And then she had to admit it wasmostlygood. If she could just carve the memory of a certain biker out of her chest, it would be perfect, but she was working on it.
Chapter 36
Knife had gotten really good at staying busy.
That was the trick, it turned out. Not thinking less about her — he’d given up on that after the first couple of days — but filling the hours so thoroughly there was no time for thought.
It made him able to pretend everything was okay. Pretend there wasn’t a huge hole in his life he couldn’t fill.
Staying busy wasn’t healing, it was management, but what the fuck. It was the best he could do.
But now his truck was loaded with the restaurant’s meat order, and he had an hour’s drive with nothing to do but watch for idiots and let his brain go wherever it wanted to go, which was always the same place.
Her.
Cataloging things she’d have said about the drive, noticing the way the light hit the valley, pointing outrestaurants and telling him the best thing on their damned menu.
He considered pulling over and finding a podcast to listen to, but he turned the radio up instead.
He thought about going to wolf a few days earlier, and his wolf had been particularly vicious with the rabbit, tearing it apart without bothering to break its neck first, listening to it scream while he ate it.
The wolf fully blamed the human for losing her and was determined to punish him for it in the only way it could.
Knife turned the radio to a different channel and focused on plans for the weekend. He’d told Brain to keep him busy with shifts wherever he could help, and tonight he’d be working the bar with Dawg. That would keep him occupied, keeping track of who drank what, and the next five things he’d need to make.
He liked working alongside Dawg, who was competent and solid.
The truck topped the ridge cut and Chattanooga spread out below him.
He thought about standing on the Walnut Street Bridge with her, both of them leaning on the railing, looking upriver at the mountains.
He turned the radio off entirely when a sad breakup song came on, but the few seconds he heard of it helped.How am I supposed to live without you?You breathe in, then breathe out. Eat, then shit it out. Biology doesn’t care about love; it just fucking survives.
Gonzo came around back to help unload the restaurant order when he arrived, and Knife was behind the bar by seven.
This was the part that worked for him. Not driving, not the quiet moments between tasks, not the lying in his bed at three in the morning when sleep wouldn’t come — but this. The performance of it. Six tickets up, two people waiting, Dawg calling something from the other end that he was already halfway through making because he’d seen it coming three orders ago. His hands knew where everything was without looking. His brain ran the calculus of what was coming next and next and next, and there was no room left for anything else.
A woman at the far end of the bar caught his eye and held it a beat longer than necessary, and he clocked her without really seeing her — dark hair, good smile, clearly interested in more than her drink order.
But he wasn’t going to fuck a customer tonight. The sweetbutts were safer, but that would come later.
Right now he had a Manhattan to build, two drafts to pull, and someone at table four who’d been waiting for their margarita and whiskey sour longer than they should’ve.
He pulled the drafts first because they were fastest, and then got to table four’s order. Dawg slid in without breaking stride and started on the Manhattan.
His hands moved and his brain ran its lists and the bar noise filled everything up. For a solid five hours he didn’t think about her once.
That was as close to fine as he was going to get, and he’d learned to cherish busy hours with his brothers.
Later, crossing the street from the restaurant to the clubhouse in the dark, the night air warm on his bare arms, he wondered which sweetbutts would be hanging out, waiting to be fucked, hoping someone might fall in love with them. Not all of them were here for that, but most were.
He thought about warmth and uncomplicated want, and making use of whoever was available, because it really didn’t matter a goddamn which one ended up in his bed.
He crossed the street, went inside, and motioned for Backdoor to follow him.
She did, and the great thing about the sweetbutts is there’s no conversation required. If he’d taken the woman in the bar up on her offer and gone home with her, there would’ve been social niceties and get-to-know-you conversation.
But Backdoor was fine with him buckling a collar around her neck, followed by wrist and ankle cuffs. She just stood quietly and let him.
