Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I tore my gaze away and throttled forward, and I didn’t slow down until her house vanished from my mirrors. The ride back to the clubhouse didn’t clear my head like it usually did. If anything, it made it worse. I kept circling back to that moment on the porch, and the disappointment that marked her face when I told her goodnight.
My stomach was still in knots when I pulled up to the clubhouse.
I wasn’t ready to go inside. I didn’t want the noise or the fucking questions, so I headed around back to the garage. The boys had thrown together a workout spot in the back with some weights, a bench, and a punching bag that had seen better days.
It wasn’t much, but it would do in a pinch.
I yanked my shirt over my head, tossed it on the bench, and stepped up to the bag. I didn’t bother stretching or thinking. I just swung, and the hit cracked through the silence. The second came harder, and the third brought the sting to the knuckles.
It didn’t take long before I was wailing away, and I wasn’t going easy. I was hammering this damn thing with everything I had, and every swing carried something with it.
I let it all out.
All the frustration, the anger, and most of all, the restless edge that had been crawling under my skin since I’d left her place. It didn’t matter that my rage didn’t make any fucking sense. It didn’t matter that nothing had actually gone wrong. That was the problem. Everything had gone too damn right.
It was what I’d hoped for. It was what I’d wanted.
That’s what I told myself, but now, I wasn’t so sure.
I hit the bag harder. My shoulders burned and my knuckles stung, but I didn’t stop. I knew what would happen if I did. I would go right back to that porch, with her staring up at me with those beautiful dark eyes, waiting for me to kiss her.
I don’t know how long I pounded away at that damn bag, but I was dripping with sweat, and my arms felt like lead. I used the back of my arm to wipe the sweat from my brow, and that’s when I spotted Smitty standing in the corner. “I didn’t realize I had company.”
“Didn’t want to bother you.”
I drove one last punch into the bag and let it swing wide, then caught it with both hands, resting my forehead against the worn leather as I dragged in a breath. I was still winded as I stepped back and leaned against the wall, silently sliding down to the floor.
That’s when Smitty walked over, and without a word, he held out a bottle of water. I took it, cracked it open, and drank half of it before coming up for air. He gave me a moment, then asked, “You good?”
“No,” I clipped.
“It have anything to do with the Coyotes?”
“What about ‘em?”
“Word is, some have been spotted around town.”
“They stirring trouble?”
“Not yet, but we’re ready if they do.”
“Good.” I sat there for a moment, then looked up at him and asked, “Lemme ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
“You seem like a good, level-headed kid… What’s your story?”
“Come again?”
“Everyone has a story.” I cocked my brow. “What’s yours?”
He let out a faint huff before saying, “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.”
“You haven’t already heard?”
“Bits and pieces, but none of it from you.”
Most of the brothers didn’t ask. They either already knew or knew better than to ask. Smitty wasn’t pushing. He just left the opportunity out there and waited to see if I’d take him up on it.
I let my head fall back and closed my eyes as I told him, “Not much to tell… I was a man who had it all, and then, I lost it. I’ve spent years on the road, trying to put it behind me.”
“And did you?”
“I’m getting closer… or I thought I was.”
“Something happen tonight to make you change your mind?”
“I came closer to finding something worth losing, and I guess I got spooked.”
“You don’t seem like the kind to get spooked.”
“Ghosts have a way of doing that to ya.”
“So, how you gonna get rid of them?”
“The ghosts?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t, and I don’t want to. They’re all I got left of ‘em.”
“I get it. I have ghosts of my own.”
“I’m listening.”
Smitty sat down at the bench in front of me. He was silent for several moments before his weary eyes met mine. “I was twelve years old when I killed my brother.”
The words came out forced and breathless, like the words took all the air out of his chest. “They called us the Hauler twins.”
His eyes brightened for a moment when he said the nickname, like he was recalling it coming from folks back home. “My mother worked at a diner, and Dad was a mechanic downtown. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t need much for Aiden and me to get into trouble.”