Losing Track (37 page)

I hug her, feeling the frailness of her body, and despite her aversion for human touch, she wraps her arms around me, offering me something few people receive from her. Her trust.

Nurse Bridge nods toward the door. “It’s time. I think someone’s been waiting for you all morning.”

As we leave the community area of Stoney Creek, I say my goodbyes. To Doc Sid and the other counselors, a few friends I made, and the faculty. But I hug Nurse Bridge the longest. I’m going to miss my big mama and Ari the most.

After I sign myself out, I toss my garbage bag over my shoulder and step through the doors. The bright morning sun welcomes me back into the world, and standing in the parking lot, grin on his face, another welcome awaits.

Leaning against his bobber, shades lowered and wearing a gorgeous smile hiking up one side of his face, lone dimple just for me, Boone stands with his hands sunk in his jean pockets.

If this was a movie, this would be the part where the camera zooms in and captures his cocky smile, gorgeous as hell. Then pans to me, stepping out of rehab, reuniting with the guy who I’ll start my new life with. Close-up of my face as I smile.

Role credits.

But it’s not a movie. And it’s not someone else’s story. It’s mine, and the story damn sure doesn’t end here.

He meets me halfway and wraps his arms around me, bringing me in for a hug. “Longest fucking twenty-eight days ever. I missed you.”

“Hell, I missed you more.” I nuzzle my nose into his chest, savoring his fresh, manly scent, loving this perfect spot I found that’s all mine. It’s like coming home in a way I’ve never felt before.

Boone pulls back and nods his head toward the lot. “I know I’m going to get some mad ass when you see what I managed to do.”

My gaze travels to where his bike is parked, and next to it, my Breakout. “Holy shit. Yes, you’re going to get some mad ass, and then some. Sam and Holden? They for real rode my bike down here all the way from New York? Shit, I would’ve loved to seen that.”

He chuckles. “Oh, yeah. They did. And then I rode mine here, took a cab back, and drove yours here. Damn, girl. You’re demanding. I hope I earned some points here.”

I laugh and follow him to our rides. And as excited as I am to embark on this next journey, a sudden moment of panic spikes my blood. Boone must sense my hesitation, because he stops right before we reach the bikes.

“It’s not now or never, Mel. We can wait till you’re ready.”

I shake my head. “I’m ready. I am. It’s been too long already.” I plop my bag down and dig out my clothes, transferring them into the tote Boone stowed on the back of my seat. The envelopes are next—Boone’s handwritten letters.

While I was in rehab—this time by my own choice—Boone started counseling sessions with an anger management specialist. As much as I wanted to see him in the halls, have him near for when I struggled, the added support, I knew he’d become a crutch for me. I have to find my own coping mechanisms, so that he doesn’t become one of them. I needed time on my own to focus on my issues and myself, and he needed to seek healthier outlets. A counselor Jacquie arranged three times a week verses sharing Hunter’s story as his own and brawling.

Damn, we’re a fucked up pair—but who ever said anything was easy?

His letters were a comfort, though; hearing him making progress in the real world gave me faith that we’d find our own way. A better way. But first, there’s a promise I have to keep.

“It’s a long ride. Are you sure you don’t want to rest first and head out tomorrow?”

Strapping my tote to the back of my seat, I say, “No way, and give Jacquie the chance to change her mind? I’ve been counting down the days until I could give Florida the ol’ middle finger salute goodbye.”

Boone chuckles. “And yet, the fact that you’re now following the rules doesn’t seem to hinder your bad girl image at all.”

I reach over and lightly punch his arm. “Are you trying to start some shit? You want me to get all rowdy on you?”

As I move in for another playful punch, Boone traps my wrist and pulls me to him. He gazes down into my eyes, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I would love nothing more.” Then his lips lower to mine, caressing them into a tender kiss.

With my hands trapped behind my back, I lift up onto my toes to match the passion in his kiss.

The deal Jacquie and I struck was simple: instead of handing my case over to a judge to decide my fate, I admitted I had a problem. Checked myself back into rehab. And if I got positive feedback from my counselors, I could get off of probation early with my license back to boot.

It’s amazing what can happen when you work
with
the system, instead of against it. But you didn’t hear those words from me. It goes against every value I once held close—what my father taught me, what the MC instilled in me—but the truth is, all that’s still a part of me, it’s just not the only part.

I’m all about the layers these days.

Like Sam’s dead trees. I like to think of my heartwood in layers. There’s some brittle places, a broken limb or two, even some death. But there’s also new growth, sprouting around the decay, healing, and transforming my tree into something amazingly beautiful and new.

And as I wriggle free of Boone’s hold, linking my arms around his neck, I’m more than eager to explore all the new layers with this guy of mine.

He pulls back enough to whisper against my lips, “Let’s go. Before I change my mind and steal you away to somewhere private.”

“We’ll find plenty of little clandestine places for that on the road.” I give him a wink.

Then I’m saddling my Breakout, loving the tingle seizing my stomach as I kick-start the engine. My baby roars to life, awakening the rider’s soul deep within me, and an irrepressible smile curls my lips.

I dip into my back pocket and tug out Dar’s pink bandana. I wrap it around my wrist, letting her know I’ll be there soon. I don’t plan to let her father keep me away or have the final say; she’s coming with me. Where she belongs.

Then I tie my own bandana around my neck and pop my helmet over my head.

As Boone rides ahead of me, leading the way back to my hometown, I know we have a long road ahead of us. The bumps and detours will happen. Some pit stops longer than others. And I may even fall a few times.

But once you’ve lost track, it’s not impossible to find your way again. Hope is the key.

No matter how painful the well-worn track marks of your past—you
can
pave a new future. That path before me is lined with hope.

And, hey. I have a mean ass ride for the journey.

Boone

Some Years Down the Road

I’M A FUCKING MESS.

I got the call first thing this morning. My throat closed up, unable to respond to the person on the other end of the line. My stomach a ball of knots, my feet already carrying me off the job and to my bike, giving no explanations as I hung up the phone and peeled away.

Now, walking through the hospital’s emergency doors, the quick rush of cool air hits my face, sending a shock to my system. And as I approach the counter, I can barely force the words from my mouth.

The receptionist just stares at me, eyes wide. Then, “Can I help you?”

I nod. “Uh, yeah. Melody Lachlan? She was admitted this morning?”

The lady inhales a deep breath and turns to her computer screen. She starts typing, then pauses. I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. Then she types some more. Fuck shit. Come
on
!

Agitation hikes my defenses, so when she turns and says, “Do you have identification?” I take off toward the side door leading to the emergency rooms.

“Sir! You have to fill out—”

But I don’t stop to hear the rest. I’m pushing through door after door, winding down the maze of halls. Nothing is going to keep from her—paperwork be damned.

Finally, I spot a nurse who looks like she has a clue. “Can you tell me which room is Melody Lachlan’s?”

She looks me over and shakes her head. “You didn’t get a pass—”

“Please,” I beg her, forcefully unclenching my fists. “I just have to—is she okay? I can’t be late.”

Pushing the strands of blond hair away from her eyes, she cocks her head to the side and lets a smile slip. “First time?”

That question doesn’t gut me as badly as I expect. Maybe because I’ve been preparing myself for it for months. Or maybe because I’m too concerned for Mel in this moment to process it fully.

I simply nod. “Can I see her? Please?”

A sympathetic frown pulls her lips down, and she nods. “Come on.”

My feet swallow the distance, each step bringing me closer, but it feels like I’m walking in slow motion. The flickering lights above cause me to blink, trying to wake myself from this dream-like, surreal moment.

When she stops at a door, I hold my breath until she pulls it open. And I see Mel lying on the hospital bed.

“He’s going to have to fill out paperwork,” the nurse tells a groggy Melody. “But if I didn’t let him back here, I fear he would’ve had a breakdown.”

A slow smile twists her mouth as I move to her side and take her hand. “Are you all right?”

She raises her eyebrows above deep brown eyes. The red in them making my heart bang painfully against my chest. “I’m fine,” she says, voice raw. “Just wiped.”

I kiss her forehead and brush her damp hair back away from her face. “I’m sorry I’m late. I literally just got the call.”

She laughs. “Well, someone was in a rush, I’ll tell you that. I don’t think they were even going to wait for me.”

I look down at her, my heartbeat finally slowing enough for me to take in her appearance. The flatness of her belly. The tubes in her arms. The light blue hospital gown. Her face is a bit swollen, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Until I glimpse the tiny person being carried into the room.

My throat constricts, and I don’t think I have enough room in my soul to encompass all the love filling me.

“Baby,” Mel says. “Meet your daughter.”

The nurse places the sleeping baby girl in my arms despite my awkward attempt to hold her just right. I cradle her head, my arms stretched out before me, until I feel safe enough to bring her close.

She’s so tiny…just so small. So precious. My gaze takes in every inch of her—short dark hair matted to her delicate head; little eyelashes brushing her pink cheeks. Then her eyes open. Bright blue irises gaze up at me, stealing my breath. My own eyes cloud over. I blink the tears back and exhale a wobbly breath.

“Do you have a name picked out yet?” the nurse asks.

I glance up to catch Mel looking at us. Tears are gathered in their corners, and she blinks and wipes them away. She nods to the nurse. “Yeah, we do.” She beams at me. “Darla Hunter Randall.”

The nurse says, “That’s beautiful, Melody.”

Bringing little Darla with me, I sit on the chair beside the bed. Transfer our baby daughter into Mel’s arms, and wrap mine around the pillow to get as close to her as possible. “Ready for this adventure?” I ask her.

“Oh, yeah.” She laughs, and I love the sound of it. So much. “But I don’t think we’re going to get the car seat on the back of your bike. Have another plan?”

I press my lips to the top of her head, and whisper, “For you…always.”

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