“Stop blaming Jebediah for everything that happened to you. You didn’t hold the bottle before he drove,” her voice falters knowing something similar happened to her: she did drink and drive.
“I called Jebediah.” I point at myself emphasizing the blame, but Beverly rolls her eyes, disgusted with my return to an old argument.
“He made his own choices. Besides, Nathan’s the one who walked out on you so quickly. Did he ever explain why he didn’t call?” Leave it to Beverly to blame the man who walked away, so similar to her own circumstances. I quickly fill her in on what I know of Nathan’s history. His moves. His girls. Beverly’s head tilts and her brows severely pinch. A crease furrows between her eyebrows.
“That’s not an explanation. He could have still called you.”
“He left his phone behind. He also said he had his reasons, and that it wasn’t because of me,” I protest, uncertain why I’m defending him.
“That’s a copout. You deserve to know the reason. In fact, you deserve it right now.” My sister’s growing agitation is contagious, and she bangs on the tabletop for emphasis. Once again, I think her passion comes from her own experience. Howard left without giving her an explanation.
“You’re the one who’s all girl power and go Goddess. You need to make better choices for you. You’re still choosing to blame yourself and you need to stop.” Just stop. “Quit faulting yourself for everything related to that night.” She exhales after her rant. “Maybe you should have slept with him again.”
“Beverly!” I’m utterly shocked my sister makes such a suggestion.
“Well, it’s one way to get over a man.” It’s my turn to choke on comments.
But what if I don’t want to get over him?
I’m stuck on you.
Apparently, Nathan has become unstuck and a heaviness settles in my chest.
“Or you could have slept with him to keep him, but then again, what do I know. All the sex in the world didn’t keep Howard home with me.” Beverly’s admission startles me, and I feel sorry for her. Howard was an awful man and Beverly wasn’t always so bitter. “Then again, Nathan is older, and maybe he has that erectile dysfunction thing you so often see advertised on television, and his penis doesn’t work like it sh—”
“It works just fine,” I interject, holding up a hand, flushing deep red at my sister’s verbal vomit.
“How would you know if you haven’t slept with him?” My sister’s lips slowly curl into a mischievous grin, a novelty on her face, and my heart pinches with hope that I’ll see a full smile one day from her. Then, a puzzled expression crosses her face.
“So he hasn’t called in three days?”
Four now, but who’s counting? I nod.
“And you think he’s ghosting you again?”
I shrug. That’s a pretty modern word for being ditched.
“You need to go after him instead.”
I startle at the suggestion, as this is what my sister did, and it didn’t turn out favorably for her. Then again, if I went to Nathan, I’d go with a sober head.
“You need closure, Naomi. You need to confront him, and get your answers, so you can let him go. So you don’t spiral again into believing something about yourself that isn’t true. If he walks away, let it rest on him, not you, but at least you’ll have said your peace. You can’t allow him a free pass.” For a brief moment, I wonder once more if Beverly is speaking about herself. She never had closure with Howard. She still has no idea where he is.
“I’m not allowing Nathan a pass,” I say, but my voice sounds weak even to me. He said he’d call all those years ago, and when he didn’t, well … I didn’t have a way to question what happened. Nor could I concentrate on his disappearance at first. I rolled the absentee-Nathan into the death of Jebediah, and assumed his missing was part of my punishment.
My hand smacks the table. “You’re right.”
“I usually am,” Beverly mutters sarcastically, not startled in the least by my determined voice.
“I can’t let him get away with this again.”
Nathan Ryder will not ignore me. If he doesn’t want to see me because of Jebediah, so be it, but he needs to man up and tell me to my face. And if he’s dating someone else, like Dahlia hinted, he can tell me that as well. Sweet Goddess, if he simply changed his mind, he’s allowed that decision, too. But I deserve answers.
Make better choices for yourself, Beverly says.
I need to free my heart from him.
Although, those words are easier said than done.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dewey Decimal Classification: 126 The Self
[Nathan]
When I awoke, Catfish stood over me. I’d been unceremoniously dumped on the floor of a dark room.
“What the fuck happened?” I asked groggily as I took in my surroundings. An Oriental rug lay under me. Dark wood paneling covered the walls. I was in some kind of holding room in the Wraith’s clubhouse.
“You passed out,” Catfish stated, his voice rough, laced with disappointment.
“I fainted?” I asked, incredulous at the thought. I’d never fainted in my life. Sure, I threw up at the sight on the concrete but—
“Not willingly,” Catfish smirked. I pressed up from the floor and felt a throbbing at the base of my skull. Wincing, I rubbed the back of my head.
Not willingly? They knocked me out.
“What happened to the other guy?” Catfish smirked at my question, as if I was being a smart-ass, as if I’d been in a fight instead of an accident. It was an accident, right? I clarified, “The guy on the bike.”
The second the words left my lips, Catfish’s expression dropped. “Why do you care?”
It was a strange response considering we both saw his body. Twisted. Mangled. Bloodied.
“Your little fucking freak-out was unnecessary.”
I slowly stood, my head ringing. “What happened to him?”
“He was dead.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “What did you do with the body?”
“As you were smart enough to not touch him, we did nothing. We left him there.”
Without thought, I reached for Catfish’s cut, tugging him to me. Our chests collided, hard muscle against muscle. My heart raced so fast I was certain he could feel it ready to explode through my ribs.
“You left him there?” I couldn’t believe it. He had been some innocent guy speeding down a dangerous road, just like me. It could have been me. The thought hit me hard and I pushed Catfish away from me. What if it had been me? Did Catfish care so little for another life? Had my oldest friend, Curtis, become so hardened because of his history that he no longer cared about people in general? He was only twenty-one.
“He was already dead.”
“So, you left him,” I repeated. “What if he was still alive?”
“He wasn’t.” But could he have been saved? Could he have been fixed? My thoughts collided like the bike against the rocky side of the road.
“I can’t do this, man,” I muttered, my fingers digging into my hair. “I can’t be this.” I couldn’t be this cold-hearted. I couldn’t leave a man behind. I couldn’t watch a man die. Not an innocent man.
“It was an accident,” I stated, eyes latching on to Catfish, searching for my old friend.
“And it’s over.”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t care.” The comment socked me in the gut.
“What happened to you?” I mumbled, staring at him.
“Don’t be a fucking pussy. It’s only death.”
My mouth fell open. “I can’t be one of you.” The idea sucker punched me.
“What are you saying?”
“I can’t do this,” I repeated, my meaning clear.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.” Catfish laughed, low and rough and edged with evil. Then he sputtered to a halt when he noticed I wasn’t joking. “You can’t just leave.” He stepped up to me, our chests nearly touching
once again. His fingers curled into fists and I waited for a blow.
“I want out,” I stated, willing my eyes not to close as I anticipated the beating he would give me.
“I did everything I could to bring you in, Wolf. I put my name on the line. I’d just made it in the club myself and then I hooked you up, man.” He glared at me as he stated the facts. I hadn’t seen myself going anywhere when I had asked him to put a word in for me. But I’d changed my mind now.
“I appreciate it, but I want out.” Something in my tone must have gotten to him and the fist I expected connected with my stomach. I doubled over, waiting for more, but the door opened.
“What’s going on in here?” The rough voice of Darrell Winston scraped over my skin.
“Just an issue with a prospect. I’ve got it covered.” The tone of Catfish’s voice brooked no argument. I should have known then the authoritative role Catfish would one day play in the club. He spoke like the leader he hoped to be.
“Damn straight.” Darrell chuckled, and then stepped back out of the room at the sound of feminine giggles in the hallway. Once the door clicked shut, I stood toe-to-toe with Catfish again.
“You’re my responsibility,” he stated back to me as years of friendship sealed off in his eyes. “You want out. Fine, fucking go. We don’t need cowards. But you’ll leave town and never come back. You’ll be a lone wolf now, my friend.” The sneer to his voice spoke volumes. I was on my own. We were no longer friends and the club would always be watching me.
I stared at him, waiting for a punchline. He didn’t flinch other than a tick in his jaw. If Catfish cut me loose, he’d have to bear the burden of the decision. If I fucked up in any way, he’d be killed. Then, they’d kill me.
“Never come back,” he muttered. “Or you’ll belong to me again.”
“You have my word,” I said.
“It means shit to me now.” Then he punched me in the face.
* * *
“Hello.” A sweet feminine voice interrupts my memories, the one that has haunted me since Saturday. I’m on the third floor of the Bickerton build, picking up my tools, and I pause with a drill in my hand, thinking I imagined the familiar sound of her voice for a second. The framing was nearing its end and the drywallers would soon begin, as long as the Bickertons didn’t change their mind again. I’m hopeful this next step would put an end to whoever has been hanging out here at night and stop me from thinking so much about the woman next door. “Nathan?”
I take a deep breath and head for the stairs, taking them slowly, feeling as if I’m descending into hell. Naomi stands just inside the front door of the lower level. It’s been four days since I’ve seen her. A halogen shop light illuminates the foyer, and as she spins in the direction of the staircase, my breath hitches. Her silvery hair. Those wild waves. Her deep-set chrome eyes. She’s so beautiful with an otherworldly appearance despite the harsh glow of the work lamp. An aura of determination filters around her.
For a second, a smile graces her face and she steps toward me as I finish my descent down the stairs. Then she stops just short of me, too far away, and I hold my breath.
“Nathan Ryder, you will not disappoint me again.”
The words startle me, like a fresh slap to the face. One I rightly deserve. I lick my lips as I look away from her. I can’t face her, and my palms sweat.
I’m a coward.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call.” The words taste acidic on my tongue, as I scratch my knuckles under my chin. Her eyes follow the motion and my heart pinches at the absence of her lick-me looks. A simple phone call is the one thing she wanted from me.
I’ve been waiting for him.
Me.
“You need to do better than that,” she snaps, and I turn back to her as her fingers curl into fists at her side. Her long coat covers her entirely, but it’s open in the front and I see a hint of a deep red dress inside.
She’s a present you’ll never unwrap again.
“You can’t just apologize. I need a reason.” Her voice trembles. “You … you owe me.”
Her arms cross over her ample chest and I swallow. I want to pull her to me and crush her against me. I want to hold her tight and bury my apology into her hair. I want to tell her how I feel about her before I confess …
“If you’re seeing someone else, I need to know the truth. From you.”
“I killed your brother.”
The confession cracks through the stud-framed room like the smack of a hammer on a nail. The words reverberate like a hollow echo. The silence afterward is thicker than a two-by-four.
And the look on Naomi’s face is indescribable. The question. The puzzlement. The pain.
“You … but …” Her mouth opens but she can’t find the words. Her lips snap shut. Her eyes blink in confusion.
“I got a call. The Wraiths. I told you I was a prospect for them, and when they call, you jump.”
Her chrome eyes turn to tarnished silver as they narrow, and she processes what I’m trying to explain.
“I was late. There was a girl …” My voice fades again, and I weakly grin. There was a girl with raven hair, wild and spread on my pillow. One more kiss.
Naomi steps back, but it’s more like she tilts, and I step forward, afraid she’ll faint in the foyer. Reaching out for her, she quickly rights herself before I can touch her. Her arm flinches away from my grasp and I retract my hand.
“Don’t … don’t touch me.” Her voice is devoid of warmth and she glares at me, demanding I continue.
“The Dragon is dangerous. It’s so hard to judge the distance between drivers. At some point, you hear the buzz of another bike, but you question where it’s at. Is it behind me? Is it in front of me? You don’t often see it until it’s upon you, and in the dark … and with the curves … and the rocks …” I don’t need to give her all the details. “He swerved into my lane. We both panicked, afraid we’d collide into one another. He didn’t regain control of his bike and he—”
A raised hand stops my speech.
“He’d been drinking.”
The words linger between us as if that explains everything, but it’s not stated as if it absolves me. The words just float between us and flutter to the floor like someone ripped up a piece of paper and tossed it into the air, watching the shreds coast to the ground.
“I should have gone back.”
Naomi’s head pops up and she stares at me. Her lower lip trembles. “What do you mean?”
I lick my lips again. My mouth is so dry, yet my palms drip with moisture. “I didn’t turn back.”
“You hit and run?” The question in her tone punches me in the gut. Shaky fingers raise to cover her quivering lips.
“Technically, we didn’t collide.” It’s the wrong thing to say as her eyes widen. She doesn’t even blink. The accusation in her wide-eyed glare travels to my soul. She isn’t incorrect. I should have turned around for him. I have no excuse.
“Was he …?” Naomi closes her eyes and I guess what she’s trying to ask.
“I think it was instant.” He died on impact.
“But you don’t know? Because you left him there.” Her frame visibly vibrates, and I step toward her again, hands lifting to steady her tremors, but she steps back once more, demanding I keep my distance. She bumps against the wall behind her.
“Please let me explain.” Although, I can’t think what else to tell her.
“There can’t possibly be more,” she snaps, and she isn’t wrong again. There isn’t much else to say. Then her head tilts and her voice simmers with disgust when she asks, “How long have you known?”
“What do you mean?”
“How long have you known it was my brother … and me?”
My eyes open in shock. “Only when you told me on Saturday did I put it all together.”
She shakes her head back and forth. Her expression reads unacceptable. “Why didn’t you say something on Saturday?” Her voice cracks in disbelief.
&nb
sp; “I didn’t know how to tell you it was me.” I hang my head and hear the roar of motorcycles echoing in the background. The volume jacks higher until the sound is nearly upon us and I realize they’ve pulled into the gravel drive.
“Shit,” I mutter, stepping toward the slim window pane edging the front door. Instantly, I turn toward Naomi.
“Go upstairs. Don’t say anything,” I whisper as if the men are already upon us. Surprisingly, she doesn’t flinch as my hands grasp her shoulders and I nudge her toward the staircase. She notes the concern in my eyes and takes a step to the stairs. I watch her climb before I hear the doorknob twist.
“Wolf,” Catfish greets me, not in the least surprised to find me present. It’s late and I’m still on the job to finalize an interior inspection. I hold my breath wondering how he could have known I was here, and then I remember my truck out front.
“Catfish.” Our eyes meet. In his leather cut, near the bright work lamp, he’s half illuminated by light, half in darkness, and I ponder the juxtaposition of him for a moment. My old friend is falling further into the dark side.
“Where’s Henderson?” Dirty Dave asks. Catfish turns his head to the older man as he enters.
“I don’t know anything about Dwight,” I admit. This draws Catfish’s attention back to me. His eyes narrow.
“He told us to meet him here. Has a special delivery,” Dirty Dave explains.
“It ain’t me,” I clarify, although now I’m concerned. Did Dwight promise them me? Is he using the house as a meeting point? His son has already been here. Just what are those Hendersons up to?
“Too bad. Thought you’d come to your senses,” Catfish responds, crossing his arms and eyeing me as I hold my ground. I need to get them out of here before Dwight shows up and I need to finish talking with Naomi. We can’t be done yet.
A creak from the upper floors echoes down to us and Dirty Dave’s head turns toward the staircase. Catfish looks past my shoulders. “Someone up there?” he asks.
“Just me, fixing a mess from your weasel.”
Dirty Dave chuckles at the name. Catfish glares. “Who you hiding?”
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