Page 114 of Misguided
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dog
Night creeps on the horizon, smothering the last warmth from the day as we pull into the yard. Mel’s spent the better part of the last hour sleeping or intermittently changing stations on the radio. Yet she’s never once let go of my hand.
I like it. Fucking love it, to be honest.
“Home sweet home, eh?” Mel mumbles as I back the truck into its parking space.
“Yep.” I stare out the windshield at the plain industrial style building.
It’s not warm, it’s the furthest thing from inviting I could imagine, but it sure as fuck is home. Especially when I hope the news King has will give me reason to never return to the one I came from.
As it stands, the old man made it clear: he doesn’t want me back at the house ever again. All my shit’s gone already, no doubt, and I may as well scratch my name from the family tree.
I’ve got only one reason to walk back into that place and like I told Mel, that’s Mom’s memory.
“You look as excited as I am to be back so soon,” Mel says quietly from her side. “You thinking about your dad?”
“Yeah.” I roll my head on the seat to face her and give her a wink. “Might need somethin’ to take my mind off it afterward, you know what I’m sayin’?”
I realize how much of a douche I sounded the instant her brow pinches into a frown. Nice one, Dog.
“Yeah, sure. Because that’s all I’m good for, right?” She damn near rips the door handle off in her haste to get out.
I drop my head back and groan, the truck body rocking ever so slightly as she yanks the bags from the back. Damn near shit myself when she appears at my window.
“I’ll dump your shit in your room, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
But she’s already several feet across the yard.
Stupid, stupid, idiot. Why the hell did I say that? Scratch that—I know why. It’s this place, the club. As soon as my boots hit the gravel of the yard, I switch into fuckhead mode; acting like the idiot they all think I am.
Only it wasn’t one of my brothers in the cab with me, it was the girl I just had a fucking perfect time with out in the wild.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I wished we could stay there forever too. The thought of her knocking around barefoot in the log cabin I’d make us? Yeah. Picture-perfect.
The truck door creaks as I step out, the slam of the clubhouse one reverberating off the wall behind me. I load up with as much of the meat as I can manage in one trip and head for the back door that cuts straight past the chiller beside the kitchen. At least one woman should be happy with me when she sees what I’ve brought her: Sonya. The meat off this beast should last her a week, save the club some dough, which I know King will appreciate too.
Could almost make this a regular thing.
“Hey,” Callum calls out from the door as I slide the bag of venison cuts onto the rack in the chiller. “Mel said you’d be down here. When you’re done, King wants to see you.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s why we’re back already.” I stack the side of ribs beside the bag.
“Successful, I see.” He tips his chin toward the spoils of our travels.
“Uh-huh. Mel did real good helpin’ me get it out of the bush.”
“Well, whatever you did to piss her off, best you sort that out afterward, huh?“ He raps his knuckles on the doorframe and then turns and leaves.
My gut sinks. If it were up to me, I’d head straight up there now and show her how fucking sorry I am. But I’ve got the rest of the beast to take care of, and one president that doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I keep my head down on the way back out to the truck for the rest of the meat, frustrated that I left things unsolved with Mel. If her heart aches, I want to be a part of the solution that makes her smile again, not the reason it’s broken to begin with.
I lift the second rack of ribs onto my shoulder with a grunt and make a mental note to hose the truck bed off after I’ve spoken with King. With the animal safely tucked away, and my hands washed off, I head toward his office.
Vince gives his old lady a kiss near the door to the garage as they part ways.