But being beaten so badly during the last two races…damn. I feel like shit. As high as I was before, I’m down in the trenches now. A sharp contrast. I just dropped off the side of a cliff. Free fucking fall.
“Here.” Jesse hands me a bottle of Jack. “Don’t sulk. It’s not hot.”
Despite myself, I laugh. “Thanks.” I take the bottle and tip it to my lips. Feel the burn in the back of my throat. Taste the bitter sting of warm alcohol and setback.
Those too races were more money than ten altogether. Yeah those guys were top dogs. Yeah I probably had little chance in beating them even before I lost my Breakout. Yeah I shouldn’t be such a sore loser; content to have won the money in my pocket, and to be back riding again. Period.
I know all this. I’m self-aware enough to see it from all perspectives. But that doesn’t mean it makes it any easier to accept. I just…I wanted that rush. I wanted that ultimate moment where the stars aligned to tell me everything was going to be right from here on out. Maybe not perfect, but on to the next part. Where I’d find my new life. The one after Dar and me. Like when I lost my dad, and everything changed. But I was on to the next phase.
This all feels stuck. Motionless. Stagnate. And I hate standing still.
Taking another swig of liquor, I let the hard bite drown out the commotion in my head.
Boone wanders over, hands tucked under the hard muscles of his biceps. He left to park his bike, and I’m glad he didn’t witness my semi meltdown.
He tilts his head, inspecting me closely. “You need a ride home?”
Normally, after a night of racing, we’d head to Randy’s or whatever local bar we were occupying in whatever town. But I look down at the bottle in my hand and shrug. “I probably should go home. Yeah.”
Jesse braces his arm above my head, his finger linked to the chain fence. “You’re not riding with me to Randy’s?” he asks. “Come on. It’s tradition or some shit. You can’t go to bed all whooped up on by a couple bad races.” He widens his eyes, imploring. “It’s the rules, Mel.”
It is the rules. And despite my deflated mood, I know I shouldn’t let tonight end like this. It was never a question before; race, party. Win, lose…there was always an after. But a vital piece of the group is missing, that’s what’s throwing me. I’m not sure if it could or should be the same without Dar. Maybe I just need to go home.
That thought is backed up by the look in Boone’s eyes, the serious furrow of his brow. “I don’t mi
nd dropping you off, Mel.”
I can feel the tension radiating off Jesse at hearing Boone call me by my nickname. Before they get into another pissing match, I hold up my hand. “I’m tired, not whooped, though those last two races got me good.” I look between them. “But I don’t want to just go home and sulk. One drink, then I’ll head home.”
Glancing at Boone, I nod. “I’ll see you later?” I hope he hears the thanks in my voice, for helping me earlier.
He shrugs a shoulder. “How about I just follow you there.”
Jesse laughs. “All right, man. Don’t fall behind.” Then he’s off, slapping Tank’s hand in acknowledgment as he hands off the last of his tools and heads to the parking lot.
I move closer to Boone, confusion pinching my face. “Straightedgers like to hang at bars? You think that’s a good idea?”
His hazel eyes—stone gray against the night—narrow on me. “Do you?”
The judgment in his tone immediately sets me off. “I’m not you, Boone. I haven’t sworn myself to absolute sobriety and…” I almost slip and say celibacy, but I backtrack quickly. No matter how he’s acting, throwing that in his face isn’t right. I still don’t know exactly what happened to him to make that choice. “And whatever,” I finish lamely.
He hikes an eyebrow, and I say, “Listen. I really appreciate what you did. For real. I was wigging hard before the race. But this isn’t exactly how I operate.” I rub the back of my neck, anxious to get cleaned up and cooled down. Some kind of buzz on. Even a lame drunk one. “And besides. You really do need to be careful with these guys. Don’t do something stupid, okay?”
A slight smile tugs the corner of his face up. After I saw what he did in the brawl yesterday, okay yeah, I’m sure he can handle himself. But still, it’s not wise to piss off the MC. I’m not sure even I could help him if he gets in too deep.
“I can handle it, Mel. I promise. I’m not ready to leave you yet, is all.”
I cock my head. “You’re not just bulldogging me? Making sure I don’t slip?”
He shakes his head. “You’re your own person. Choices to make and that shit. I’m not your counselor or your PO or group leader. I’m not your boyfriend. I just want…” His face flushes, and again, I see the hint of his vulnerability. His innocence despite his tough exterior shell. “I just want to be your something. Anything.”
“Dammit, Boone. Why do you have to be so adorable?”
The smile that reveals that hard to get dimple speeds across his face, and I admire my ability to make it appear. Suddenly the end of tonight doesn’t look like a bow out to losing, but maybe a slow start toward an ultimate win.
“Come on,” I say, leaving the pit. “Let’s get you some kind of manly virgin drink.” I place my hand over my mouth, feigning a slip up.
“Wow. That was ruthless.” He chuckles.