Losing Track (26 page)

Guilt pools in my stomach, and I almost ask him to leave. But then I remember why I even wanted him here in the first place; to help him relax. It’s the least I can do after he did help me today. Getting me past the cravings so I could ride and at least win one race. That high far outmatched the one burning through me now, that’s for damn sure.

But this one isn’t bad.

I scoot off the armrest and plunk down onto the seat. Bounce a couple of times to get closer to him.

“Mel…come on.” He rolls his shoulders, easing himself away from my close proximity. “Look, falling off the wagon is a part of recovery. I’m not judging. I’ve been there.” He finally looks me in the eyes. “But I can choose
not
to commiserate with you while you’re hurting yourself.”

My mouth tightens into a clenched frown. “God, why do you do that?”

His head jerks back. “What?”

“Just…” I shake my head, trying to find the right words. “Just so preachy. I get it, okay? You do what you do to stay on track.” I run my fingers loosely through my hair, massaging my scalp. It feels so soothing. “Just don’t push it on me. Especially right now. Not feeling it.”

He huffs out a long breath. “Fine.”

He’s all tense again. Ugh. I scoot another inch closer to him, so our thighs touch. “We ever going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

No response.

“Okay, then I’ll just dive in.” I lean in close to him, rest my arm against the back of the couch. “Why do you brawl, Boone?” I trace a finger over the bruise purpling his cheek.

Looking down, he rubs a hand across his forearm, drawing my attention to the colorful tats decorating his skin. Finally, he shrugs. “If we’re going to play twenty questions, you have to answer honestly when it’s your turn.” He cocks his head in my direction and raises his eyebrows.

Yeah, I don’t like how he’s spinning this. But since I don’t have cable, or anything else entertaining here, I might as well play along until I don’t want to play anymore. “Deal,” I say.

Holding my gaze, he says, “I already told you that I lost someone close to me. But I didn’t tell you how.” He pauses, and I can see him debating just how much to reveal. “His name was Hunter. I just…I should’ve been the one watching out for him, but I always bailed. And that night, I got high—like really fucking high—and did what I did best back then. Found some chick to bang. Because being high and fucking was pretty much all that mattered.”

I want to tell him that it’s okay—that most guys pretty much roll like that. But I know he’s not done. There’s an ending to this average story that’s not so average, that will change everything, because obviously, it changed him. I bite my bottom lip, antsy, waiting. The crank working itself more into my bloodstream by the second. It’s hard to keep still.

“Anyway,” he huffs out. “The person Hunter was with wasn’t stable. She was a user, too, and she shot up more than her usual. She OD’d. Which would have been tragic enough on its own, but she was driving at the time…and they said she started convulsing. With Hunter in the car.”

Shit. I rest my hand on his arm. He doesn’t have to say it, to finish. I know the outcome.

“I was the one called in to identify them both. High. High like a motherfucker, looking down at the two, still bodies. And I could’ve just cashed out right then. Just ended it. I wanted to. But I’m a fucking coward. As guilty as I felt, as much blame as I owned, all I could do was think about getting another fix to dull my senses. To not think about them. About Hunter.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes wide, and shakes his head. “When I finally did decide to stop using, I found out that being sober sucked.” I allow myself to offer him a slight smile. “Everything you don’t think about while high, well, it pounds the hell out of you when you’re not. Demanding to be heard. I nearly lost myself in the guilt over what happened, and I couldn’t function. I decided that everything I enjoyed while high had to go.”

I lick my lips, my mouth so dry. “You cut out sex.”

He nods. “Yep.”

“Not because it’s a trigger…” I prompt.

“No, well, I guess it can be. But honestly, I went celibate because I was more concerned about getting a piece of ass than what was happening to Hunter that night. So it had to go. I couldn’t have sex without seeing his face, feeling like shit, so it had to end. Along with my old friends, places I hung out, everything.”

This is so messed up. For someone who acts like they have it all together, have all the answers, Boone is wrong. “I’m sorry, Boone. I really am. What happened to your friend, it was a horrible accident. But you do understand that’s what it was, right? An accident? I’m sure your counselors have preached this to you, but you need to hear it from me.” I reach over and palm his cheek, turn his face toward me. “You didn’t kill your friend. Hunter’s death, though tragic and maybe avoidable, was not your fault.”

As the words leave my mouth, I hear all the things said to me at Stoney. Things I blocked out—not willing to hear because I full-on knew Darla’s death was my fault. But saying them now, to Boone, I feel that blame slowly start to dissolve. I never would’ve done anything on purpose to hurt Dar. Ever.

Doesn’t make the guilt stop—but it might be a start.

His hazel eyes glaze over, red, on the brink of shedding tears. But he coughs, clearing his throat, and blinks. A tough guy’s way of stopping the waterworks. “So yeah, after I didn’t have anything in my life but the pain and guilt, I went a little—” he struggles to say the rest “—crazy. I got into a fight one night with this real douchebag. He was in a checkout line, giving the girl ringing him up a hard time, and I just hauled off and punched him.”

I can’t help it, I laugh. Imagining ultra-straightedge, always-in-control Boone losing his shit in the middle of a store—well, it’s not funny, but it’s amusing. “That’s how you got started with the backyard brawling?”

“No, that’s how I found out that I had an outlet. I actually didn’t beat the shit out of the guy. I stopped and ended up letting him kick my ass. It felt right. And afterward, I slept that night. I hadn’t slept a full night since Hunter died. And for a split second, my conscience was clear. I ached and bruised and was locked up, but the all-consuming pain was less than it was the day before.”

“Then that’s when you went looking for it.”

He nods. “I play the part at Stoney. Tell a story and talk to counselors, putting on a good show to keep me in line. But the real release, the freedom from my addiction owning
me
, comes from getting my face punched in.”

“Damn. Do you even know how warped that is?” I dip my head, finding his eyes. “You’re punishing yourself. I mean, what if the next time you don’t walk away from the fight?”

Something seems to resonate within him, his features conveying acceptance. Shit. This guy has a death wish.

“I know,” he says. “But how much more warped is living a user’s lifestyle, Mel? That’s rolling the dice every day, isn’t it? I don’t think an addict can ever truly be a healthy individual. I mean, shit. Who the hell is really mentally healthy, anyway? But brawling, I at least have control over that. I say when, who, how long. And it doesn’t hurt anyone else. Not even me. Because I get more benefit from it than injury. It’s better than a prescription.” His gaze is so intense, my breath halts. “It sure beats the hell out of lame ass NA meetings.”

“At least you admit they’re lame,” I say, pushing my hair away from my shoulders. “You should have owned up to this a while ago, we would’ve had so much more to talk about.”

This gets a tiny, crooked smile, and I can see he’s relieved I’m not probing further on his relationship with Hunter. For all I know, the guy
is
gay. Or maybe bi-sexual. He swore once before that he wasn’t, but maybe that’s only because he didn’t want to think about it. Have me ask questions. I mean, he did have a hard-on at the lake. But then, that could be nearly a year’s worth of pent-up sexual frustration needing to vent.

Regardless, I like seeing this side of Boone. The reckless, get-out-of-my-way rebel. It’s hot. And he needs to know that he can move on. Especially since he admitted that sex isn’t a trigger for him. He’s only punishing himself.

I push off the couch.

“Where are you going? It’s your turn to answer some unpleasant and uncomfortable questions.”

On my way to the bathroom, I say, “I’ll be right back.” If I’m going to commit to this, I can’t be the least bit sober. I don’t want to harbor any guilt for what I’m about to do.

Boone

Taste only yearning, make me full

I NEED TO GET the fuck out of here.

Mel’s been in the bathroom longer than needed, and I know
she
knows I’m aware of what’s going down in there. She’s got a stash. I’m pretty sure it’s not blow, because she’s more than skeeted up; she’s overly wired and teetering on sketchy.

Jesse looked like he was jacked on meth. And if that’s what she’s on, then she’s not coming down for a long while. Only thing I can do is keep her from getting bored, going out and doing something that might get her hurt, until she comes down. Which won’t be pretty.

My own cravings are through the freaking roof. Just knowing she has a bag of something in there is causing my hands to slick with sweat. My stomach to roil with cramps. It’s for just this reason I choose to be a loner. I should have kept it that way.

I’m two seconds from walking out the door, needing to put my fist through something, when Mel exits the bathroom.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “We were getting somewhere. Don’t ruin it.”

I exhale, so tired my bones ache. But I commit to staying just long enough to make sure she won’t up and leave the moment I do. “All right, then. My turn.”

As she thunks down beside me, close enough for me to smell the girly-scented shampoo she uses, I curl my hands into fists and ask my question. “Did Jesse…take advantage of you?”

Her face pales. “Fuck, Boone. What kind of question—?”

“Did he?” With everything she said back at the bar, I got the clear impression something as fucked up as that went down between them. Which is why I cannot understand how in the hell she’s still hanging around the asshole.

If she wasn’t coasting on losing her shit earlier tonight, he’d be a dead man right now.

Mel shakes her head. “No. I mean,
no
. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience…but I was really fucked up. And we’ve had sex before.”

“Doesn’t mean a guy can’t rape someone he’s had sex with before,” I counter. She’s smarter than this.

She blanches, then recovers quickly, anger evident on her face. “Hey. We were getting it on, and I’d just shot up. I started to spiral, like really hard. I did change my mind…but it was too late. I don’t think he heard me, or noticed how messed up I was. He was way messed up too, and just really caught up in the moment.”

“That’s not what you said in your sudden moment of clarity back there.” I jerk my head, indicating back at the bar. “You seemed to blame him. And I think that’s the truth. Look, shit happens when you’re fucked up. I know. But regardless of how high I was, ever, I never forced myself on a girl. Shit, there’s been many times I could’ve. They probably wouldn’t have even remembered the next day. But that’s beyond fucked up. Even if he didn’t realize right in that moment…he sure as shit knew afterward.”

She’s fidgeting with her pink bandana. Agitated. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. So much shit went down that night—I’ve swept it all away. It may come up during a bad moment here and there, but it’s so far down on my list of concerns. Of what matters. Of what counts…” she trails off, lost in her own thoughts. And I realize this convo needs to happen when she’s clear-headed.

I change the subject before I get so pissed off I end up hunting Jesse down. “What’s with the pink bandana?”

“Uh-uh, that’s two questions.” She waggles her slender finger at me.

“The first doesn’t count. Because you’re still battling the truth, I don’t think you can actually answer.”

This makes her even more frustrated, and she tugs the bandana from her wrist and holds it out. “Because women can’t join the MC, my friend and I decided we’d wear our own colors. We’d be our own little MC together. So that’s what it is.”

I smile. “So you really are a Pink Lady.”