“Enough,” I had barked before Landon or the others could chime in.
That was the last time they had mentioned me getting a woman. It wasnotthe last time I had thought about it. In fact, ever since that night, it is all I can think about. I never knew loneliness until I sat at that bar with my friends and their ladies and realized how alone I truly was.
Since I heard Mack and his wife Molly talking about their babies and Ridge glowing about his wife getting pregnant, I sense my own biological clock ticking. More like pounding like a hollow drum, reminding me I ain’t getting any younger.
For a man who keeps away from people, I find myself wanting a wife and some babies.
“Not the life for you, Shep,” I mutter to myself as I peer out over the sunshine rays lighting the sleepy town of Driftwood.
A storm is coming but they don’t know it yet. I sigh and decide I have done enough wallowing in my self-made misery for today. Some of that misery may not be my own doing, but holding onto things the way I do, and keeping people out, sure ain’t making it any easier on me.
“Not as if a woman is going to come roaring into your life and let you have her, now, is it? Big, ugly brute like me will wind up alone on this mountain, no doubt about it.”
With that truth spoken out loud, thoughts of babies and wives are brushed aside for now.
Chapter Two
Sami
Sunshine lights the skies but I can smell the storm on the wind.
Pumping the throttle on my bike, I lean into the wind and let my body move with the curves of the road. Cool gusts whip past me, sending a chill up my spine and waking my soul. I smile beneath my helmet and push the throttle a little more. Anything to get me up this mountain faster and further away from what is behind me.
People say you can’t look back if you want to move forward. I disagree. How can you know whatnot to doagain, if you don’t look back? How can you move forward if you keep taking the same steps over and over? Let me answer that—you can’t. Looking back gives you a chance to make sure you put the right foot forward, so you don’t fall flat on your face.
Looking back for me means coming to the one place where life made sense to me. When I was growing up in Heart Harbor, we came to Driftwood every summer. I loved the crisp pine air, the sprawling mountains, and the cozy small town. Some of the best times of my life were spent here. Summers splashing in the cool lakes, nights wandering through the thick forests, and rainy days cuddled up with a book.
Coming back here might seem like taking a bunch of steps back, but I think I need to take a long look at my life. At how I got where I am. And how the hell I get out. The last thing I thought I would be at twenty-two is a runaway bride. A woman scorned. I mean I could be a new bride right now, on my honeymoon. All I had to do was pretend it didn’t matter that the groom slept with not one or even two, but four strippers at his bachelor party.
Sowing his wild oats, he said.
Walking in on the bang bus bachelor edition made me sick. I am all for free love and had even tried pitching for both sides. I might not even have cared if I thought it was the first time—or believed it would be the last. I stood there and flickers of a life of that moment on constant repeat played before my eyes. Almost like those quarter porn shows at sex toy shops.
He looked at me and we seemed to know in the same moment that I was gone. Long gone. I didn’t even tell him goodbye. No tears, no fighting, and no big blowup. I packed a bag and got on my bike. We were partners in and out of our romance, so I think he took that as my two-week’s notice.
“Why did we even decide to get married?” I mumble as I sway to the other side as a light rain falls.
Thinking back over our time together, I can’t pinpoint when that became the next logical step for us. We met in college while working on the school paper. He was charming and handsome, but I had no interest in men. Least of all men like him. He was rich and cocky and knew he could have any woman he wanted.
We flirted with each other, but it threw him off when I flirted with the other girls on the paper too. I think it challenged his manhood. I made it clear I was attracted to the personnotthe package. Plenty of the beautiful people I met over the years were the ugliest where it counted.
My mother may have been a good woman once, but I can’t remember that woman. Her beauty was her currency for happiness. After my father, the best man I ever knew, died when I was young, I got whiplash by how fast she moved on. Less than a month after we said our goodbyes, she was saying wedding vows to a rich asshole who would never accept me as part of his family.
Now I realize the man I had planned to marry was a lot like my stepfather. Rich, charming, and ready to bed any woman who stroked his ego. Mother looked the other way as long as he took her out to be seen and didn’t put a limit on her black card. I refuse to wind up like her so instead of looking the other way, I came here to figure out my life.
“Clear your brain. Wash away the bad vibes,” I mumble as I sway my R6 with the wind once again.
When I come around the bend, I can feel the rain hitting my back and see it slicking the narrow roads. I only have a few more miles to go to the cabin. I am beat after driving for hours but I don’t want to wait out the storm. I can get there. A few more miles. As if testing me, the rain picks up, pounding down harder as the skies open.
I bow my body into the curves of the bike, hiding my face behind the front shield. The skies were bright when I started up the mountain but a few miles on the twisty roads and it’s almost gray out. I glance ahead, frowning when I see a light in the distance. Taking my eyes off the road is a bad idea.
“Oh, Sherlock Holmes,” I curse, not that I ever curse if I can help it.
Before I can stop it, I am sliding across the pavement, the back end of the bike going airborne. A tree limb is down across the road but it’s the wet leaves that sent me sailing. I bend my body into the bike as it swerves sideways, knowing I am going to hit hard. And I do, flying off the bike as it slips out from beneath me.
Sliding across the road with a burning sensation that lets me know my skin is tearing from my body, I cry out. Again, I curl up, tucking my knees close and bending my head. Rarely do I even wear the helmet but as I slam against the base of a hill, I am glad I wanted to hide my sadness with it.
“Ah, Huckleberry Finn!” I shout as pain rockets through my spine as I come to a stop.