Page 5 of Psycho

Over the years, I had accumulated a variety of diagnoses from a smorgasbord of specialists—bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, anxiety, depression, attachment trauma.

The end result was the same: I ruined everything I touched.

Holding down a career was suffocating. Dating felt like navigating a mine field. One wrong step and the relationship exploded.

I didn’t just burn bridges. I obliterated them like an atomic bomb, with nothing but a nuclear wasteland left in my wake.

That’s how I ended up in this little town to begin with. I lost everything in Nashville, Tennessee—my boyfriend, my job, my apartment. And the stress triggered a manic episode. I had to get the hell out of that city. I had to move. I had to just…go away.

Deep down, I wanted to escape myself and my dysfunctional brain most of all. But I couldn’t. So, I did what I always do.

I ran.

A few days later, I stumbled into Juniper Creek, Colorado. While I wolfed down a burger and fries at The Huckleberry Diner—my first real meal since hitting the road that didn’t come from a vending machine—I spotted Arrow.

At first, I didn’t recognize him. We weren’t kids anymore, and he had changed so much since the last time we saw each other.

He traipsed into the diner with a group of bikers, all wearing the same black leather vest. Across the back was a patch that declared his loyalty to The Reckless Order MC.

They called him friend. They called him brother.

This is exactly what Arrow and I had spent hours fantasizing about while we were in foster care, back in Utah. Finding a place to belong, having a home of our own.

It looked like he managed to pull that off.

Meanwhile, I was still drifting around like a tumbleweed.

I could have walked right up to Arrow at that moment and greeted him. But then one of his biker buddies cracked a joke, and he laughed.

Arrow rarely laughed when we were in foster care. He might manage a small smile, or a little chuckle. But he never laughed like that, from deep in his belly, with his head thrown back.

I couldn’t bring myself to barge into his life. I couldn’t dump the wreckage of my past—our past—in his lap again.

Fifteen minutes later, I had slipped out the diner’s back door, and I was on the road, with my thumb out, attempting to wave down a ride as cars whizzed by.

Then I stopped.

From my vantage point on the sloping road, I had a clear overlook of Juniper Creek. Hedged by mountains like a stone wall of protection. There was nothing special about it—a perfectly ordinary, sleepy town in the countryside.

To my eyes though…it was the sweetest slice of heaven. Because this was Arrow’s home. And he was happy.

I should have left that day.

Instead, I was still here, and Arrow had no idea.

I just wanted to be close to him in the safest possible way. Without hurting him. Because I always hurt the people I cared about in the end. Even if I didn’t mean to.

Reluctantly, I tore my gaze away from Arrow, heading through town on foot.

When I became a snitch for The Reckless Order, it had been a stupid mistake. Especially since it increased the chances of crossing Arrow’s path at any time.

But I didn’t try to get out of it either.

Dropping the name of a biker into casual conversation around here turned out to be a powerful tool to have. All I had to do was mention Hillbilly, or Psycho, or Ironside, and suddenly, people were willing to tell me anything I wanted to know.

These men held a certain level of power in this town, and I had to admit, it was a little intoxicating.

A gust of autumn wind made me shiver in my jacket. Winter in Juniper Creek could be brutal, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. The snow was magical and breathtaking, but the temperatures could drop well below zero. I’d endured many bitterly cold nights, huddled in the back of the ancient Range Rover I bought two years ago.