"You can't be serious."
"Dead serious." I meet her eyes, making sure she understands.
Her face flushes red. For a moment, I think she might say something she’ll come to regret, but she doesn’t. Instead, she spins on her heel and stomps away, her hips swaying in an exaggerated way that used to work on me when I was too drunk to care.
I knew I was spending too much time with Kandi. Using her to numb the pain, to forget for a few hours that I killed my best friend. That my best friend was not the man I thought he was. But she was never anything more than a distraction. Not for me. And I should have shut it down sooner.
"Zeus."
I turn to find all three ol' ladies standing in front of me—Rowan, Sarah, and Kayla—wearing matching expressions of determination.
“Where’s London?”
“Ladies’ room. We need to talk," Rowan says.
I cross my arms. "About?"
"About London," Sarah says quietly. "And what you're planning to tell her about Fiend.”
"Or not tell her," Kayla adds.
"She keeps asking about her father," Rowan continues. "We're running out of ways to deflect."
"So brainstorm, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
"Zeus." Sarah's voice hardens. "She came here to meet him. We can only put her off for so long. Plus, she deserves to know the truth."
"I'll tell her when I'm ready."
“Any idea when that will be?" Kayla challenges. "Next week? Next month?"
I grind my teeth. "I said I'll handle it."
"Then handle it," Rowan says firmly. “By tomorrow. Or we will."
They wait. All three of them are staring me down like I'm some prospect who needs setting straight.
"Fine," I bite out. “Tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow."
Rowan nods, satisfied. "Good talk.”
They walk away, just as London emerges from the hallway. She fits with them. I can see it. The ol’ ladies have folded her into their group like she belongs. And she's starting to relax around them.
For a few minutes, I imagine London is an ol’ lady too—mine. I never actually had the urge to take an ol’ lady before. Why do I suddenly feel the urge so strongly now, when I’m more fucked up than I’ve ever been?
Yeah, me and an ol’ lady is really not a good idea.
I push off the bar and head for the door. The party's still going strong, but I need air. And space. A place where I'm not watching a woman way too young for me like some creepy stalker and fantasizing about fucked up shit I have no business even considering.
The garage is dark and quiet when I slip inside. I flip on the overhead lights and survey the half-dozen bikes in various states of repair. This is where I've spent most of my time lately.Working with my hands. Losing myself in engines and chrome and the simple, mechanical problems I can actually solve.
I grab a wrench and move to the nearest bike—Prophet's Harley, which needs a new carburetor. I work until my shoulders ache and my hands are covered in grease and the sky outside the windows starts to lighten with dawn.
I know I should get a couple hours of sleep. But sleep means nightmares. The same fucked up nightmares where I’m staring into Fiend's face moments before I…
London's in my room.
Probably asleep in my bed right now.
