Page 5 of Timber's Girl

Surely, this didn’t get me drunk. It’s less than we drink during one of our book club girls’ nights.

Someone bumps my elbow in passing, and I careen forward before bracing against the wall.Okay, breathe, maybe you need some fresh air to shake off the effects of the alcohol.Focusing on my new destination, I slowly make my way to the door Martha and I entered hours ago.

Every few minutes I stop and rest, fearing I may really vomit in front of all these strangers, then start moving again once the nauseous feeling recedes.

Sweat gathers uncomfortably on my body. The ruched fabric of my dress itches, and I keep swallowing that distinctive flavor that coats your tongue before throwing up.

Just keep moving. Breathe.

Oh god, I need to sit down again.

Lurching toward an empty place on the wall, I accidently fall into a couple making out in the shadows.

Sorry, I think. My tongue feels too thick, making speech a struggle.

"Are you okay?” A girl asks from my periphery.

“I… I’m f—” Before I can finish my sentence, I collapse over one of the many barrels set up throughout the space. Whether they’re purely decorative or actual trashcans doesn’t matter to me as I hack up everything I’ve had tonight—the beer and a quick TV dinner of turkey and potatoes. A chill washes over me as I cling to the scratchy metal.

This is my home now.

Trapped and sick and so fucking alone.

Where the hell is Martha?

I should call Caroline.

Or Timber…

A shadow crosses over my white-knuckled hands.

It’s the last thing I see before I finally pass out.

CHAPTER FIVE

TIMBER

Damn. Shit. Fuck.I catch Lindy before she hits the ground.

"Oh my god! What’s wrong with her?” The woman clinging to her girlfriend studies Lindy’s lax body with morbid curiosity.

Hefting Lindy higher against my chest, I ignore the question and head outside as Ranger and Grim trail my steps. It’s pure coincidence that we’re at Rust tonight. Despite the crowd, the club isn’t doing too well, and the owner is looking to sell. With the recent loss of Club Wolf, the Reaper’s Wolves have been debating rebuilding from scratch, but remodeling a standing structure like Rust might be better for us.

We’d just wrapped up our meeting with the owner when I spotted Lindy’s familiar red head staggering across the club floor. It was obvious something was wrong from the unsteady way she walked, but I never expected her to collapse into a dead faint.

“Is she drunk? That doesn’t seem like her,” Ranger says from my side.

“No, it doesn’t,” I grit through clenched teeth. I caught the tailend of a conversation between Caroline and Snow at the clubhouse, where she mentioned Lindy hanging out with an old coworker tonight. The news had filled my gut with pride.

Lindy’s stretching her wings past the safety of the MC and her book club friends. She’s collecting the pieces of her past, rebuilding relationships—something that gives me hope for the future.

But I hate that her night out is ending like this. Passed out after puking her guts out.

The Reaper’s Revamp truck is a welcome sight a few minutes later, as is the soft breeze blowing away the stench of sweaty bodies. I delivered a completed paint job before the Rust meeting, necessitating the larger vehicle versus my Harley, and I send up a prayer of thanks.

No way Lindy would’ve been able to ride home on the back of my bike with the way she’s feeling.

She fidgets in my arms, slowly returning to consciousness.

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