Page 4 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Birds chirping. Children shouting. The crunch of metal.
Name two things you can smell.
Leaking gasoline. Burnt rubber on pavement.
Name one thing you can taste.
Regret.
I slowed to a stop, placing my hands on my knees as I tried to catch my breath. My lungs burned nearly as much as my grief as I shoved the memories back.
Three years later and the guilt still crashed through me in unforgiving waves. I sucked in sharp, ragged breaths, but it seemed like the oxygen was sucked out of the air. I squatted on the side of the trail, and the world spun for a moment.
“You OK, ma’am?” a man asked as he and his wife walked past, their faces creased with concern.
I nodded and flashed a thumbs-up as I averted my gaze from them. “I’m fine,” I lied.
I pulled the small backpack from my shoulders, digging for the medication at the bottom with shaky hands. I swallowed the pill dry and chased it with a splash of warm water.
You can’t run from grief, I reminded myself. But that didn’t mean I had to face it.
Tonight, I’d do the next best thing.
Drink.
Eva insisted on picking me up, clearly intending to foil my plan to leave the party early. But at this point, I was ready to surrender and end the night completely hammered with no memory of why this day made my chest ache.
She chattered about a recent meeting with a local editor while I snuggled Hawk, her Malinois puppy, in the front seat. When we pulled up to the clubhouse, I took in the scene before me. A row of Harleys lined the driveway, each with gleaming chrome and shimmering paint jobs. An irresponsibly large bonfire crackled in the yard, its smoke curling around the surrounding Adirondack chairs.
“I’m glad you came,” Eva said. “I need my best friend.”
I offered a small smile. “For you, I’d join a cult. Which, technically, isn’t that what this club is?”
Eva rolled her eyes. “Smart-ass. It’s not a cult. It’s a club.”
“If I get kidnapped by bikers tonight, you’re explaining it to my mom.”
“Oh, fuck that. I’d rather be tied up beside you than have to call your mom.”
As soon as we parked, I beelined for the makeshift bar and poured myself a whiskey on the rocks in a plastic red cup.
“Thought you were never drinking again,” Eva teased as she tipped a bottle of water into a bowl for Hawk.
“Desperate times,” I deadpanned, forcing a smirk. I wondered how she could forget. I considered reminding her, but then I’d have to see her blue-gray eyes mist and answer endless questions about how I felt. And talking about my feelings wasn’t exactly high on my list for the evening.
Eva looped an arm through mine as she insisted on another round of introductions amidst the low thrum of laughter, chatter, and country music.
“You introduced me to almost everyone last week,” I whined as I tried to pull away. “Reaper, back me up here.”
Reaper held up his palms, his tall frame backing away. “Nope. I find it’s best just to do as she says.”
I scowled at him. “You’re not nearly as tough as you look.”
Reaper laughed, waving me off as he walked away with the pup biting at his heels. The man might have been a hardened biker and veteran, but he was a marshmallow when it came to Eva.
The parade of names and faces began again. A few I’d met already. Don and Maisie, a sweet couple that would fit in at a retirement home if they weren’t clad in leather cuts. Linc, a wiry, dark-eyed man who looked exactly like his brother, Reaper, but seemed younger and lighter.
Eva dragged me across the yard to another group.
