Losing Track: A Living Heartwood Novel Read online

  Down into the deep,

  She haunts.

  I stare at the words until they blur and bleed off the page. Then I turn off my bedside lamp and bury my pain so far down, it will take an excavation to unearth it again.

  She’s in the pages now.

  Boone

  Tears stain, corrode, and beckon evil sprites

  MELODY DIDN’T COME TO guest speaker night. I don’t know why I even noticed, or why she’s on my mind now, other than while being around her, for however short a moment, I’m not thinking about Hunter.

  Even though that comes with its own confusing dose of guilt, I can’t help but crave that brief reprieve. Have one second where the weight of it all isn’t crushing me.

  She’s a distraction.

  An addicting one.

  I trudge down the hall on my way to sign in my volunteer time at Stoney Creek. The heat from outside is seeping in through the walls, the windows, the roof. You can almost smell the blistering sun baking the asphalt outside through the ventilation system. The heat index for today is above 110.

  That alone is why Jose wasn’t too happy about letting me off early so I could get my community service time. Half the guys on the crew were complaining about the heat, asking to either come in hours earlier or later in the day. Not wanting to chance a heat stroke. If he lets me off, he has to do the same for them.

  But I only have so much room for guilt. If this job tanks, I can find another one. Pool boys are a dime a dozen in Florida. I usually go through at least two companies a year.

  At the sign-in counter, Doris smiles. “Boone, you’re just in time for your appointment with Doctor Carly.”

  Shit. I forgot about Jacquie setting this up. She works quick. “Thanks, Miss Doris. How’s the fam?”

  “Fine, just fine.” Her southern accent is thick, and she drawls the words out. “Bryn is graduating this year, and about to drive us all batty with trying on gowns.” She shakes her head. “Lordy.”

  My lips twitch. “Women, huh?”

  She nods. “Bless your heart, Boone. When you find yourself one to settle down with, I’m sure she’ll be a keeper.” She jerks her head toward the side door. “You can go on back.”

  Her words fade into the background of my thoughts. Doris, though sweet, has no idea about the women in my life, or what they’ve put me through. A dress issue is so foreign compared to what I’ve dealt with.

  Rapping my knuckles on the door, I clear my throat. Put my guard in place. Counselors—all counselors—no matter the type or their beliefs, have one thing in common: they probe the shit out of you. Trying to keep them out of your head and your emotions in check is exhausting.

  The door opens, and an older woman with thick red frames and graying short hair eyes me closely. “Boone, I presume. Come on in.” She opens the door farther and motions toward the sofa against the wall.

  Wow. She’s old school. I haven’t seen a shrink sofa since…never. Only in movies, with the distraught person lying down with a pillow covering their face. This feels pretty cliché already.

  I take a seat. Prop my booted heel on my knee. Run my hands over my jeans. Look at the plaques and pictures on the walls. She’s in one, maybe twenty years back or so, on a cruise ship with a guy standing next to her. His arm around her shoulder. Smiling. Sunset. It screams happy couple.

  Nice. I love it when a shrink’s office has constant reminders of how mentally healthy they are. A reminder to patients about how well adjusted we are not.

  “My husband,” she says, nodding toward the picture. “Down on a cruise in the Keys.”

  I nod slowly. Normally, I don’t mind listening to people tell their stories. I actually like it, like getting to know people. I’m not an outright asshole. Unlike my actions with Miata Guy the day before suggest. But she’s not some nice lady I met at the supermarket. She’s going to try to strip my walls down and tell me about myself. She wants to cause me pain.

  I’ve had enough of that for the rest of my life. I just need to get through these meetings, make Jacquie happy again, and not fuck up. I’ve been mostly sober since about a month after the “incident.” That’s what Jacquie refers to it as. And that shit yesterday on the highway was just…blowing off pent-up steam.

  My body showcases a few new bruises from last night, so the rage should stay checked for a while.

  “So, Boone, Jacquie says you’re one of her special cases. I don’t usually treat people who aren’t admitted to Stoney Creek, but she’s a good friend, and I respect her opinion. She thinks maybe we can work through a few things before your court date.”

  My attention perks up. “She already has a date?”

  Her lips spread into a bright smile, but I can tell it’s forced. She’s dealt with all kinds of delinquents. I’m sure she’s used to them only being concerned about one thing: themselves. Probably doesn’t make her job any easier.

  “Yes, but I’ll let her discuss that with you.” She smiles again, and I take the hint. We’re moving on to why I’m here.

  “I’ve read some of your file.” She pats the manila folder in her lap. “But why don’t you tell me why you think you’re here.”

  Straight to the point. It normally takes them a couple sessions to get to this question. However, the state’s not footing this bill. So I appreciate her not padding the tab.

  “I lost control. Got angry at a driver, and let my emotions get the better of me.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling the messily sculpted spikes bounce back into place. “Afterward, I felt awful. Like I knew what I was doing wasn’t right at the time, but I just lost my temper for that moment.” I smile wanly, lay on a bit of charm. “At court, I plan to apologize to the guy. I didn’t get the chance to do so before.”

  The creases around her mouth deepen as she nods and smiles. The weathered lines on her face suggest she’s had a lifetime full of them, and she’s been smiling this whole time. “Well, it seems you’re very observant of your behavior.” I nod, agreeing. “And also plenty full of shit.”

  My head jerks to a halt.

  Her eyebrows raise as she opens the file and dives in. “I’m sure you’re quite the charmer, Boone. I’ve heard your speech here a couple of times, and I see how well you handle the nurses and the other counselors. You really know how to give people what they want.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. Then, “I do understand what I did, Misses…”

  “Just Carly. I don’t need the reminder of my age.” This time, I smile. “And yes, I believe you do understand. That’s why I’m not letting you slip right out of here so easily.” She thumbs through a couple of pages. “Since I’ve been at this for a long time”—she eyes me—“and you’ve had enough therapists to counter my years, let’s skip the beginner stuff and jump right into the fire, shall we?”

  Although what she’s suggesting should scare me shitless, and it does, I can’t help but appreciate this feisty lady and her candor. “Shoot,” I tell her.

  For the first time, her smile falls. And I know she’s going in for the kill.

  “Tell me about Hunter.”

  A hole has been punched into my chest. I’m bleeding all over the floor. My lungs are filled with blood. I’m suffocating, and the shredded pieces of the flesh splay from the hole, fall to the floor, splash the walls.

  So when I see Melody, and she says, “Stalk much, creeper?” my insides bubble and rage. The hole grows and swallows me. I can’t stop it.

  “Full of yourself, much?” I respond, then turn the corner down the hall, heading toward the side door. I need air.

  “What the…?” I hear her say before her rapidly paced footsteps are catching up with mine.

  I push through the doors leading to the outside courtyard. The heat smacks me in the face and steals the rest of the air from my lungs. “Fuck. I’m so goddamned sick of the heat.” I rear my fist back, aimed at the brick wall, and stop mid-punch. Jam my hand in my hair and grip at the roots.

  What the fuck! I haven’t had
a reaction like this in a long, long time. I’ve carefully maneuvered things in my life to be just out of reach…for others. Not to get to me. Just keep everyone smiling and happy and unconcerned. And that Carly bitch just…Christ.

  I groan. My hands slide down my face. My heart is pounding in my ears. Either from the heat or my soaring blood pressure. Probably both.

  I can feel Melody behind me. Sense her. But she doesn’t say anything.

  All of a sudden, I realize how out of control I am. How she must see me. The complete opposite of the calm, controlled guy she saw giving the practiced to perfection speech. The guise is over. Whatever cool and collected persona I was trying to impress her with is gone.

  “Want to get out of here?”

  The words are out of my mouth before my brain can process them. I turn around to face her, my throat tight, my pulse jumping.

  Melody is wearing her pink bandana around her wrist. She looks me in the eyes while fidgeting with the worn, folded material. “We’re not supposed to leave, right?”

  It feels like she actually thought that reply through. I expected a snarky response; something mocking my sudden detour from Mr. Do-gooder. If she only knew.

  “It’s not lockdown. You’re required to finish your treatment, which most find harder if they leave.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and jerk my head in the direction of the parking lot. “That’s my bobber right there. One ride. I won’t rat you out.”

  Her gaze travels over the courtyard to my bike, and her brown eyes widen. “Ride?” She grabs my arm and pulls me behind her as she power walks. “Why the hell didn’t you say that from the start.”

  Melody

  The demons do envy, do dream

  SINCE BEING INCARCERATED AT Stoney Creek, I have become the walking dead.

  I move and talk and eat; I exist—but I’ve stopped living. I’ve been in a holding pattern, waiting for the next part to start. Unsure what that would be, or who I’d be. Everything that once mattered is gone. Nothing could wake up my deadened senses.

  Until now.

  The wind whips my cheeks, my hair blows in tangled ribbons behind me. The rumble beneath my thighs, the vibration traveling through my body, exhilarates me, and it’s like waking from of a coma. A bed-ridden patient seeing the sky again for the first time. Tasting chocolate after nothing but pea soup for years.

  Fuck. I don’t even know if that’s what coma patients really eat. I probably saw it on a soap opera when I was a kid. One of those my mom devoured every day, drunk, yelling at the screen. But I don’t care; I laugh at myself. I open my mouth and actually hear my full volume laugh over the roar of the engine.

  Boone glances over his shoulder. “Like it?”

  “Hells yeah.”

  He twists the throttle, and we zoom over the asphalt. Coasting down highway A-1 toward an unknown destination. And I don’t want to know where. If he takes me all the way to the bottom of the world down in Key West and we never return, I’d be all too happy.

  We swerve around cars, pass brig trucks, sail through lights. The road ours.

  Then he slows to take a turn down a dirt road. I tighten my hold around his waist. We lean together as the bike tilts…and it’s like coming home. I’m itching to drive. To get behind the handlebars and rev the engine.

  Too soon, the bike is coming to a stop. I look around and say, “Where are we?”

  Boone allows me to slide off first before he kicks down the side stand. He sits back on the seat and rests his hands on his jean-clad thighs, his gaze wondering over the gray lake. “One of my favorite escapes to beat the heat.” He cocks his head toward the sandy bank and then he hops off. “Thought some cooling off and solitude could do us both some good.”

  I smirk while trailing his lead, linking my hands behind my back. “Solitude. Right. Because I haven’t gotten enough of that lately.”

  He kicks a rock out of his path. “What? You’ve been around nothing but people. You’re not cramped with roommates, counselors, and nurses all up in your business?”

  I half-smile and shrug a shoulder. “It’s different. Those people…they’re not really—” I try to find the right word “—there. They’re like window-dressing. Props in a very bad movie. Like a Twilight Zone version of my own. I’m still waiting for the credits to role, for all this to be over.”

  Boone stops and turns to look at me, his hazel eyes squint in contemplation of my voiced thoughts. I realize I’m toeing that invisible line, giving him a bit more insight into myself than he probably wants.

  Dumb or not, that rule’s in place for a good purpose. The only reason someone doesn’t ask you about yourself is usually because they don’t want to be asked the same. I’m not in a rule breaking mood, so I let the silence consume the moment.

  But I can’t help wondering now. What happened back there for him to lose his cool like that? I don’t know the guy, but I do know he’s trying pretty damn hard to suppress some major rage. A lot has been omitted from that story he tells.

  He doesn’t say anything, and instead starts toward the water. Right. No questions, no answers. No chance I’ll demand anything from him. I’ve been around enough hot-headed guys to understand one thing: I probably don’t want to know.

  He let his guise slip, and that should have sent up a red flag, waving frantically toward the side exit of the stage. But I sideline that concern for the moment. Anyone who has the patience to customize their own bobber gets a second chance.

  Even if it’s not American.

  I’ll rag him on that later, when he’s in a better mood. I smile to myself.

  Finding a sandy seat on the bank, I watch the small ripples of dark lake water lap toward my flip-flops. I decide this is enough. I’m unwilling to talk about what got me into Stoney, to hash up painful memories, and he’s unwilling to reveal his demons. It’s enough to know we’re full of crap, and we want to leave it at that.

  He further proves his need for avoidance when he says, “Want to swim?”

  A forced laugh tumbles from my mouth. “In this?” I look over my attire: leggings, well-worn Ramones T-shirt, and my bandana. “I’m good.” Before Rehab Mel wouldn’t have thought twice about stripping down and jumping into a body of water with a hot guy. But that was Not Sober Mel.

  Days upon days of straight sobriety and boredom has left me feeling not as adventurous—fun is too much effort. As much as that pains me to admit, it’s the sobering truth. Pun intended.

  “You’re not as daring as I thought.” Boone gives me a challenging smile to match his words, then reaches behind his back and yanks his shirt over his head.

  Damn. Too bad I’ve already decided not to get involved with the guy. His toned and beautifully sculpted body makes me yearn with regret. But gorgeous or not, cute dimple or not, I’m not in the mood to be reckless.

  Shit. That’s a first.

  He unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, and I feel like I’m sixteen all over again, about to get my first glimpse of male perfection. My insides flutter like an innocent school girl. When his pants drop around his ankles, I longingly take in his black and blue boxers and the full package they’re concealing. There is no shame in my game.

  What’s adorable? I think Boone actually blushes. The guy is covered in gorgeous tats and looks tougher than all hell, but his cheeks light up like the Fourth as I openly check him out.

  My gaze zeros in on a couple fresh bruises along his abdomen. What happened there? He clears his throat, pulling my attention back to his face.

  “Swimming relaxes me,” he says, as way of an excuse for getting down to his undies.

  “Uh-huh,” is my reply. And this is my first rodeo, slick.

  I admit, it’s been a while—like since middle school, while—since a guy tried to pull something like this on me. But it’s cute. In a way. Sneak a girl out of rehab, take her for a ride on a mean bike, and strip naked for a swim. Sure. It’s all about the relaxing swim—because there’s nothing else that’s more relaxing to a guy t
han swimming. Uh-huh.

  I want to believe I had him pegged from the get go. That his sole intention for talking to me that first night was to get into my panties…but as he wades into the water, carrying that adorable blush with him…something just doesn’t fit.

  It’s all wrong. I still can’t get a read on him, his signals are crossed. Like he’s emitting all the right ones on the surface, but my radar is picking up on the subtle currents underneath.

  If I had to guess, I’d say it’s been a minute since this guy got laid. I almost laugh out loud. Maybe he’s just good at his game. Maybe this coy technique works on most chicks. Whatever. Regardless, it’s a distraction from my now craptastic life.

  What the hell.

  I stand and drag my shirt over my head, then shimmy out of my leggings. Boone’s back is to me, so I quickly step into the lake and submerge myself. Holy hell—the water is colder than I thought. I shiver and dive under.

  Coming up beside him, I splash through the surface of the water. He yelps as I gasp in air.

  Clearing the water from my eyes, I shake out my hair, loving the feel of the cool water on my skin. The thrill of being outside. The adrenaline from the ride still coursing through my system.

  His smile reveals the lone dimple as he sends a wave of water back at me as payback. “I should have known you’d play games.”

  It’s more than a tease, or an innuendo; there’s a hint of accusation in that innocently phrased sentence. His gaze slowly dips to the lacy pink bra straps on my shoulders, but quickly snaps to my face. If this is his game, he’s good.

  I shrug. “Gotta keep you on your toes, right? Boys can’t have all the fun.” I glide through the water and turn on my back. Float and look at the sky. “Why didn’t you mention you had a bobber? Most people…bikers…that’s the first thing to come up.”

  I hear him moving through the water near me, swimming closer. “Because I’m not a biker.”

  “Still.” I glance at him, the muffled sound of underwater muting my hearing in one ear. His gaze is roaming over my stretched out body. My chest, stomach, legs. A burst of heat erupts in my belly. I’d be one sorry liar if I claimed having this guy’s attention wasn’t a rush.