1
ADDIE
One month later
Gripping the steering wheel,I stared at Manic’s house and chewed my lip.
I’d never been here before. I’d been invited, though, multiple times.
He’d moved out of the apartment above Rocktown Ink several weeks ago, wanting more room so he could work on his bike, according to Lila. Which made sense, since he was here in Rocktown more often now, working more hours at the shop here. It started as him helping out while Cal—the owner of the popular tattoo shop and the husband of one of my closest friends—was busy at their ranch, and it ended with Manic staying on.
I gripped the wheel tighter, still feeling shaky after the panic attack I’d had earlier that day. I bit my lip. There were several bikes parked out front. I really was hoping I’d catch him here alone. My nerves grew. What I wanted to do was turn around and go home. I didn’t need an audience for this, but it’d taken all my courage to come here now, and I was afraid if I left, I’d never find the guts to do this again.
And Ineededto do this.
Don’t think about it, just do it.
I’d met most of Manic’s brothers at club parties. If anything, their being here took the pressure off, right?
“Just do it,” I muttered to myself and shoved the door open. Straightening my skirt, I started along the path.
I heard music as I reached the front door. Taking a steadying breath, I knocked.
I hadn’t talked to Manic in person since that night in the apartment above Rocktown Ink. He’d called and texted me, though, multiple times a week—for three weeks. I hadn’t picked up.
Cooking steaks tonight, come by.
Party at the clubhouse, love to see you, Adds.
You wanna meet for a drink at The Mule, cupcake?
Each time, I’d turned him down, making some excuse to get out of it because the idea of getting closer to him, the risk of my emotions getting involved, was enough of a deterrent to stay away. I didn’t do emotions or relationships.
Yes, I’d wanted to see him again. I liked him. A lot. Who was I kidding? I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since I walked out and left him sleeping in his bed.
Which was why I’d avoided him—and also why I was standing at his front door now.
That night together had helped me more than he’d ever know. The nightmares and the flashbacks of the fire when I’d lost my family, the panic attacks that I’d thought I’d put behind me, had all come crashing down on me again after I lost my aunt Macy.
Then, for three weeks, the three weeks after I spent the night with Manic, I was okay. My mind had been too full of him, waiting, hoping for another text from him while simultaneously avoiding him, to think of anything else.
Then a week ago, the texts stopped.
And the nightmares, flashbacks, and panic attacks had returned.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what it meant. I wasn’t dealing with my aunt’s death in a healthy way. But going back to therapy meant delving into the past, into all kinds of emotions and memories, and I wasn’t ready to do that. Denial had been working for me for a long time. But it wasn’t anymore, and the only thing that had worked was Manic.
The anniversary of the fire was always tough for me, but this year it had been unbearable without my aunt. And that unforgettable, mind-blowing night with Manic had given me an escape from reality. An escape I was in desperate need of again.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
So first, I needed to apologize for running off without saying goodbye and for avoiding him. Then I was kind of planning to ask him to do it again.
Heat flashed through me, and my heart started racing as the ache between my thighs built.
Unless he’s super pissed with you.
No, that wasn’t Manic. I’d walk in there and he’d probably make fun of me, we’d laugh and flirt, and everything would be fine. No big deal.