Fighting to Forget

by J. B. Salsbury

  Every night that you come, whispered words spoken

  You calm my soul, and in the moment, I’m not broken.

  Is he singing about me?

  Three

  Blue is the sky that I now see

  A freedom the dark cannot touch.

  But the gray is the one that consumes me

  And the comfort I miss so much.

  --Ataxia

  Rex

  “We’re gonna take off, man.” Blake is standing at the side of the stage. His arm’s slung over Layla so that she’s tucked in close. “Great show.”

  We just played our last set and are breaking down our equipment. Some nights we hang out until last call, but not tonight. It’s close to midnight and I’m dead tired.

  “Yeah, thanks for coming.” I put down the cords I was wrapping and walk over to them, squatting down to their eye level. “Late night, huh, Layla? Aren’t pregnant chicks supposed to go to bed early?”

  “We’re having a date night. Figure we should get some alone time before the baby comes.” She tilts her head back and smiles up at Blake.

  “I don’t think Blake’s ever been on a date until you.” I can guarantee he hasn’t, unless sex in a public bathroom counts.

  His eyes get tight. “You should try it. Plenty of girls around, get that dick in gear—Ow!” He looks at Layla. “Why’d you pinch me?”

  “Just because you’ve retired your boy-slut status doesn’t mean you need to corrupt Rex.” She swings her dark eyes to me. “I loved your new song by the way. How do you come up with those lyrics?”

  My pulse jumps. I can’t tell her the truth—that I write from my dreams. The shit that haunts my sleep gets turned into lyrical form. “No clue, but thanks. Glad you liked it.”

  She yawns.

  “Right. I need to get my woman home and naked before she falls asleep on my ass.” Blake kisses the top of her head.

  What a difference a woman makes. One minute the guy’s fuckin’ chicks and keeping secrets; now he’s playing Bon Jovi and having a kid. It’s as if he went from twenty-five to forty overnight.

  I fist-bump Blake and give Layla a hug before they turn and disappear into the dwindling crowd. Ready to follow their lead and get home for some shut-eye, I finish breaking down all our stuff. Lane helps me out, but Talon and Ty have wandered off with a group of girls. Something tells me we won’t be seeing much of them for the rest of the night.

  I’ve loaded up our van, settled up with the manager, and satisfied a few fans with pictures and autographs when I’m finally headed to my truck. I check my phone. Fuck. It’s two a.m.

  So much for an early night.

  “Mothereff!” The angry female voice comes from the other side of the alley.

  I lean to see around a dumpster and find a tall dark-haired girl limping in a circle and dropping every cuss word known to man. From what I can tell, she’s pissed at the motorcycle parked just a few feet away.

  Guess my early night went from late to later.

  I stroll up to her, but she’s too lost in her fit to notice. “You need some help?”

  She jumps and spins on me, fists raised.

  I hold up my hands and try like hell not to crack up at how funny this girl looks with her feminine little hands balled up and ready to throw a punch. “Whoa . . . watch the guns there, slugger.”

  She drops her hands to her sides and stares at me. “Rex”—her eyebrows drop low—“are you . . . you’re talking to me?”

  Okay, maybe she’s angry and drunk.

  “Yeah, I’m talking to you, unless there’s someone else in the alley who’s jumping around and yelling at a motorcycle. Wait, how do you know my name?”

  Her dark pink lips part and she locks eyes with mine. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t nail it down. Her long black hair is pulled back, but pieces have come loose and fall in waves around her heart-shaped face. The contrast of her hair against her pale skin with those dark lips . . . she looks like a doll.

  I snap my fingers and point. “I know you!”

  Her eyes go wide and she sucks in an audible breath. “Yes. It’s me—”

  “Sorry, I know you work here, and I feel like a total dickhead for not remembering your name.”

  She jerks as if my words delivered a physical blow. “Oh, uh . . . yeah. M-mac.”

  “Mac. Right. Sorry, I meet so many people . . .” It’s a crappy excuse, but it’s true. I only know a few of the waitresses by name. I still feel like a dick.

  She nods a few times, still staring. Silence expands between us, and her eyes don’t move from my face.

  I clear my throat. “So . . . is this your man’s bike?”

  Her eyes flutter and she shakes her head. “No, um . . .” She turns to the motorcycle. “It’s mine.”

  “Yours?”

  Her gaze swings to me, eyes narrowing.

  “Sorry, it’s just girls don’t usually—”

  “Ride motorcycles. I get it.” She kneels down to look at something around the front tire.

  I follow her gaze to see what she’s studying. It’s then I notice the front tire is flat. Really flat. “Ah, flat tire, huh?”

  She doesn’t answer me, probably because it’s a stupid-ass question.

  “You need air.” I almost slap my forehead at what a jackass I must sound like.

  She forks her fingers into her hair. “No shit.” Her mumbled words are barely audible and make me smile.

  “What I mean is why don’t I give you and your motorcycle a lift to the gas station so we can get you back on the road?” I don’t know why I’m offering. She could take a cab home and get her boyfriend to help her in the morning, assuming she has a man. From the looks of this chick, all legs and the kind of hair that makes a man want to bury himself inside it, she’s gotta be taken.

  But why would she be here alone in a dark alley with a flat and no one here to help her if she did? Fuck! If I had a girl, I’d spank the hell out of her if she put herself in this situation.

  Her eyes search mine as if she’s trying to decipher the seriousness of my offer. “You want to help me?”

  “Unless your man is on the way to pick you up, I don’t see you’ve got any other options.” I motion to the sign in the alley that clearly reads “No Overnight Parking.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Have one what?”

  “A man, coming for me.”

  “Well then”—I hold out my arms and bow—“looks like I’m your guy.”

  Her eyes go wide and she steps back, bumping into her bike.

  What’s up with this chick?

  ~*~

  Mac

  Calm down. Don’t freak out. Yes, the object of a fourteen-year obsession is standing less than two feet away. And he’s talking to me. Talking. To me!

  At first I thought he’d recognized me until I remembered I’m no longer the frizzy redheaded girl from his past. No matter how many times I see my reflection in the mirror, I still feel like Gia when Rex is around, scared and insecure.

  “Really, you don’t have to do this. I can call my roommate. She can—” I groan when I remember that she’s working at Zeus’s until six am. “Fuck.”

  He chuckles and rolls his lip ring around a couple times. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. I have a ramp in the back of my truck and straps to tie it down.”

  I stare at him. How is it that a boy who’s been through all he has can grow up to be such a genuine man? He doesn’t walk around with attitude, goes out of his way to take pictures with fans, and helps strangers he meets in the alley. Amazing.

  He shifts on his feet. “Look, I’m not some psycho. I promise. Besides, we basically work together. Go tell Mario I’m giving you a ride so that if you come up missing they’ll know it was me.”

  He sounds so serious I can’t help but choke on a laugh as it bubbles up my throat.

  He cocks one eyebrow. “That a yes?”

  “Okay, as long as you promise not to leave
me in a ditch somewhere.”

  A slow curl of his lips has me sucking in a breath. My heart races. Damn, he’s gorgeous when he smiles.

  “Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  We stare at each other, me taking him in and him probably trying to figure out why I can’t drag my eyes away.

  He clears his throat. “Right, well, I’ll pull up the truck. Why don’t you run in and let Mario know who you’re leaving with.”

  I nod and he walks toward his truck. I do as I’m told, and think there isn’t much I wouldn’t do if he asked.

  After a quick conversation with Mario, I’m back in the alley. Rex has my bike loaded into the bed of his midnight-blue Cadillac pick-up. He’s standing on the huge truck tire, pulling one of the ratchet straps tight so that the bike stays upright. Transfixed, I admire the bulging of his triceps and the lithe way he commands his body as if he knows every single inch and all it’s capable of. He reaches over the bike, and his shirt lifts a few inches, giving me an unobstructed view of his side and abdomen. Holy shit.

  I break out in a sweat. My mouth goes dry and my belly tumbles.

  “Hey.”

  The sound of his voice pulls my attention.

  “You ready?” He hops down from the truck tire and opens the passenger side door. With a sweep of his hand, he bows. “Your chariot awaits.”

  I laugh and close the space between us. Stopping just before I hop up into the truck, my eyes find his. “Thanks.” For finally noticing me.

  “No problem.” He motions for me to get in. “Load up, princess.”

  He called me princess. My heart stumbles, tripping over itself, and I jump in. Once inside the truck, I watch from the rearview as he checks the straps one last time. I take a deep breath and laze in the scent of fresh cut wood and citrus that permeates the cab.

  This is happening. I’m in Rex’s truck and we’re talking. My heart pounds so hard I hear it in my ears.

  Do I tell him who I am? Right now?

  Oh, hey, thanks for the ride and by the way I’m your foster sister, you know, the one who promised to protect you and failed. Ugh. I rub my temples. No, I can’t just blurt it out. I don’t know how he feels about me. Maybe he thinks I knew what was going on in that basement and didn’t do anything about it. He could hate my guts. He’d have every right to. Oh God. My stomach churns. What if that’s what he thinks?

  The truck shifts as he jumps off the back and walks around to the driver’s side.

  He swings open the door and slides in. “CB900. Nice ride. What year?”

  Be calm. Don’t blow this. “1980.”

  He turns the ignition. “Classic.”

  “Hardly.” I pick my nails and look out the window. “More like a classic piece of shit.”

  Backing out of the alley, he turns onto the main road. “It’s a flat tire, Mac.” He chuckles and the sound sends warmth through my chest all the way to my fingertips. “I found two nails in the front tire. The bike’s good; it’s where you’re riding that’s fuckin’ it up.”

  My cheeks flame. The construction development. That must be where I picked up the nails. Shit. I was so consumed with Rex and his sleepover guest I wasn’t paying attention to what I was riding over. “Point taken.”

  “Airing up the tire will do no good. You’ve got holes to patch.”

  “What? So . . . um, no gas station?”

  He stops at a red light and shifts his body slightly to face me. “No. But I promise to bypass the ditch and drop you at home. Where do you live?”

  Oh crap! He’s going to see where I live. Not so much where I live, but how close I live to him. “Um . . . I’m off of 67th and Kelmore.”

  He narrows his eyes. “No shit? That’s by me.”

  “Huh.” I laugh and it sounds completely unnatural. “Crazy.”

  Stalker. Psycho. Yes, yes, and yes.

  Turning right at the light, he heads toward my house. “How long have you been working at The Blackout?”

  “Not too long.” I swing my gaze out the side window.

  “Nice.”

  My knee is bouncing and I can’t think straight. He’s trying to make small talk, and the polite thing to do would be to ask him something surface, but I know everything about him already. Except . . .

  “Is your girlfriend cool with you taking home strange women you pick up in dark alleys?” I don’t turn my head to see his expression, afraid of the softness I’ll see in his eyes at the mention of his girlfriend.

  “Not sure. I don’t—” His cellphone rings.

  I turn just as he nabs it from the center console. What was he about to say?

  “Bitch. Thanks for helping us break down and load up.” He sounds half angry, half annoyed. “Yeah, well I hope the pussy was worth it.” He cringes and looks at me apologetically.

  I smile. I’ve lived around instability my entire life, been around my fair share of guy talk. Nothing shocks me anymore.

  “Right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Later.” He ends the call. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I work in a bar, remember?” I notice where we are. “Oh, take a left here. It’s the ninth house on the right.”

  The truck inches down the street. “Nice hood.”

  “Thanks. It’s all right, except all the houses look the same. For the first month I lived here I kept pulling into the wrong driveway.”

  “I can see that.”

  We round to my house, and before the truck comes to a stop, my blood turns ice cold and my muscles tense. Shit, fuck, shit!

  Hatch’s Harley is parked in my driveway.

  Four

  Fear of the things that I can’t see

  Rage at the loss of control

  None of them come to save me

  And the damage at last takes its toll.

  --Ataxia

  Rex

  I pull up to Mac’s house and turn into the driveway. “Sick. Is that a Fatboy?”

  She doesn’t answer, and she’s sitting up so straight her back is off the seat. Her eyes are huge and staring at the Harley illuminated by my headlights. I throw the truck in park when the reality of what’s probably going on hits me.

  Doesn’t have a man, my ass.

  Even if they’re broken up, she’s obviously more than a little unnerved that I’m bringing her home with that dude here.

  I turn toward her still-frozen frame. “It’s cool, Mac. I’m not a threat. Let me unload your bike and I’ll be out of here.”

  Her head jerks and she swings her gaze to mine. “What?”

  I nod to the Fatboy. “Your man, right? I don’t want to cause you any problems.”

  “Ew.” Her face twists as if I offered her dog shit. “No, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s kinda my roommate’s.”

  The way she stiffened when she saw that bike, there’s no way her and Harley guy don’t have history. I tilt my head and study her, trying to decide whether or not to believe her. No, she’s lying. Unless . . .

  Adrenaline races through my veins and I squeeze the steering wheel to keep from making fists. “This dude dangerous? To you and your roommate?”

  “Oh, no. I mean he’s got horrible manners and he’s kind of a dick, but that’s it.”

  I relax my grip and my shoulders drop. Shit. What am I doing? I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I need to drop this bike off along with the girl who rides it and get to sleep. “Sweet. I’ll get your bike.”

  I hop down from the truck and go around the bed, releasing ratchet straps. The low grumble of the garage door gets my attention. I look up briefly only to get stuck staring.

  Mac’s ditched the messenger bag that she was wearing like a shield earlier. Her small waist and round hips swing in an unconsciously feminine way as she heads toward me. “I’ll help you walk it down the ramp.”

  With what looks like little effort, she hops up on the truck’s back tire and swings her leg into the bed, one after the other. I try not to notice how good her legs look in the skin tight b
lack pants she’s wearing, or how hot it is that she’s sporting a bad-ass pair of black leather biker boots complete with straps and buckles.

  She grabs her side of the handlebars and places her other hand on the seat.

  I do the same on my side. “Go slow. We’re at an angle.”

  Little by little we inch the bike down the ramp to the driveway. She lets it go and I walk it into the garage.

  I lean the bike onto its kickstand and motion around the space. “You know what this place needs?”

  Her eyebrows pinch together in the cutest way. “What?”

  “A car.”

  She laughs, but the sound is, I don’t know, strained somehow. “Thanks again for the ride.”

  Ah, so she’s getting rid of me. Hint taken.

  “Sure thing.” I nod and move back to my truck.

  She stands by while I put away my straps and push the bike ramp back into the bed. Every few seconds I take a peek at her and see her gaze shifting from me to her front door. Yep, this guy is definitely her boyfriend, or at least an ex.

  Rounding the back of my truck to the front, I give her a final wave. “See ya.”

  “Rex, wait.” Fuck, that’s the second time I’ve heard her say my name and the sound pulls me in like a beacon.

  She moves across the few yards that separate us. Stepping in close so that there are only inches between us, she tilts her head back to look up at me. The security light above her garage gives me a better look at her face. Her dark eyebrows drop low over eyes so light brown they’re like the color of sand. I breathe in deep and the scent I caught of her in the truck cab is intensified at this proximity: mild coconut and something sweet, like suntan oil and some exotic fruit. She smells like vacation.

  Pushing a strand of hair off her cheek, she tucks it behind her ear. “Before you go . . .” Her teeth run along the full cherry-pink flesh of her lower lip, and the sudden urge to taste it flares raw and ugly in my gut. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” She throws a quick look, almost unconsciously, over her shoulder toward her house. “Now’s not the time or place, but I’m afraid if I don’t commit to telling you then you’ll never talk to me again and then I’ll never get that chance back.”