Fighting to Forget

Twenty-two

Six months later . . .

Rex

“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” I look over to find Emma squirming in the passenger seat, her hands knotted together.

Her bright eyes fix on me. “Yes. It’s fine. I’m just nervous. It’s a lot of pressure to meet all your fighting friends on our first date, ya know?”

Date. Right.

The last date I went on was with Gia back before my entire world was destroyed with the discovery of a damn stuffed animal. Coming back from that has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It’s taken months of intensive therapy three times a week to get to this point, and I still have so far to go. Fuck, it’s only been in the last few weeks that I’ve been able to stop referring to Gia as Mac.

I’m grateful for Emma. She’s been a good friend. I’ve had her inside my condo, even curled up with her on the couch to watch movies. She’s mellow, never demands more than I can give. I figured it was time I took her out on a real date. Thought it might help me move on. Forward.

So here I am. But I can’t help but feel blah.

I like Emma. She’s beautiful, sweet, and funny in her own way. I’m sure if I give it time I’ll grow to have the intense feelings I felt with Gia, before I found out she was Gia.

I blow out a long breath and try to relax.

“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” Emma lifts one eyebrow.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “Jonah’s been staying home a lot, and I haven’t seen Raven and the baby since I visited them in the hospital.” After everything they went through when the baby was born, Jonah didn’t let anyone come near Raven or the baby for a long time. He was so close to losing them both; he’s added a new level of overprotection to his already nuclear-level possessiveness. “We don’t have to stay long. We’ll drop in, say hi, and then grab dinner.”

She nods and stares out the window, and I can’t help but think of Gia. Darren says I need to stop comparing the two girls and just appreciate Emma for the girl she is rather than who I wish she was.

I’m trying. But the truth is I miss Mac.

It didn’t happen overnight, but I realize now that her heart was in the right place. God, the things I accused her of: lying, stalking, and manipulating me to feel something for her so that she could destroy me.

Every night when I lie in bed, waiting for sleep to take me, I remember the feel of her soft body, the tropical smell of her skin that drove me fucking insane with lust, her hands tearing into my hair when we kissed, pulling against my lip ring with so much passion she could hardly control it. But she did. Her white-knuckled grip held her back to keep from touching me, biting down on those full lips to keep from talking—all because I asked her to—ignoring her own desires to accommodate mine.

I rub my cramping chest.

Where is she now?

I went to get my stuff from her place a few weeks after she left my condo. I knew she never showed up at The Blackout, but I’d hoped maybe she was still in town. Trix explained that she took off that night and left her phone behind with most of her things. There was a note for Trix saying she was sorry.

My bag was there, packed and waiting. It wasn’t until I got it home that I realized she left me and my memories behind too. The bear and my writings. I must’ve dug through every pocket in that bag a dozen times looking for a note. Parting words, something, anything. I found nothing.

Not that I blame her.

I kick back the thoughts and the direction they’re taking me when we pull into Jonah’s driveway. It’s lined with cars and Emma visibly tenses.

Gia would never get this nervous around people whether she knew them or not.

Fuck. Stop it!

I throw the car in park and walk around to open her door.

She hops out, her army-green Toms practically silent as her feet hit the concrete. Her chin tilts back and she looks up at me. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” I grab her hand and we walk to the door, but before we get there it swings open.

“Hey, guys. I saw you pull up.” Layla wobbles a few steps, arms outstretched and belly that looks freakishly huge against her tiny frame.

“Hey, Momma.” I lean down and do my best to hug her with the basketball bulge between us. “How’re you feelin’?”

She pulls back and rests a forearm on her stomach. “Hmm . . . like an overstuffed penguin with a grapefruit shoved up its a—”

“Mouse, baby.” Blake comes from behind her, wraps his arms around her and rubs her stomach with both hands. He kisses her neck. “Don’t act like you don’t love carrying my kid.”

She tilts her head and smiles up at him. “Yeah, I do love carrying our kid.”

Blake drops a soft kiss on her lips and my mind cranks back to Gia. It’s amazing how the slight brush of lips can communicate just as much as a passion-filled tongue intrusion. My lips tingle to feel it again. I roll my lip ring between my teeth to squelch the ache.

“Who do we have here?” Blake straightens from Layla, pulling her to his side with an arm thrown over her shoulders.

“Oh, right.” Fuck, I’m horrible at shit like this. “Emma, this is Blake and Layla.”

She inches closer to me and smiles.

Layla’s gaze slides to mine, a sadness in her eyes that makes me drop my gaze. She clears her throat. “Emma, nice to meet you.”

Layla blames me for Gia’s cut-and-run. She didn’t understand what happened and was upset thinking I’d exiled her. Blake, not liking to see his pregnant girlfriend sad, came after me and insisted I explain everything.

I did. Mostly.

A girl from my past pretended to be someone else to get close to me. They understand why things ended between us—betrayal and lies are hard to overcome—but I know Layla misses her friend. My chest goes tight and I grip my shirt there. God, so do I.

“Nice to meet you.” Emma mumbles, avoiding Blake and Layla’s eyes.

“Well, come on in. You’ve got to see how big baby Slade’s getting.” Layla turns into the house and we follow inside.

Before we’re in the living room, I can hear the cooing of female voices. I walk around the corner and almost burst out laughing.

Emma’s hand slides into the crook of my elbow. “Aww, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I look down at her and then back to the hysterical situation in front of me.

Jonah, all six-foot-five inches and as wide as a damn car, is wearing some bright pink thing draped from his shoulder to his ribs. It reminds me of the way Gia would wear her messenger bag, slicing across her chest and accentuating her full breasts. But whereas Gia’s bag made her look hot, Jonah’s pink wrapper makes him look like an idiot.

He’s smiling down at the tiny bulge behind the fuchsia nightmare at his chest. When he looks up, he spots us right away, but he’s still grinning like a jackass. “Rex, man, you gotta see this.”

I step up and clap him on the shoulder. “Nice shawl, brother.”

Jonah’s smile falls slightly and his eyes narrow. “It’s called a sling, ass face.”

I stifle a laugh. “Don’t give a rip what it’s called; you look like a dumb ass wearing it.”

Blake coughs and clears his throat, his hand covering his mouth.

Jonah’s glare moves back and forth between us. “For your information, this sling holds my daughter against my chest at all times.” His big hand cups the tiny bump behind the fabric.

Raven comes up and gives me a hug. She’s all smiles and soft looks, and the extra baby weight she’s carrying has only added exotic curves to her already hot-as-hell self. “She went from nine months of hearing my heartbeat in the dark, feeling safe and warm. We just want her to keep feeling that for as long as we can.”

Jonah glares. “It’s called attachment parenting, fuckers.”

“Joey!” Katherine, Jonah’s mom, reprimands him from the couch.

“And for your information, I have one coming that’s black with skulls and blood splatter.” His face goes soft and he gazes down at the bump. “You’re going to love that, aren’t you, my princess?”

I point to the bright girlie wrap. “That tiny bump in there is the baby?”

He grins wide. “Yeah, come here. You gotta see this.” He pulls out the edge of the fabric and nods for me to peek inside.

There, curled up in the tiniest ball imaginable, is baby Sadie Slade. Jonah named her Sadie because it means princess, and he swore he’d protect her like one. Thick black hair and the smallest face relaxed with sleep, she looks just like Raven. “Wow, she’s so small. What am I looking for exactly?”

“Just keep watching.” He angles his body so that I have a better view.

Little sounds, baby grunts and then . . . a smile and two of the deepest baby dimples punch through her chubby cheeks only to fade when her smile does.

“There, did you see them?” Jonah’s voice is laced with pride and a love I’ve never heard from my old friend.

“Yeah, she’s got a lot of her old man in her, huh?” I step back and watch him watch his daughter.

“She got her mom’s good looks.” His body sways back and forth slowly, almost as if unconsciously. “But she couldn’t escape the Slade dimples.”

I look around the room; familiar faces are all looking adoringly at Jonah and the baby. Raven’s on the couch with her mom and mother-in-law, surrounded by her friends, and it hits me that this little girl will never have to worry about being alone. God forbid anything happens to her parents, but she’d have a line of people who love her, waiting to take her in and care for her the way she deserves to be cared for.

Unlike me. And Gia.

Guilt socks me in the gut, and I suck back the urge to double over. I was so mad the night she left. She wouldn’t stop trying to explain, as if words could make right all that she’d done wrong. She’d said that they locked her in a closet until someone found her. She was only a kid. What happened to her during those years after I left? She must’ve been moved in with a family member? Living relative? Did I ever even stop to consider what she’s been through? I was so busy focusing on myself that I never thought to ask her.

Anything I learned about her was by accident: her fear of hospitals and small spaces, lack of friends or long-term connections. My head spins and I brace my weight against the back of the couch.

She wanted to tell me. I told her I never wanted to see her again, and she begged me to listen. Fuck. Why didn’t I give her a chance? I scrub my hands over my face. She deserved a chance to explain. If she had, would that have changed anything?

Fuck.

It could change everything.

~*~

Mac

I’m cold. My body curls into itself in an effort to get warm, but the movement makes me ache. The familiar throbbing in my head alerts me to the time.

Morning.

I fucking hate the morning.

It’s the one time of day that my mind comes back to life enough to fight me. It torments me until I cry: flashes, memories of the past, Rex as a boy and again as a man, the life I ruined . . . twice. Morning reminds me of new beginnings, sunshine bringing in hope for a different life. But that takes work, emotional strength that I lost a long time ago. I’m fucking sick of hope.

Everything hurts. My muscles feel as if they’ve been put out to stretch and dry. I lick my dry lips and crack open an eyelid. It’s dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s not morning. The thick curtains at the MC Compound are there to keep out the light of day.

“Thank God.” I reach up and finger through my shorter hair.

It took less than a day before I got fed up with Hatch calling me Snow White. I told him I’m a natural redhead, but with my lack of distinguishable hair it was hard to prove. Every time I looked in the mirror and saw all that black fucking hair, my mind would fall back to my memories. Thoughts of Mac led to better thoughts of Rex, but would ultimately end in tears.

With the help of a fifth of vodka, I put Mac to rest and colored my hair back to red. New hair color is one thing, but one thing I learned is you can’t resurrect the dead. Gia’s been gone for a long time, and a simple box of hair dye won’t raise her. The devastated little girl wouldn’t fit into Hatch’s world anyway.

So who am I?

Changing my hair was the last decision I made on my own. Now decisions are made for me. I belong to Hatch, property, and I can’t muster up enough sense to care.

He keeps me safe, fed, and fucked up. Living around bikers, the first is important, the second is a need, but the third is my key to survival.

After only weeks of being stuck here with Hatch, with no money or means to leave, I finally gave into my desperation. The liquor did the job until one day it didn’t. I drank until I blacked out, and still I was tormented by thoughts of Rex. I needed more, like the pills they forced down my throat when I was locked away from the world. The coke was the same, bitter going down, but sweet relief when it kicked in. It’s the numbness I crave; the memories get blurry and dull all feeling. I’ve tried to quit, go a day without using, but it’s become my closest friend, protecting me from the memory of losing him. Now, the drug is the only thing that tethers me to my sanity.

The thought wakens my inner cravings. My addiction roars its demand. I need to find Hatch.

I roll out of bed and look for my panties on the floor. I squint to distinguish one piece of clothing from the other out of the mass that covers the floor. I settle on one of Hatch’s dirty shirts and slide it over my head. A wave of dizziness washes over me and I fight to stay upright.

“Fuck.” I rub my temples. It must be later than I thought. Usually I don’t get like this until the afternoon.

Stumbling over empty beer cans and biker boots, I finally make it to the door. The blare of country music and deep voices filter through from the other side. Yep, definitely the afternoon.

I stagger out of the room and down the long hallway into the living room. My eyes scour the smoky air, looking for Hatch. I spot him on the couch with an MC slut straddling his lap. Typical.

In a few achy steps I’m at his side. I cross my arms at my stomach to keep from giving away the tremors that are wracking my body. “Hatch, can I talk to you for a sec?”

He looks up at me and glares. “I’m busy.”

I look to the girl whose eyes are closed, her head dropped to the side as if she’s having a hard time holding it up. “Um . . . yeah, I know. I’m sorry, but I need a hit.”

His expression softens. “Yeah? You hurtin’?”

I nod and tighten my arms around my torso.

He smacks the girl on her bare thigh and she jumps. “Up.”

She struggles, but Hatch doesn’t wait and shoves her aside where she falls like dead weight on the couch. He tucks me into his side. “Come on, Annie. Let’s get you taken care of.”

Annie. All the bikers caught on to the nickname given to me by Zip when I stumbled into this life. The red hair fought for their cause, and Annie stuck.

I snuggle into him, grateful that for the first time in as far as I can remember someone cared about me. I know, logically, that his feeding me drugs and taking my body whenever he wants isn’t ideal, but it’s more than I’ve ever had. And for now, it’s good enough.

When I’m high, the dreams stay away. My drug-induced haze placates the demons so that they can’t remind me of all I’ve lost.

We head back to his room where he leaves me on the bed and goes to his safe. The tremors are getting bad, and I can’t keep the muscles in my legs from jumping. I rock back and forth. Keep moving, always keep moving.

“Here ya go, baby.”

I look up and he’s pouring out a small white line of powder along the edge of his thumb. “Thank you, Hatch.”

He holds his hand out and nods. Like a starving child being offered a meal, I grip his wrist and pull it to my nose. I push against one side of my nose and suck back the white powder. The back of my nose and throat burn for an instant before they numb. My head zaps back to clarity and my muscles release their grip on my body.

“More, please.”

He grips my chin and presses his lips against mine hard. The smell of stale cigarettes and booze floods my senses.

“You’re hot when you beg.” He pours out another line and I jump on it, starving for the sweet relief I know it brings.

He tosses the small bag onto the bed at my side. “Make it last.”

I scamper to it, grabbing the bag and curling it into the protection of both hands. “Okay, I will.”

He tilts his head and looks down at me. I can tell by the way his eyes darken, he’s expecting payment. I take a deep breath and remind myself that this is what I’ve agreed to. I don’t hate Hatch. He’s given me more than I deserve. I’m afraid to lose him.

He fumbles with his belt and unzips his jeans. His hand glides over my tangled hair. “I like this color, Annie. Suits you.” His fist tightens against my scalp, but I’m too numb to register pain. “Hurry up. I’ve got shit to do.”