J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forget

This is happening. I’m in Rex’s truck and we’re talking. My heart pounds so hard I hear it in my ears.

Do I tell him who I am? Right now?

Oh, hey, thanks for the ride and by the way I’m your foster sister, you know, the one who promised to protect you and failed. Ugh. I rub my temples. No, I can’t just blurt it out. I don’t know how he feels about me. Maybe he thinks I knew what was going on in that basement and didn’t do anything about it. He could hate my guts. He’d have every right to. Oh God. My stomach churns. What if that’s what he thinks?

The truck shifts as he jumps off the back and walks around to the driver’s side.

He swings open the door and slides in. “CB900. Nice ride. What year?”

Be calm. Don’t blow this. “1980.”

He turns the ignition. “Classic.”

“Hardly.” I pick my nails and look out the window. “More like a classic piece of shit.”

Backing out of the alley, he turns onto the main road. “It’s a flat tire, Mac.” He chuckles and the sound sends warmth through my chest all the way to my fingertips. “I found two nails in the front tire. The bike’s good; it’s where you’re riding that’s fuckin’ it up.”

My cheeks flame. The construction development. That must be where I picked up the nails. Shit. I was so consumed with Rex and his sleepover guest I wasn’t paying attention to what I was riding over. “Point taken.”

“Airing up the tire will do no good. You’ve got holes to patch.”

“What? So . . . um, no gas station?”

He stops at a red light and shifts his body slightly to face me. “No. But I promise to bypass the ditch and drop you at home. Where do you live?”

Oh crap! He’s going to see where I live. Not so much where I live, but how close I live to him. “Um . . . I’m off of 67^th and Kelmore.”

He narrows his eyes. “No shit? That’s by me.”

“Huh.” I laugh and it sounds completely unnatural. “Crazy.”

Stalker. Psycho. Yes, yes, and yes.

Turning right at the light, he heads toward my house. “How long have you been working at The Blackout?”

“Not too long.” I swing my gaze out the side window.

“Nice.”

My knee is bouncing and I can’t think straight. He’s trying to make small talk, and the polite thing to do would be to ask him something surface, but I know everything about him already. Except . . .

“Is your girlfriend cool with you taking home strange women you pick up in dark alleys?” I don’t turn my head to see his expression, afraid of the softness I’ll see in his eyes at the mention of his girlfriend.

“Not sure. I don’t—” His cellphone rings.

I turn just as he nabs it from the center console. What was he about to say?

“Bitch. Thanks for helping us break down and load up.” He sounds half angry, half annoyed. “Yeah, well I hope the pussy was worth it.” He cringes and looks at me apologetically.

I smile. I’ve lived around instability my entire life, been around my fair share of guy talk. Nothing shocks me anymore.

“Right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Later.” He ends the call. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t sweat it. I work in a bar, remember?” I notice where we are. “Oh, take a left here. It’s the ninth house on the right.”

The truck inches down the street. “Nice hood.”

“Thanks. It’s all right, except all the houses look the same. For the first month I lived here I kept pulling into the wrong driveway.”

“I can see that.”

We round to my house, and before the truck comes to a stop, my blood turns ice cold and my muscles tense. Shit, fuck, shit!

Hatch’s Harley is parked in my driveway.

Rex

I pull up to Mac’s house and turn into the driveway. “Sick. Is that a Fatboy?”

She doesn’t answer, and she’s sitting up so straight her back is off the seat. Her eyes are huge and staring at the Harley illuminated by my headlights. I throw the truck in park when the reality of what’s probably going on hits me.

Doesn’t have a man, my ass.

Even if they’re broken up, she’s obviously more than a little unnerved that I’m bringing her home with that dude here.

I turn toward her still-frozen frame. “It’s cool, Mac. I’m not a threat. Let me unload your bike and I’ll be out of here.”

Her head jerks and she swings her gaze to mine. “What?”

I nod to the Fatboy. “Your man, right? I don’t want to cause you any problems.”

“Ew.” Her face twists as if I offered her dog shit. “No, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s kinda my roommate’s.”

The way she stiffened when she saw that bike, there’s no way her and Harley guy don’t have history. I tilt my head and study her, trying to decide whether or not to believe her. No, she’s lying. Unless . . .

Adrenaline races through my veins and I squeeze the steering wheel to keep from making fists. “This dude dangerous? To you and your roommate?”

“Oh, no. I mean he’s got horrible manners and he’s kind of a dick, but that’s it.”

I relax my grip and my shoulders drop. Shit. What am I doing? I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I need to drop this bike off along with the girl who rides it and get to sleep. “Sweet. I’ll get your bike.”

I hop down from the truck and go around the bed, releasing ratchet straps. The low grumble of the garage door gets my attention. I look up briefly only to get stuck staring.

Mac’s ditched the messenger bag that she was wearing like a shield earlier. Her small waist and round hips swing in an unconsciously feminine way as she heads toward me. “I’ll help you walk it down the ramp.”

With what looks like little effort, she hops up on the truck’s back tire and swings her leg into the bed, one after the other. I try not to notice how good her legs look in the skin tight black pants she’s wearing, or how hot it is that she’s sporting a bad-ass pair of black leather biker boots complete with straps and buckles.

She grabs her side of the handlebars and places her other hand on the seat.

I do the same on my side. “Go slow. We’re at an angle.”

Little by little we inch the bike down the ramp to the driveway. She lets it go and I walk it into the garage.

I lean the bike onto its kickstand and motion around the space. “You know what this place needs?”

Her eyebrows pinch together in the cutest way. “What?”

“A car.”

She laughs, but the sound is, I don’t know, strained somehow. “Thanks again for the ride.”

Ah, so she’s getting rid of me. Hint taken.

“Sure thing.” I nod and move back to my truck.

She stands by while I put away my straps and push the bike ramp back into the bed. Every few seconds I take a peek at her and see her gaze shifting from me to her front door. Yep, this guy is definitely her boyfriend, or at least an ex.

Rounding the back of my truck to the front, I give her a final wave. “See ya.”

“Rex, wait.” Fuck, that’s the second time I’ve heard her say my name and the sound pulls me in like a beacon.

She moves across the few yards that separate us. Stepping in close so that there are only inches between us, she tilts her head back to look up at me. The security light above her garage gives me a better look at her face. Her dark eyebrows drop low over eyes so light brown they’re like the color of sand. I breathe in deep and the scent I caught of her in the truck cab is intensified at this proximity: mild coconut and something sweet, like suntan oil and some exotic fruit. She smells like vacation.

Pushing a strand of hair off her cheek, she tucks it behind her ear. “Before you go . . .” Her teeth run along the full cherry-pink flesh of her lower lip, and the sudden urge to taste it flares raw and ugly in my gut. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” She throws a quick look, almost unconsciously, over her shoulder toward her house. “Now’s not the time or place, but I’m afraid if I don’t commit to telling you then you’ll never talk to me again and then I’ll never get that chance back.”

I knew it. This is where she’ll drop the crazy bomb that explains why she’s acting so weird. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing. I offered to help her out; she took me up on the favor. That should be the end of it. But why do I feel the slight sting of rejection at her kicking me out? “Hit me with what you got to say or don’t. I was just helping you out of a tight spot.”

Her long eyelashes flutter a few times as she leans in close. “Can we get together for coffee sometime or maybe—?”

The loud crack of a slammed door spins us both toward the garage. Stepping out from the dark is a guy I recognize immediately.

Motherfucker. What the hell are the chances?

“Oh shit.” Mac takes a few small steps, positioning her back to my front and putting herself between me and the dick from last night.

“What do we have here?” He saunters toward us, his shirt off to freely display his biker affiliations. “Snow White, I didn’t know you were cozy with this butt-lovin’ friend of Dorothy.”

A fire ignites in my gut. I step toward him, but Mac leans back against my hips and stomach.

My lips curl over my teeth. “I’m actually happy to see you again, Tubby. Feels like we didn’t get to finish what we started last night.” I take another step forward. The smell of a Caribbean cocktail wafts just below my nose. I don’t take my eyes off the asshole, inching closer, as Mac digs in her heels to halt my advance.

“Yeah, I bet you want to finish me off.” Hatchet glares. “But I got news for you, pretty boy. I don’t do dudes.”

I lunge into Mac’s back. “You motherfu—”

“Back off, Hatchet,” Mac says, her voice firm and undeniably serious. “Go back inside. Now.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “And if I don’t? What’re you gonna do about it, bitch?”

A strange feeling swells from my stomach to my chest. “Don’t you fucking talk to her, asshole. Your problem’s with me.”

He looks from me to her.

“Don’t fucking look at her either, unless you’re doing it to apologize.” I keep my voice low, hoping to avoid the neighbor’s involvement. The slight tick of his lips says I was loud enough for him to hear.

“Well, well, well, looks like our man’s man got a taste of some pussy and switched teams.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hatchet!” Mac says.

That’s it. I’m already about to jump this fuck for disrespecting a woman in her own driveway, and his verbal taunts are burning like acid.

My hands grip Mac’s shoulders and move her aside. She scrambles against me, but I step past her with ease.

“Rex, no!” She tries to hold me off, but I move quickly right into Hatchet’s face.

“I’ll give you first shot, fucker.” I smile, readying for the lightning pain that’s coming and excited about it. “Look.” I interlace my fingers behind my back. “Won’t even put my hands up.”

Hatchet’s eyes flare. “You’re bluffin’.”

“Try me, dickhead.”

He cocks his elbow.

“No!” Mac’s voice rings out. She throws herself between us seconds before his fist slams into her jaw.

She drops.

His eyes go wide.

“Motherfucker!” I attack with a right hook that sends him stumbling back.

He swings and hits my chest. My arm. One to my jaw. I feel nothing but the stimulating fury that powers my muscles.

Then, one after another, I let my fists fly. In a brutal wave, the anger and drive to defend boil over into punishing hits. We drop to the ground, putting him at the disadvantage. I lock him up with my legs. Arms swinging.

It doesn’t take long before he tires, and he no longer fights back. He could be knocked out, but my guess is he ran out of steam. Even still, I don’t let up, raining my fists into every exposed part of his torso. Something pulls me from behind.

“Stop!” Mac’s voice sounds far away.

I hit him again. And again.

The pull on my shirt intensifies. “Rex! Stop!” There’s a fear in her voice that settles deep in my gut, trading out my aggression for concern.

I push off the asshole biker and stand to feel Mac clinging to the back of my tee. The fog of rage dissipates. Shit, Mac.

I whirl around, breathing heavy. “Shit . . . are you . . . okay?”