J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forget

“Turn it up.” I want so badly to hear his voice, even if only for a second. The bar is too loud. I can’t hear him. “Hey, turn it up!” No one pays attention. I stand from my stool and lean over the bar. Dammit. His mouth moves and his chest thumps with heavy breathing. He’s not smiling, but he looks fine.

I drop back onto my stool. Better than fine, he looks happy.

It’s not as if I expected him to be destroyed after I left. After all, he demanded I get out of his life. But seeing him so strong, as if our time together meant nothing, sends agony slicing through my chest.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes. How can he be so unaffected? I drop my head into my hands and rub my temples. I can’t do this. I need to get out of here.

I fish a few dollars from my bag and drop them on the bar. A hand clamps down on my shoulder.

“Snow White.”

My back goes stiff, but at the same time warmth blooms in my chest at the familiar voice.

“What the fuck’re you doing here?”

I turn into the enormous frame, all wide shoulders and crossed arms, of Hatch standing just over my shoulder. “I was just leaving.”

He studies me, eyes tight while he rakes his teeth across the flavor saver below his bottom lip. “What happened to you?”

“Nothin’.” My head feels like it weighs a ton, and I fight the urge to rest it against the bar.

“Don’t look like nothin’.” He rounds my back and pulls the stool next to me up close so that he’s practically straddling mine. Pushing my hair over my shoulder, he studies me. “You runnin’ again?”

How did he know? I roll my eyes. “Hatch—”

“No, you show up here all the way from Vegas, you tell me what the fuck.”

I groan and give into the weight of my head, resting it on my forearm against the bar. My eyes close as fatigue and booze kick in tandem. “Had to leave. Didn’t know where to go.”

His hot breath is at my ear and the overpowering smell of liquor and smoke. “Can’t get this drunk in a place like this, Snow.”

I huff out a breath. If I could just sleep for a few minutes. “Been riding for ten hours.” I yawn so hard it makes my eyes water. “My ass is numb. Need sleep.”

“I get that, but you can’t do that shit in a place like this.”

Whatever. I mean what’s the worst that can happen? I get killed and left on the side of the road? At least then I can end the suffering and finally get some rest. Ahh, rest. I take a deep breath, gently pulled into sleep—

“That’s it.” Firm hands grip my shoulders. “You’re coming with me.”

I shove him off, trying to focus on him with one open eye. “Five minutes, Hatch.” It closes and I go back to resting my head.

“Ha, take a look around. Check out the way you’re being sized up. You’ll be begging me to get you out of here.”

“Hatch, man, you cool?” The bartender’s voice is laced with concern.

I tilt my head back to see him scowling at Hatch.

“Yeah, Zip. Mac here’s roommates with my chick in Vegas. I’m taking her to the compound before these idiots catch the scent of her pass out.”

Zip’s eyes move across the room. I follow the path of his glare. A few bikers off to the side of the bar are watching me, whispering. My skin crawls and my hand darts out to Hatch’s cut.

“Now she gets it.” Hatch chuckles. He holds out his hand. “Bike keys.”

I fish them from my pocket. Hatch snags them and tosses them to Zip. “Honda out front. Mind pulling it into the back for the night?”

Zip nods. “Sure thing. Get Annie the fuck out of here.”

A burst of energy sends me to my feet. A wave of liquor-haze makes me dizzy and I stumble.

Hatch holds me upright. “Easy there. Let’s get you on the back of my bike.”

I flash Zip a small smile, and he pops up his chin in acknowledgment. Hatch moves me through the crowded bar. The room tilts and he holds me closer, keeping me steady. We emerge from the bar and into the cold mountain air. I breathe in a deep, sobering breath.

He lets me go and moves to his Harley. “Hop on.”

“Why are you doing this?” I sway on my feet. “You don’t even like me and I’m pretty sure I hate you.” Although at this point I’m in no position to rule out anyone as a friend.

“You took a punch. Didn’t even cry.” He looks around; then his eyes are back on mine. “I don’t like you, but I respect you.” There’s a flash of something behind his eyes, but it’s gone to quickly for my drunken thoughts to process. “Now get your tiny ass on the bike before I send you home with a dude who doesn’t.”

Better to be cared for by someone I can’t stand than to be rejected and tossed aside by the love of my life.

I take a few dragging steps toward him, throw on my backpack, and saddle up behind him. “Should I grab my helmet?”

He fires up the bike; the ominous growl of the engine vibrates around me. “No helmet law in Colorado.”

Sadness slumps my shoulders. I wrap my arms around Hatch’s middle and lean my cheek against his cold leather-coated back. “Perfect. Take us home.”

Rex

The sound of my phone blowing up on my bedside table pulls me from a dreamless sleep. The double dose of Trazedone I took last night knocked me out cold. After celebrating Blake’s win and mine for all of ten minutes, my body gave in to fatigue.

I blink open heavy lids. My phone stops vibrating, and I let them fall closed. Muscles like concrete and blood like molasses, I sink back to sleep. Jackhammering sounds against my bedside table, and I force my eyes open.

Who the hell is trying to get a hold of me so bad?

A voice in the back of my head whispers that it could be Mac. Gia. The thought pushes my hand from beneath the warm covers. My sore muscles protest the movement. I face the lit up screen toward me.

Not her.

Fuck, it’s almost noon.

I slide my finger across the screen and press it to my ear. “What.”

“Dude, where the hell were you last night?” Talon sounds as if he woke up a few minutes before I did, but had a much rougher night. “Mario threw a huge deal for you at The Blackout.”

I had a feeling he might, but there was no way I could show my face there after what happened with Mac. When I told her I never wanted to see her again, I wasn’t kidding.

Rolling to my back, I rub my eyes. “Yeah, dropping weight did a number on me.” Lie. “I was exhausted.”

“Ha! Too tired to celebrate your win?” He chuckles. “Pussy.”

His lighthearted insult does nothing to my anesthetized state. “I’ve been thinkin’. We’ve been playing The Blackout for years. Might be time we find a new regular gig.”

“What? You’re kidding, right? That place has supported our band since we were wearing eyeliner and painting our nails black.”

He’s right. There’s no logical reason to stop playing at the venue that has always been our biggest supporter. But I can never go there again. “Just an idea I was kickin’ around.”

“Yeah? Well kick it right the fuck out of your numb-nut skull. I agree we need something new, but that’s why I’m callin’.”

New. New is good. I’ll have to figure out how to avoid The Blackout later. Maybe fake a stomach bug? Flu?

“Last night I met Carl Simpson. Carl fucking Simpson, man!”

A tiny rush of adrenaline fights its way to my brain. We’ve been trying to make contact with the booking agent for The House of Blues for over a year.

“And?”

“He said he’s been hearing about the band. Good things. He wants to see if we’d be willing to open for Smythe at the end of the year.”

Excitement pushes through my drug-sludged blood. I sit up. “You fuckin’ serious? Smythe?” They’re on fire right now. “Aren’t they finishing up a tour with Five Finger Death Punch?”

“Yeah. They finish in November and agreed to play a few smaller shows to round out the year. Fucking kick-ass, right?” His enthusiasm is catching.

“I can’t believe it.” A spasm ticks my lips. A smile? Never thought I’d do that again. “You hooked it up. Ataxia opening for Smythe.” I shake my head. “Never thought I’d say that.”

“So no pussin’ out on any gigs. We need to do whatever we can to up our fan base.”

I hear what he’s saying. We can’t ditch The Blackout. Fuck. My fifteen-second high plummets.

How the hell am I going to face her?

“We still rehearsing tonight?” Maybe when I’m there I can talk to the guys about taking a few weeks off to work on new music. It’s my only hope of gaining some distance.

“Yup.”

“Cool. Later.”

“Late.”

I drop back to the bed and scrub my face. Darren told me things would be overwhelming for a while and that I need to stay in the moment. Focus on this day, hour, minute, whatever it takes to keep from flippin’ out.

With a few deep breaths, I listen to the cues my body gives me. The pinch in my shoulder is screaming for ice. Even though I won the fight, Reece got in a few good hits. The angry jagged scab on my cheek is proof of that.

My stomach growls. No more need to diet and after last night’s fight on an almost empty stomach I’m ready to make good on my burrito promises.

With a plan for the next couple hours, I push out of bed and drag myself to the shower. I try to avoid thinking about the last forty-eight hours. I avoid all thoughts of what it felt like to be comforted by her again: her arms wrapped around me, replacing the memories of the hands that took and took until they got their fill.