I stuff it into my backpack, and force my helmet on. My head throbs as my mind races. Numb legs walk the bike backwards onto the road. I glance back at the house looking for something, someone, anything that will tell me not to go, but there’s nothing for me to find. She’s hardly going to come running out, begging me to stay. Revving the throttle, I race away, crushing myself a little bit more.
Tired and drained after thrashing the Ducati around for an hour or so, I pull up outside of Macy’s. I shouldn’t be here, but I want no company but my own misery. Here I can achieve that. As I kick the stand and turn off the ignition, my neck prickles, sending a shudder through my body. Before taking off my helmet, I scan every corner of the area repeatedly, but nothing seems out of place. Appeased, I remove my headgear and stride into the bar.
Some bird I’ve never seen before is serving behind the bar. Her eyes widen as she notices me at the bar, a look I’m all too familiar with. Not in the fucking mood to play nice, I don’t return the award-winning smile that crosses her face.
“Pint of Stella,” I order, my tone cold enough to freeze oil. Her smile falters, making me feel like a prize bastard, but I couldn’t give a fuck either. She hands me my pint and I hand her a fiver. Not bothering to wait for the change, I find a seat in the far corner, away from anybody who might talk to me. I don’t want to talk. The only thing I want I’ll never find here.
The amber liquid sits in front of me, taunting me like a dare. I spin the glass in my fingers over and over again, watching as it flows in circles and the froth dies. My mind runs riot with all the things that never should’ve been said. I stop the spinning and stare at my pint, waiting for the movement of the beer to stop. My grasp tightens on the cool glass when I stand up. Without giving it much thought, I launch the pint across the room and watch as it smashes against the wooden bar front.
The room goes quiet for a few moments as everyone turns to look, before the natural hum slowly restores. All I can do is release a derisive laugh as the image, so much like my heart disintegrating, replays in my mind.
“Noah.” I look up to find the burly bar owner, complete with gold teeth and tats, standing in front of me.
My chest heaves as I fall back into my seat, rubbing my hands over my face. “Malc.”
“Are you going to cause me trouble?”
“Nah, man. Send me the bill, and can I have another pint?”
He eyes me before sitting down and shouts to the new girl for two pints. I fight hard not to tell him to piss off. The last thing I want to do is pretend to be okay. She brings the drinks over, spilling them as she puts them down. She won’t last long here. Nervousness and a bar full of drunken wankers don’t mix.
“One drink and you’re on your way,” he states, leaning in. “But do anything like that again and you’re fucking barred.”
My goal of being left alone is fucked. I glare at the fucker before nodding. Malc’s a top bloke and deserves some form of respect, even if I begrudge giving it to him.
“I’ve watched you submerge yourself in alcohol and pussy for years. Has it worked?”
He tilts his head as he waits for my answer. The problem with people who run bars is they know far too fucking much. The thought crosses my mind to just either ignore him or walk out. But Malc’s a man of few words, and I know whatever he has to say won’t take long. Plus, I’m lucky he hasn’t thrown me out.
I shake my head, “No, it’s not.”
“Through all the drowning I’ve watched you do, I’ve never seen you destroy anything in my bar, except yourself.” He takes a deep swig of his pint then places it back down on the table.
“So?” My patience is wearing thin with this conversation, fast.
“Something’s changed.” The silence extends as I wait for him to get to the fucking point. “Maybe you’re growing up.” He slaps my shoulder, grabs his pint, and walks off.
My eyes fixate on the glass in front of me. Against my previous judgement, I push my drink away. The thought of taking the first sip into darkness taunts me, begging me to succumb and lose myself in the bottom of the glass. But getting wasted isn’t going to do a fucking thing to help. My mouth dries out and I swallow sawdust.
Fuck.
I release a huff of frustration, and run my hands over my head for what feel like the four millionth time since Lizzie returned. My temples pound, my eyes burn. What the hell am I meant to do now? I have to find a place to stay. Give her the space she needs while still not letting my shop go under. For now, the best course of action would be to go to the workshop. At least there I can bury my head in an engine, or paperwork, and shut the world out. It’s either that or revert to the old me and drink myself stupid and end up doing God knows what.
Not happening.
I push to my feet, sling the backpack over my shoulder, and walk with purpose out to the car park. When I near the bike, my name’s shouted and I turn to the voice, already knowing it’s Bear. He’s probably been tracking me. His forehead furrows, and the lines deepen further as he takes in my appearance.
“I’m not talking about it here.” I throw my leg over the seat as he gets closer.
“Okay.” He lengthens the word. “Where are you going?”
“To the workshop. You coming?”
He dips his head in short acknowledgement and steps forward, his hand grasping my shoulder. “Are you okay, mate?”
I glance at his curled fingers and look him in the eye. He winces at my expression as I shake my head. Without saying anything else, I shove my helmet on, start the engine, and leave at full throttle.
The door to the workshop smashes against the wall as I burst through it. Spud’s working under some knackered, old Mustang and bangs his head when he jumps at the noise.
“Bloody hell, Noah. What the fuck are you thinking?” He swings around to glare at me, rubbing the back of his head.
Without answering his question, I stride past him into my office and slam the door. The glass rattles in its surround. The deep voices of my two friends drift in. Bear obviously put his foot down to arrive this soon after me. Pulling the backpack from my shoulders, I retrieve my phone and throw the bag into the corner. It clatters against something, but I ignore it. Walking around my desk, I flop into the chair and fling the phone down.
How stupid to think Lizzie would accept my old lifestyle. What an even stupider idea to tell her, knowing it would destroy everything we finally had. The need for some control of my life fights with the fact that I shouldn’t even be thinking about a way to gain it back. I want her, but I’m not forcing her to be with me.
Bear appears at the door and walks straight in. Before any words come out of my mouth, he’s shaking his head.
“I know that look, and the answer’s ‘no.’”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” I’m irritated by his assumption I would do something stupid; that’s the old me. He doesn’t understand my urgency now.
“Don’t I? Well, in that case, tell me you weren’t going to ask me for a job.” His voice rises with anger.
Furious, I stare him down. “Give me some fucking credit,” I snarl back. “I just need to get away for a few days so I don’t show up at her door and beg her to take me back. You know how to go off the grid better than anyone. Find me someplace to go.”
“You want to leave with your tail in between your legs. What about the shop? So that’s it? You lose the girl, give up, roll over, and die?” He slams his hands on my desk, glaring at me.
“I’m not staying away forever. She’s my fucking life.” I stand up, mirroring his stance.