Page 20 of Timber's Girl

"Then you better figure whatever the hell it is out before you hurt yourself. Your body is shaking like a goddamn leaf right in front of me. Are you sleeping? Eating?"

I don't answer.

Of course, I haven't slept. That’s the story of my life. My fuzzy brain tries to remember what I ate last. A bag of chips with whiskey yesterday?

“Shit… What happened with you and Lindy? Faith isn’t talking, but I know something went down,” he says.

“Leave it,” I warn. Escaping his sharp perusal, I stomp away from Alaska without another word, unwrap my hands in the locker room, and grab my phone and wallet. Forget showering. I’m too wired to stay here any longer.

The sweat on my skin cools a little from the breeze outside, and I climb onto my bike before squealing out of the parking lot.

Alaska doesn’t need to worry about me.

I'm fine.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LINDY

“What are you going to do?” Kat asks, uncharacteristically serious. It’s book club night with the girls, and we’re all huddled in Caroline’s living room with spiked apple cider and a plethora of cozy blankets and pillows, a fire roaring in the stone fireplace.

Everyone knows about the sick episode at Rust, my subsequent rescue by Gideon, which then led to our date and my major freak-out. I’ve had days to contemplate my next move, plus a therapy session thrown in for good measure.

Sighing, I savor a sip of my cider before replying, “Apologize. Explain what was going on in my head.”

“That’s good,” Faith says from her position across from me. “I’m not sure if you want to hear this, but Alaska said Timber isn’t doing too well. He’s been grinding too hard at the gym then overdrinking with the prospects, and you know he never loses control like that.”

Caroline and Amelie nod in agreement. Both of them are familiar with Timber’s usual demeanor because of how close their partners—Snow and Grim—are with their MC brother.

“Ugh, don’t tell me that.” I cover my face with a groan. “I feel bad enough already. He was so sweet and gentlemanly on our date. Really that’s how he always acts. Then I screwed it all up by letting my past with Dean rear its ugly head.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. You had a totally valid reaction, and Timber will understand. If he doesn’t, then he’s not the guy for you. He’s not the man any of us think he is.” Beth squeezes my arm.

Studying the five women who’ve become my closest friends this year, a wave of gratitude spills over. It was Dean and I for months after I isolated myself from the people around me. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to make friends until I reached out to Caroline for help, and she invited me into her life—finding this cabin for me, introducing me to her book club friends.

Another wash of tears threatens to fall. “Gah!” I tip my head back and blink rapidly to ward them off. “You guys are going to make me cry again. Stop being so nice to me,” I joke.

Kat grins, returning to her usual mischievous self. “Never. You’re stuck with us, babe. Forever and ever, amen.” She launches into the old country song and is quickly joined by the other women until laughter prevents another round of the chorus.

Feeling lighter than I have in a week, I set aside my nerves about talking to Gideon and focus on this—a group of strong, supportive women here for the long haul.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LINDY

An opportunity to chat with Gideon arrives the next night when the club celebrates MC VP Fox’s birthday and his work to solidify the deal with McCoy Security, a local firm who will handle the majority of the Reaper’s Wolves security needs from now on.

Gideon is on the sidelines with a few club prospects, a beer in hand, and I swear I feel his eyes on me every so often, but whenever I check, he’s focused on the conversation happening around him rather than me.

“No time like the present,” Amelie says, staring pointedly at the man in question. Caroline and Faith follow her sightline and nod in encouragement.

Time to woman up.

Blowing out a hard exhale, I swallow the last of my water bottle—alcohol is off-limits for the time being considering what went down at Rust—and head toward the other side of the room. Rock music blares in the background as I weave through groups of Reaper’s Wolves members, biker bunnies, and townie friends of each.

When Gideon is within hearing distance, my chin tips to the side, gesturing down the hall. “Can we talk in private for a minute?”

The wary expression on his face morphs into surprise, before he nods and follows me away from the loud party to an empty room dominated by a large conference table and chairs.

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