Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,31

back and not letting loose, even while the other brothers figuratively let down their hair.

Road’s good-looking, I can’t deny that. But if I needed a man, I’d do what the brothers do, pick up a likely looking bedfellow for the night in town, or try out a hangaround that comes to our parties. I’ve no desire to be tied down, not yet anyway. While I’d never say never to the idea of taking a permanent partner, even going the whole shebang and having kids, I don’t see that in my future as yet. Maybe ever. How could I, who could best most, if not all, of the men that I know, harness my horses to that wagon?

Children make you weak, not physically, but emotionally. When you have kids, you have something that can be held over your head, and that’s not somewhere I would want to go.

Thinking about being weak, I sit up, and do what I should have done when I first came to bed, take out my hearing aids. If I don’t, I’ll get no sleep. As soon as I roll over, I’ll get annoying feedback from one or the other, and the other disadvantage is the build-up of wax.

I hate taking them out, and as usual delay until the very last minute. When I’m wearing them, I feel just like anyone else. Sure, my hearing’s not perfect, sometimes I need to ask people to repeat what they’ve just said. But at least I can forget that I’m all but totally deaf. Without them, I hate the sudden silence that descends. Even after almost four years, I’m not used to it.

Without them, the dark becomes a scary place, even though I have no need to be apprehensive. The brothers have taken care of that. Knowing I can’t hear a fire alarm, Duty set it up so my bed vibrates. Likewise, there’s a discreet button on the outside of my door that will send a light flashing by my bed if someone comes to wake me.

But still I’m uneasy when I cut the outside world out. It’s not peaceful, I hate it. As a soldier, I was taught to be alert at all times. On more than one occasion, a twig snapping or the sound of a gun being cocked literally saved my life. It’s not easy coming to terms with the loss of one of your senses. Once my hearing aids come out, I’m no longer the confident Swift. I feel weak and vulnerable.

The first time waking up in the hospital ward and not being able to hear the doctor explain what had happened to me had been the most terrifying experience of my life. Not much had made me afraid up until then. Through the wonders of technology, he’d written out on his tablet that my hearing was unlikely to return, but might improve albeit slightly. I think I knew right then, my life, as I knew it, had significantly changed.

Pushing down the panic that threatens to return when I remember those first bleak days, I lie back down, immersed in complete silence, my fists clenching.

You learn a lot in the army, part of which is training your body to sleep when you can, no matter where you are or whether you’re on hard ground or a soft bed. That’s a trick I’ve been determined not to forget. It works now. Tonight, by repeating the mantra I’m safe here and nothing can take me unawares, I stave off the threatening panic. I tell my brain it’s time to switch off and know no more until I wake on the dot of zero five hundred hours.

The first thing I do is put in my hearing aids with a feeling of relief, then feeling human again, I check the messages on my phone.

Half an hour later, I’m pounding the streets as I go for my morning run. I’ve a number of routes that I’ve measured out each coming in at six miles in length. I try to do each in under an hour. Today I manage it in fifty-five minutes. That I’ve completed it well within my target time puts a smile on my face.

Once back, I hit the gym. As I approach the weights, Rascal approaches me.

“Want me to spot you?”

I nod my thanks. His eagle eyes watch me, and he helpfully adds an extra five-pound weight to each side of the bar when I ask. When my muscles start warning me I’ve done enough for now, I