Page 18 of Summer Nights

“President’s son sounds like a bit of a spoiled brat.” I chuckle.

The guys all laugh, nodding their heads. “You’ve got no idea Scar.” Nicky says after the laughter dies down.

“We used to be really good friends with him and his sister.” Pike says, the previous laughter completely gone. The feeling around the group turns sombre.

“When we lost her, he just turned into a wanker. Led Dacre down a really destructive path.”

I turn towards Dacre who is looking at the other guys with remorse. “If it wasn’t for the guys being there for me and not giving up on me, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

My heart clenches at the thought of how bad things got for Dacre and the boys.

“Well, I’m glad that things are okay now?” I question, making sure that it's true.

He nods, a small smile tugging up his lips but it's an empty smile. “Yeah, I’m doing a lot better now. Music has helped a lot as well.”

“You play?” I ask with a note of excitement.

“Yeah, we have a little band. It's nothing crazy, just a hobby we fuck around with when the stress of the outside world gets a bit too much.” Pike smiles.

“That is so cool. Music really is the best remedy for the soul.”

Dacre turns my way and graces me that gorgeous smile of his.

Music was a massive part of my recovery after I came out of my coma. It was the only thing that made sense. Having to trust in the doctors and the word of the woman that insisted she was my Mum, was genuinely terrifying. Having to relearn parts of my previous life while being petrified is something no one should ever have to go through. Eventually things began to calm down once I saw how gentle and kind my Mum was towards me and my confusion. A big help was being able to flick through the photos of us together and seeing the way I reacted in the videos towards her. When things would get too overwhelming for me, she would just pass me headphones and an iPod I had before the accident, I would just get lost in the sounds for hours.

It sends a warm feeling through me knowing that Dacre and I share similarities in that way, even if it is through trauma. No one, not my mother or the numerous doctors I’ve seen over the years has ever been able to understand me when it comes to the trauma I suffered. Even if I can’t ever remember what truly happened, nightmares still plague my dreams.

Not like I can remember a single one of them once I wake up, but the feeling doesn’t leave me. That feeling of utter terror but not having the means to understand why. When I was younger, the nightmares were nightly. Now, I only get one once every so often.

Still, being able to remember them would be handy. I long to get even a glimpse into my memories. Even just a single one. To know my brother. To be able to remember him and our relationship. Were we best friends and joined at the hip like Mum tells me? What kind of kid was he like? What were his favourite things?

A stab of grief runs through me at the thought of what I lost. And what I will never get back.

Chapter Seven

Scarlett

We hang around at the top of Orange Bowl for a little bit longer, laughing and sharing details about our lives. It's so natural. Being around them. Being open and vulnerable and vice versa. Learning about their lives in the club. It doesn’t evade me though that they are still keeping a lot under wraps.

I can understand that though. Sharing information, especially something as delicate as that, can be hard.

Eventually we make our way back down to the bikes we left on the beach. Much to the guys relief and mine as well, we don’t have another run in with a sunbaking snake.

We make our way back up the sand track and to the main road. I vow to bring the guys back to this exact spot as much as we can. Seeing just how much they love the place, sends a warm feeling through me.

We make it back to Yeppoon in record time. A rule my mates and I have had since we brought the bikes is making sure after beach runs, we give the bikes a good cleaning to prevent rust. The bikes may be old, but we put way too much time and effort into these bikes for them to become proper rust buckets.

I turn into the carwash and thankfully all of the bays are empty. I make room for the guys to squeeze their bikes into the closest bay.

I throw my bag off to the side to make sure it doesn’t get wet. I put a heap of gold coins into the machine and grab the spray gun. Being that they are bikes, they don’t take as long to clean as a car would.

The guys all get off the bikes and stand around to wait for me to be done.

They look way too tempting standing around watching me, so as they turn to watch a Harley take off down the road, I quickly flick the spray gun their way drenching them in cold water.

The yelps that come out of each of the guys at the sudden shock, sends a giggle up through my chest but I quickly school my expression and turn to continue washing the bike.

“Fucking hell!”

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