself. I just never thought I’d see the day.”
I noticed the clock, ticking above the sink. “Fuck,” I said. “It’s already two in the afternoon.”
“That early?”
“I should hit the road after breakfast,” I said, but as soon as the words left my mouth, a fresh jolt of pain shot through my skull. “Fuck!” I groaned again, grabbing my temples.
Declan reached into the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of aspirin and shaking a few out for me. “You know you’re welcome to stay here,” he said.
I nodded, then leaned back against the counter again. “Thanks, yeah. Maybe it’s going to take me a little longer to make it back home than I expected.”
Even with a bitch of a hangover, though, I couldn’t deny one feeling that was itching at the back of my skull like a damn bug.
I wanted to take Declan up on his offer. It was a bad idea, and I was finally smart enough to turn it down, but that didn’t mean the desire wasn’t still flaming inside of me. I wanted to take another swipe at my family just as bad as I ever did, and the part of my brain that was addicted to cheap thrills and big risks was desperate for another release.
Guys like me might retire, but we never truly quit. There’s always a rebel inside, a wolf snarling to get out and howl at the moon.
There’s always another chance to fuck it up.
