The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (30 page)

“I’ll fucking try.”

Lennon

My feet land on dirt and I wobble, unsteadily. Looking right and left, I scan the wooded area behind the motel, but I don’t see anyone. It’s dark now, and I’m guessing it’s about eight in the evening. The guys have been gone for a while, and part of me doesn’t think they’ll be back for a few more hours.

I have a window of time to make my run.

Rolling my shoulders, I wince at the sting in my left one. Crawling through a tiny ass window was not my first choice of exits, but I didn’t have a choice. Locked in a room with little options, I made due with what I had. I feel like I’ve aged thirty years from squeezing and shimmying through that small as hell bathroom window.

Spent two hours locked in that room, trying to think of a way to convince Buck I wasn’t here for anything other than a place to crash at first, but stayed because I liked him too damn much to leave.

Buck doesn’t trust me, and I don’t blame him, but I’m about to do something that’ll either crush any chance I have to regain that trust, or spark some life back into what we had. I can’t just sit and wait.

Like I said, I’ll do whatever I have to do.

By some miracle, I made it back up to Buck’s place without anyone hearing Buck’s truck. A boy I once knew taught me how to hotwire, and I’m thanking my lucky stars I remembered that pointless piece of information. Otherwise, I’d be walking down the highway. 

Standing in the doorway to Buck’s bedroom, I look at my shit all over his floor, scattered in a messy pile. He drug me out of his house before I had the chance to stick it all back into my bags where it belonged.

It’s a sad sight, the very little I own, littering the floor. A handful of clothing, some pictures, a tiny little box of knick-knacks, a little bag of beauty stuff, and my cash is all I own. My life reduced to a bag and a box.

Sighing, I get to work packing my bag. Sitting on the floor, I get to stuffing. I guess, deep down, I had hoped that the last time I packed my bag would be the last. I wanted to stay here with Buck and the Disciples, but I wasn’t dumb enough to count on it. Hell, it was a pipe dream, really. But a girl can dream, right?

It’s sad to leave here. I found a comfort here I haven’t found in many other places, and I’d hoped to hold onto it for a little while longer, but my time here is up, for now, anyways.

My bags at my feet, I lean against the kitchen counter, staring blankly at a small notepad in front of me. I tried with words to explain things, but Buck wasn’t interested. Actions might just be my only hope.

Words aren’t my strong suit. I either say too much or not nearly enough, but I think in this situation, less is more.

Scribbling out a sad, two-line note, I pray it’s enough. I leave the pad of paper on the counter with a few other things that I hope explain everything before I grab my bag to go.

Buck,

I hope this helps rebuild your trust in me.

I’m sorry for breaking it to begin with.

Lennon.

Turning back to the rest of the house, I look at it for the last time with a heavy heart. This house is the first place I’ve felt safe, the first place I felt like I was home. I don’t want to leave, but I have to. The choice has already been made for me.

Walking through the front door, Bill is sitting stoically on the porch, waiting on me. I stop long enough to give him one more grateful pat on the head.

“Be safe, buddy.”

Chucking my bags inside the truck, I hop in and fire it up. Without a look back, I take off towards an uncertain future.

Driving down the dark empty highway, I do something I haven’t done in years. I let the tears fall down my cheeks in endless waves. Consumed by the overwhelming grief and sheer shittiness of the situation, I let them flow freely.

My heart has gone rogue. It’s still up there on the mountain, with Buck. My guilty conscience was too much for my poor heart to handle.

Sitting in the truck alone, I think of the first time I crawled on the back of Buck’s bike. I remember how optimistic I felt, how free and wild I was with my arms around him. This time, it’s so much different.

I hadn’t thought Buck and I would work, but I had hoped. I’m a dreamer, always have been. Bigger and better things were always on the horizon, and I think I might have just walked away from that something bigger and better.

There was something there in Buck that I feel in myself. From the moment I met him, I knew he was someone I wanted in my life. I guess in a way, I thought we were kindred spirits, two people with very different, yet very similar situations, brought together by sheer luck.

I wasn’t looking for a meal ticket, a husband, or boyfriend. I was looking for a friend, a connection with someone who got me. Buck got me.

But how wrong I was. Buck judged me and I couldn’t blame him for it. My life isn’t easy to swallow, and for someone like him, it might just be impossible to believe in and trust. I don’t blame him. I blame terrible timing and shit luck.

But it is what it is. I’ll make the best of it and I’ll move on. I’ll hope and I’ll pray, and maybe someday, down the road, things will be different with Buck.

The drive takes longer this time, maybe because I’m not enjoying it as much as the first time.

It takes hours, more than seven, but I make it in one piece. My eyes are puffy and my throat is dry, but I’m alive.

Riverpoint, a tiny town in Washington, is a place I haven’t been to in a while. Hadn’t planned on returning here either, but I know it’s the only choice I have now. I’ve run out of places to run.

Pulling into the only car lot in town, I park between two decrepit vehicles. Rusted and falling apart, I doubt they’ve moved from their spots in years. The place looks the same, but I guess it has only been a few years since I’ve been here.

Killing the engine, I sit in the driver’s seat a minute, watching rain drops land on the windshield.

Digging through my bag, I push all my emotions aside. Finding a piece of paper, I tear it in half. Writing notes on each, I leave one on my bags, and I stuff the other in my pocket. Grabbing my purse, I hop out, lock the door, and walk in, leaving all my belongings in the front seat with the note.

Walking up to the pot-bellied man at the counter, I sit the keys, three grand, and directions on the counter in front of him.

“I need this truck delivered to this address as soon as possible.” Looking at the cash, and then the directions, he nods stiffly. Money talks.

“Yeah, guess so,” he agrees.

“I need it there as soon as possible,” I stress, glancing back out the glass door at Buck’s old truck. The man only grunts in response, grabbing the stuff from the counter and stuffing it in a drawer.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Pushing through the glass doors, I walk out into the rain. I leave the truck and the shop with only my purse and the clothes on my back. My heart beats loudly in my ears and my stomach barrel rolls with each step I take. I hate that shit feels like death row. I remind myself that this is a new beginning. This is what Buck and I need.

Walking down First Street, I walk past shops, a bar, a few restaurants, barber, and a shoe store, and I don’t look at any of it, afraid that if I do, I’ll lose my nerve. Stopping in front of the small post office, I pull out an envelope from my purse, and without a second thought, I shove it into the mailbox out front, hoping it’ll be the last time. I’m determined to cut my mother out. She’s toxic, and no good comes from the sick relationship we have. If she wants to kill herself, fine, but I’m not going to help anymore.

Taking a deep breath, I compose myself. This is for the best. This is what has to be done. I remind myself of the reason a few times before I continue on. Turning around, I walk back in the opposite direction, towards my last resort, and hope like hell this works.

17 - No Good-byes

Buck

Knew something was off the second I walked away from that shed. Shit just didn’t feel right. I could feel it in my bones. It felt like a death, leaving emptiness in its wake.

I know I’ve lost Lennon. I’ve lost enough to know what that hollow, lost feeling is. Lennon’s gone. Pushing open the door to the motel room, I find it empty, just like I knew I would.

Staring into the empty room, I count. I count, hoping to keep the rage inside―eight ... nine ... ten―anything to keep myself from breaking shit, like walls and faces.

Lennon’s gone and my untrusting, faithlessness ran her off.  It’s my fault, and I can’t do a goddamn thing to fix it now.

“She’s gone?” Rock asks, walking up behind me. Standing next to me in the doorway, looks in to the empty room. “Fuck, man.”

“Know where she would’ve gone?” Lennon could be anywhere. Halfway across the country?

“No.” And don’t have a single fucking clue where she’d go.

“Shit,” he mutters, laying a friendly hand on my shoulder.

“I pushed her and she ran.”

Pulling the door closed, I walk back across the lot to the front of the bar where I left my truck, where I know it won’t be. And just like the room, the lot is empty of Lennon.

I’m not mad. I’m fucking numb. 

“I fuckin’ want her gone.” No one says anything. Every single fucking eye in the room watches me. Not sure how else to get the goddamn point across. “Want her gone like two fucking years ago.”

I put up with Jess for Rock. I put up with Jess for those girls. I put up with Jess because she’s a lost fucking soul, but I’m done. Done getting shit on. Done living under her watchful eye. I was being nice, but now I’m done.

In a roundabout way, she drove Lennon away. Yeah, I didn’t help, and I sure as shit take responsibility for my actions, but that bitch did not help the situation. I finally found something good, and I was too goddamn screwed up to see it when it was right in front of my face.

“You sure?” Dan asks, leaning casually into his chair. I have a feeling he’s been waiting for this.

“Fuck yeah, I’m sure.”