Loner by Harloe Rae Page 0,83
to me, not even the wind. The sun doesn’t shine on my piece of property. Those blinding rays are reserved for those who appreciate the warm comfort. Even Patch is ignoring me.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that Keegan and Millie are irreplaceable. Those two own my battered, black heart. Because of them, I had a future to strive for. More than that, I wanted to be ambitious and aim higher. That’s all shot to shit now. Bold hues of vitality left with their vibrant influences. Now that they’re gone, my surroundings have returned to stained concrete, gray and ugly.
Keegan’s parting words are haunting me. I’m a coward for running away, especially for leaving Millie without saying goodbye, but my plans were set with them in mind. No matter what she thinks, I care about them. That’s why I’m choosing to suffer, sentencing myself to an existence of strictly surviving. I scoff at my internal drama.
Such a pathetic fucking martyr.
The wrench I’m holding slips and drops onto the knuckles of my toes. Even through the thick leather of my boots, a blast of pain explodes instantly. “Son of a bitch damned to hell. Mother fucking piece of shit.”
Another colorful rainbow of curses flings off my tongue as I hop on one foot. I can’t even do my damn job without causing damage. The intense throbbing settles into a pulsing ache. That offensive tool gleams under the fluorescent spotlights and I whip it outside in a boomerang arch. I toss a handful of discarded clamps into the box, metal clanging against wood with a dull thud. The noise matches the listless beat inside of me. Each moment pumps slower than the last. I’m stuck in quicksand and only wasting energy by struggling. My injury is already forgotten as familiar regret seeps in. The words spin and spin until I can’t ignore them.
Fuck, what did I do?
A similar version of the same question has been plaguing me for days. I could pull my head out of my ass. We can clean up this mess. There’s a possibility they’ll forgive me. I should’ve fought for them like Keegan begged me to. Instead, I limped away to lick my wounds in private. Some fucking good that’s doing me.
Eating is a chore. Sleeping is worse. Visions of Millie crying and Keegan’s fractured emerald stare keep me awake. Such a courageous move. Self-sacrifice. This is my penance for being a selfish prick. If only my father could see his handiwork. I’m sure he’d be so proud.
But the fallout is all on me. I’m to blame. This state of misery is entirely my fault. Am I going to admit defeat, tuck tail, and plead for a second (or third) chance? Absolutely not. It wasn’t a lie when I told Keegan she deserves better. Saddling her to an asshole who carelessly casts aside happiness is a larger injustice than I’m willing to commit.
I glance over at the one companion who’s forced to remain faithful. Patch has been shunning me, as if she somehow knows of the crimes I’ve committed. She’s slumped in her bed and steadily avoiding all attempts at interaction from me. How bad is it when even my dog is mad at me? That almost causes a bump of humor to batter at the fog of sorrow. But the weak attempt falls flat.
Loud rumbling streaks through the suffocating silence. I turn to watch as the growl of an approaching motorcycle interrupts my sniveling pity party. A hum of déjà vu rattles against my skull as two vehicles come into view.
Delaney leads the duo in her red coupe with Decker following close behind on his Harley. Even from deep inside the garage, I can see the deep scratches cutting into the usually flawless paint on his tank. Well, that’s definitely new.
Patch perks up at their arrival. She trots to Decker’s side and lingers for a few scratches behind her ears. Guess she’s not pissed at the entire male population. She’s reserving all the ire for me.
I stride to the edge of the stall, waiting with my arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. Decker hops off his wrecked chopper with the grin he’s known for. He walks toward me with a pep in his step. His fiancée is more hesitant, her shuffling gait exposing guilt. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to formulate an educated guess on how the damage occurred. Patch nudges Delaney’s hand, earning a laugh and another rub to her furry head. It’s good