Page 16 of Lost Lyrebird
Bodie, Dozer, and Cap—our president—are the only people who know about Elle, and why I’m not able to remember.Bodie, because he was there before, when she was my world, and after, when I had no fucking clue she existed.He’d never met her, but I’d talked about her on that last tour.Dozer, because one night over a bottle of Jack, we were commiserating over the women we’d lost while overseas.And I told Cap when I prospected into the club, so he knew my weaknesses and the drawbacks.
“You gonna tell me if that girl isn’t her, you’re not interested?”
“I didn’t say that,” I grumble.I’m interested, but do I really have anything to offer a girl like that?And what about Elle?
“That’s what I thought.”He sighs.“Look, man, I get it.Elle was pretty amazing.But there are a ton of other fish in the sea.If you haven’t noticed, they keep swimming around you like sharks waiting for a piece.Pretty fish.Fun fish.Exotic fish.Slippery-when-wet fish.Fish that will let you—”
My head begins to pound again.“I swear to God, you should come with a warning label and a gag.”I pinch the bridge of my nose, though it does little to relieve the ache building there.
“You should hitch a ride with this chick to the hospital.Have Alister check you out.”
I’ve been checked out by Alister many, many times.“Nah, I’m good.”
“They seem worse.”
They are, but I didn’t know it was obvious.
“You takin’ the meds he gives you?”
The drugs.“Which ones?The ones that make me nauseous, the ones that turn me into a walking zombie, or the ones that make me a temperamental asshole like Rick the Dick?Or how about the ones that cause me to sleepwalk?”Barrels of fun when you wake up in the dead of the night, standing in the middle of your yard in nothing but your briefs—pills which also have the side effect of making me sleep so deep that I don’t dream, and if I do, I don’t remember shit upon waking.And I can’t afford not to dream.I need my dreams to find her.They’re windows into the past.
Either way, it’s a no-win situation, and I’m sick of trying shit that doesn’t work.So, I ignore his question and stand up.
“Brother…”
“I’ve got it under control.”
No more drugs.No more surgeries.I’m done with trying shit that only fucks me up more.
He mutters, “By that, you mean you’ll ignore them until they fuckin’ kill you.Good plan, man.Let me know how that fuckin’ works out for you.”He holds up a hand.“Oh wait, I forgot, you won’t be able to, because when your fuckin’ brain explodes, you’ll be lyin’ in a pine box.Genius.Why the fuck didn’t I think of it?”He glares up at me, and the righteous anger is so unlike him that I pause in my retort.
Looking down at the girl, he mutters, “I’ll make sure they put ‘Died because my stupid ass wouldn’t listen to the doctor’ on your headstone.”
“You should really go see a doctor if they’re that bad,” the girl chimes in.“My aunt had headaches like that, and she ended up having a tumor.”
Great!Just fucking great.
Uncomfortable with a stranger calling me out on my shit, I thread my hands through my hair, pushing it away from my face.“I’m fine.He’s exaggerating.It’s what he does.”
Bodie glares so hard his dimples invert.He opens his big mouth again, but light spills into the room, distracting him.Raven guides the EMTs inside.They stabilize and load the girl into the ambulance.
I hop on my bike to follow them, make sure she gets checked out, and give the hospital my info for the bill.
I don’t see Alister, the club-designated doctor on call for our drama.I don’t need to.I’m already certain no doctor can fix what’s broken inside my head.
CHAPTER 4
How does one let go of the need to do unto others as they’ve done unto you?
I dig through my bag for the hotel room key, my fingers clumsy, unsteady.When I finally get a hold of it, it slips from my grasp and clatters to the floor.My hands are shaking as I bend down to snatch it up.It takes three tries before I manage to jam the key card into the lock.I push the door open and stumble inside, slamming it shut behind me.
I lean my forehead against the door, eyes squeezed tight, and let go of all the emotion I’ve caged in.I clench my fists until my nails dig painfully into my palms.
His voice—his motherfucking voice—a low tenor like a slow whirl of smoke, a velvety caress to the ear.The husky edge to each word and how it sent a kindling of warmth through me, like a finely aged Cognac after the most brutal day.
My memory of his voice didn’t do it justice.
And yet, his first words to me stabbed brutally and twisted a knife deeper, splitting old wounds wider.The poison they carry spreads like venom through my bloodstream.
