Page 4 of The Fire We Crave

I hiss and wince as he applies pressure to my burns, and Atom lets go quickly. “Shit, brother. I’m sorry.”

Now that I’m here, I wonder if I shouldn’t have just lain down on that mountain slope and let the flames burn the flesh from my bones.

But I can’t say any of that out loud. With the inquiry and everything else, I need to be more certain than I’ve ever been. I can’t allow myself to sink into a depressive place where I can’t remember the details clearly.

“How are you feeling?” Atom asks.

That’s a loaded question given the dream I had on the plane and the thoughts racing around in my head.

“Glad to be home,” I lie. “So, now that we’re face-to-face, you want to tell me what the fuck you were thinking, hooking up with Butcher’s daughter?”

I mean it light-heartedly. Ember’s an attractive girl with a Stevie Nick’s vibe. A little boho around the edges. Would be lying if I said I’d never considered what hooking up with her would feel like if I didn’t think Butcher, my president, would rip my balls off. But then, before the accident, I’d also have thought the same about the blonde who checked me in at the airport and the flight attendant with the bubble butt who paid me extra attention on the plane.

Atom yanks my two heavy backpacks off the cart I put them on. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know over our first beer. But stop dodging my question and tell me how you’re doing.”

We walk out of the airport towards the truck. “I’m fine.”

“Shit fucking answer.”

I shrug. “Best one I’ve got, for now.”

Atom looks at me carefully as we stop at a crosswalk. We’ve known each other a long time. He knows my answer is bullshit; so do I.

“Look, don’t want to talk about it. Let me get home. Get adjusted. See how we go from there.”

“You got two days,” Atom says. “Bottling shit is no way to live.”

“I’m not bottling shit. Tell me what’s happening with the club.”

Atom sighs, accepting, if not agreeing, with the choice I’m making. On the ride home, he fills me in on what I missed. We spoke periodically while I was away, but club business isn’t something you discuss on public-access Wi-Fi or phone lines that can be traced.

As we leave the airport and the landscape opens in front of me, a little of the pressure in my chest eases, until I see a message from Johnny appear on my phone.

I swipe it away without reading it.

The sun is still high, burning the Colorado skyline into green, copper, and gold. I can scent the lack of rain—everything smells scorched with pine sap and hot earth—and for the first time ever, the odor bothers me. I pray for some water to hit the fields soon.

There’s nothing better than watching a storm roll in from the quiet of my back porch. The thought of it eases everything that hurts in my bones. So does the idea of climbing into my own bed, in my own house, in my own non-itchy sheets.

When I get home, there’s a car that I don’t recognize in the driveway.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“I’ll bring the bags in while you find out.”

For a moment, I consider arguing, but I know looking out for people is Atom’s love language. I push the front door openand realize my home smells like lemons. Not just a little bit like lemons, but a lot like lemons.

There’s not a speck of dust.

And then I remember, just as she appears around the corner.

“Quinn.”

She’s gotten prettier as she’s gotten older. Still tiny though. That thick, rich, auburn hair she always wore in a braid is now loose in smooth waves around her shoulders. Her wide, hazel eyes are far more guarded. But I’m still taken back to a time when I dated her sister, before she went missing, and the town all turned and looked at me with suspicion because I was a prospect with a motorcycle club.

I wasn’t allowed to grieve the fledgling relationship we’d had because I was thrust straight into the role of villain. And I’ve carried the weight of not being there to protect her, to stop it all from happening.

Quinn saw me in the street about a month later, and literally ran up to me, screaming, asking where Melody was. I let her pound her tiny fists into my chest until her father came and pulled her away. They all thought I’d killed her.

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