The Biker and the Loner (Oil and Water #3)- S. Ann Cole Page 0,64

understand that “home” in the note, means death. Kathy had lost her grip on me in life, so she wanted me to join her in death.

Offing herself was just another form of control and manipulation over me. She knew I would blame myself, especially after the promise I made Papà. I believe she counted on it—counted on me being so guilt-ridden that I would want to either live in misery or end my life. Unbeknownst to me, she’d even secured the spot next to Papà’s grave and left her wishes that in the event of her death, she was to be buried next to him—much to her family’s dismay, who was prepared to fly her body back to Europe for a proper royal funeral.

Please come home.

Maybe I'd known it all along but chose to hide behind guilt and blame as an excuse to deprive myself of happiness and a healthy mind. Deprive myself of him.

In rehab, though, there is no hiding. In the quietude and endless deliberate stillness, your emotions are all there like tattoos on your skin. Time moves slow as molasses, and it feels never-ending. So much time to think, and think, and think, that when you run out of lies to tell yourself, there is nothing left but the truth, and you have no choice but to face it.

I don’t need the sixth week, but I’m staying, nonetheless, because as much time as I’ve had to think over the past four weeks, I still have a lot more thinking to do…

About my life. My future. And him—my forward.

~

I don't recognize the shiny blue truck that waits for me in the pickup area. Toni had volunteered to come get me, so I'm expecting her Porsche. But Owen, the concierge, assures me that the Ford Raptor outside is for me.

Gripping the straps of my duffel, I exhale and say goodbye to the place that has given me the longest, tightest, warmest hug I've ever received, then jot down the steps to the pickup area.

When I pull on the glossy chrome handle of the truck to open the door, I'm surprised to see an old friend.

Grunt.

We haven't spoken since he ended our friendship to start his life with Toni. He's loyal like that—to her, not me.

"H-Hey," I say, taken aback. He's still as handsome as ever. Golden hair, golden skin, and piercing blue eyes.

His lips kick up in a smirk. "You gonna get in or nah?"

Oh, right. I clamber in and rest my duffel bag at my feet.

Grunt reaches down to snatch up the bag and tosses it on the back seat instead.

"Where's Toni?" I ask once we’re on the move.

"And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

I snort. "No offense, but you dropped me like hot shit the minute Toni took you back, so...no."

"Per her request,” he clarifies. “She didn't know then what she knows now."

"You were my only friend, Grunt," I say, not meaning to sound as wistful as I do.

"I'm sorry. It was probably a little shitty of me to abandon you the way I did, but..." He tosses me a one-shoulder shrug. "She's my life. Would’ve walked on hot coals if she asked me to."

"It's fine,” I assure him. “I guess I understand. What you two have is beautiful."

“Thanks.” He reaches over and gives my hand a quick, light squeeze. "There's a crisis at Tipsy Scoop and I got off work early today, so that's why I'm here instead of her."

"Okay."

"Are you going back to work?" he asks. "She's been complaining that she lost a bunch of regulars since you left."

I scoff. "You mean my regular harassers?"

He chuckles from the gut. "Yeah, those."

"Nah. I'm…never mind." Grunt was the person I used to talk to about any and everything. He used to be my sounding board and my rant-absorber. He would let me lie in his bed and talk and talk until I fell asleep, since I talked to no one else. I told him a lot, but still never enough.

After he abandoned me, I had issues opening up to anyone again. My friendship with Kendra is different; she's the type that doesn't ask questions, and I'm the type who doesn't offer up information. So while we have a bond and good camaraderie, we don't have a deep-secret-holding kind of relationship.

It's Scratch. He's the one. The one I trust. The one I need. The one I believe in. The one I want to talk to, all the time. To tell everything. All my secrets, all