Losing Track: A Living Heartwood Novel

by Wolfe, Trisha

While I was in rehab—this time by my own choice—Boone started counseling sessions with an anger management specialist. As much as I wanted to see him in the halls, have him near for when I struggled, the added support, I knew he’d become a crutch for me. I have to find my own coping mechanisms, so that he doesn’t become one of them. I needed time on my own to focus on my issues and myself, and he needed to seek healthier outlets. A counselor Jacquie arranged three times a week verses sharing Hunter’s story as his own and brawling.

  Damn, we’re a fucked up pair—but who ever said anything was easy?

  His letters were a comfort, though; hearing him making progress in the real world gave me faith that we’d find our own way. A better way. But first, there’s a promise I have to keep.

  “It’s a long ride. Are you sure you don’t want to rest first and head out tomorrow?”

  Strapping my tote to the back of my seat, I say, “No way, and give Jacquie the chance to change her mind? I’ve been counting down the days until I could give Florida the ol’ middle finger salute goodbye.”

  Boone chuckles. “And yet, the fact that you’re now following the rules doesn’t seem to hinder your bad girl image at all.”

  I reach over and lightly punch his arm. “Are you trying to start some shit? You want me to get all rowdy on you?”

  As I move in for another playful punch, Boone traps my wrist and pulls me to him. He gazes down into my eyes, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I would love nothing more.” Then his lips lower to mine, caressing them into a tender kiss.

  With my hands trapped behind my back, I lift up onto my toes to match the passion in his kiss.

  The deal Jacquie and I struck was simple: instead of handing my case over to a judge to decide my fate, I admitted I had a problem. Checked myself back into rehab. And if I got positive feedback from my counselors, I could get off of probation early with my license back to boot.

  It’s amazing what can happen when you work with the system, instead of against it. But you didn’t hear those words from me. It goes against every value I once held close—what my father taught me, what the MC instilled in me—but the truth is, all that’s still a part of me, it’s just not the only part.

  I’m all about the layers these days.

  Like Sam’s dead trees. I like to think of my heartwood in layers. There’s some brittle places, a broken limb or two, even some death. But there’s also new growth, sprouting around the decay, healing, and transforming my tree into something amazingly beautiful and new.

  And as I wriggle free of Boone’s hold, linking my arms around his neck, I’m more than eager to explore all the new layers with this guy of mine.

  He pulls back enough to whisper against my lips, “Let’s go. Before I change my mind and steal you away to somewhere private.”

  “We’ll find plenty of little clandestine places for that on the road.” I give him a wink.

  Then I’m saddling my Breakout, loving the tingle seizing my stomach as I kick-start the engine. My baby roars to life, awakening the rider’s soul deep within me, and an irrepressible smile curls my lips.

  I dip into my back pocket and tug out Dar’s pink bandana. I wrap it around my wrist, letting her know I’ll be there soon. I don’t plan to let her father keep me away or have the final say; she’s coming with me. Where she belongs.

  Then I tie my own bandana around my neck and pop my helmet over my head.

  As Boone rides ahead of me, leading the way back to my hometown, I know we have a long road ahead of us. The bumps and detours will happen. Some pit stops longer than others. And I may even fall a few times.

  But once you’ve lost track, it’s not impossible to find your way again. Hope is the key.

  No matter how painful the well-worn track marks of your past—you can pave a new future. That path before me is lined with hope.

  And, hey. I have a mean ass ride for the journey.

  Boone

  Some Years Down the Road

  I’M A FUCKING MESS.

  I got the call first thing this morning. My throat closed up, unable to respond to the person on the other end of the line. My stomach a ball of knots, my feet already carrying me off the job and to my bike, giving no explanations as I hung up the phone and peeled away.

  Now, walking through the hospital’s emergency doors, the quick rush of cool air hits my face, sending a shock to my system. And as I approach the counter, I can barely force the words from my mouth.

  The receptionist just stares at me, eyes wide. Then, “Can I help you?”

  I nod. “Uh, yeah. Melody Lachlan? She was admitted this morning?”

  The lady inhales a deep breath and turns to her computer screen. She starts typing, then pauses. I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. Then she types some more. Fuck shit. Come on!

  Agitation hikes my defenses, so when she turns and says, “Do you have identification?” I take off toward the side door leading to the emergency rooms.

  “Sir! You have to fill out—”

  But I don’t stop to hear the rest. I’m pushing through door after door, winding down the maze of halls. Nothing is going to keep from her—paperwork be damned.

  Finally, I spot a nurse who looks like she has a clue. “Can you tell me which room is Melody Lachlan’s?”

  She looks me over and shakes her head. “You didn’t get a pass—”

  “Please,” I beg her, forcefully unclenching my fists. “I just have to—is she okay? I can’t be late.”

  Pushing the strands of blond hair away from her eyes, she cocks her head to the side and lets a smile slip. “First time?”

  That question doesn’t gut me as badly as I expect. Maybe because I’ve been preparing myself for it for months. Or maybe because I’m too concerned for Mel in this moment to process it fully.

  I simply nod. “Can I see her? Please?”

  A sympathetic frown pulls her lips down, and she nods. “Come on.”

  My feet swallow the distance, each step bringing me closer, but it feels like I’m walking in slow motion. The flickering lights above cause me to blink, trying to wake myself from this dream-like, surreal moment.

  When she stops at a door, I hold my breath until she pulls it open. And I see Mel lying on the hospital bed.

  “He’s going to have to fill out paperwork,” the nurse tells a groggy Melody. “But if I didn’t let him back here, I fear he would’ve had a breakdown.”

  A slow smile twists her mouth as I move to her side and take her hand. “Are you all right?”

  She raises her eyebrows above deep brown eyes. The red in them making my heart bang painfully against my chest. “I’m fine,” she says, voice raw. “Just wiped.”

  I kiss her forehead and brush her damp hair back away from her face. “I’m sorry I’m late. I literally just got the call.”

  She laughs. “Well, someone was in a rush, I’ll tell you that. I don’t think they were even going to wait for me.”

  I look down at her, my heartbeat finally slowing enough for me to take in her appearance. The flatness of her belly. The tubes in her arms. The light blue hospital gown. Her face is a bit swollen, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  Until I glimpse the tiny person being carried into the room.

  My throat constricts, and I don’t think I have enough room in my soul to encompass all the love filling me.

  “Baby,” Mel says. “Meet your daughter.”

  The nurse places the sleeping baby girl in my arms despite my awkward attempt to hold her just right. I cradle her head, my arms stretched out before me, until I feel safe enough to bring her close.

  She’s so tiny…just so small. So precious. My gaze takes in every inch of her—short dark hair matted to her delicate head; little eyelashes brushing her pink cheeks. Then her eyes open. Bright blue irises gaze up at me, stealing my breath. My own eyes cloud over. I blink the tears back and exhale a wobbly breath.

  “Do you have a name picked out
yet?” the nurse asks.

  I glance up to catch Mel looking at us. Tears are gathered in their corners, and she blinks and wipes them away. She nods to the nurse. “Yeah, we do.” She beams at me. “Darla Hunter Randall.”

  The nurse says, “That’s beautiful, Melody.”

  Bringing little Darla with me, I sit on the chair beside the bed. Transfer our baby daughter into Mel’s arms, and wrap mine around the pillow to get as close to her as possible. “Ready for this adventure?” I ask her.

  “Oh, yeah.” She laughs, and I love the sound of it. So much. “But I don’t think we’re going to get the car seat on the back of your bike. Have another plan?”

  I press my lips to the top of her head, and whisper, “For you…always.”

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  To yield is forgiveness; follow me down, my friend,

  To the depths, to the black, the hole in me,

  Purge, for your loyalty is endless,

  Break for her,

  Ascend, and be salvation,

  Starve, and be redeemed,

  For a prayer is not heard,

  But a whisper felt, oh, soft caress,

  Screaming in the void of our decay,

  Tears stain, corrode, and beckon evil sprites,

  The demons do envy, do dream,

  Of brimstone and kiss,

  Of glass and ice,

  A heightened awareness, a pit free of reason,

  Feel not, fire only consumes,

  Taste not, sweetness is deception,

  Follow me down, my love, to the void,

  To the scentless air, free of blame,

  For who should feel the swift assault,

  An undercurrent in my sea of waves, crashing,

  Above the trees, soar the sky, touch the stars,

  Their fire devours, but no need for air,

  Rolling, and tumble, back down the hole,

  Shiny metallic, tangy and wet,

  Taste only yearning, make me full,

  For my longing overflows, bitter pain,

  And my wound reopens, torn and salted,

  Resolve can blind yet heal,

  No sacrifice too deep,

  Only when selfish hearts break,

  Mend and patch, the fissure travels on,

  Until you see me,

  And I burn, lit by your torch.

  Thank you to my super human critique partners, who are always there with their mega editing super powers to see me through each project: P.T. Michelle, thank you for reading so quickly, giving me the much needed pep talks, wonderful notes, and for your friendship. Shannon Duffy, thank you for also reading super-fast on this book and for calming me down in my moments of panic, and always, for being a great friend. Rachel Harris, thank you the emails that made me smile, the encouragement, and the valuable input on this book and friendship.

  To my amazing beta readers, I could not write books without your brilliance. Honestly, you are amazing! Thank you to: Katrina Tinnon, Naomi Hop, Amber Troyer, Kayleigh-Marie Gore, Pavan Hansra, and Jessica Mangicaro.

  A special shout out to the best street team ever, the Tuff Girl Legion! You guys keep me sane, make me laugh, and offer so much support. I couldn’t do this without your unflappable faith in my work and you’re cheerleading. Thank you!

  To my family. My son, Blue, who is my inspiration, thank you for being you. I love you. And my husband, Daniel, for your support and owning your title as “the husband” at every book event. I love you, too. To my parents, Debbie and Al, for the emotional support, chocolate, and unconditional love—I love you guys right back.

  Arijana Karčić of CoverIt! Designs, thank you for so much. Not for just creating a stunning and striking cover, but for also all your encouragement and belief in this series. I had a blast working with you, and was in awe of your talent. Truly, the covers for this series are perfect.

  A huge thank you to Emily and E.M. Tippetts Book Designs! You’re such an amazing group of women to work with, and the interior for Losing Track just takes my breath away. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

  A special acknowledgement to Nereyda for being a loyal friend, thank you for the emails, the support, and for always listening to my rants when I need to vent. And to Damaris, thank you for being not only a wonderful friend, who’s there when I just need to call someone, but also a huge support of my career. Both you ladies mean the world to me.

  Another special shout out to Jeanne, who was there with the knowledge I needed to help bring this story to life. Thank you for taking the time, girl. It means so much to me!

  Thank you to the Bitchfits! The most badass, all-woman Misfits cover band. You guys rock, you’re super talented, and you made my day when you said yes to me including you in this series. I’m beyond words.

  There are many, oh, so many people who I have to thank, who have been right beside me during this journey, and who will continue to be there, but I know I can’t thank everyone here, the list would go on and on! So just know that I love you dearly. You know who you are, and I wouldn’t be here without your support. Thank you so much.

  To my readers, you have no idea how much I value and love each and every one of you. If it wasn’t for you, none of this could be possible. As cliché as that sounds, I mean it from the bottom of my heart; I adore you, and hope to always put out books that make you laugh, swoon, and cry.

  I owe everything to God, thank you for everything.

  From an early age, Trisha Wolfe dreamed up fantasy worlds and characters and was accused of talking to herself. Today, she lives in South Carolina with her family and writes full time, using her fantasy worlds as an excuse to continue talking to herself. Get updates on future releases and special bonus material at www.TrishaWolfe.com

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  Copyright © 2014 Trisha Wolfe

  Cover Design: CoverIt! Designs

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Titles by Trisha Wolfe

  Dedication

  Quote

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHATPER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  Newsletter

  Melody’s Poem

  About the Author

  About the Book Designer

  Copyright Notice

  sp; Wolfe, Trisha, Losing Track: A Living Heartwood Novel