10.
Bear
T he nights were the worst.
Those were the times when I stared at the darkened ceiling and felt my thoughts spinning dangerously out of control. Those were the times when I hated myself the most. When I knew it was only a matter of time.
It was usually when the drink took hold of me. When I couldn’t even try to fight it off. Because I would rather be drunk and unconscious than alone and scrolling through the list of things that I had done.
But tonight was different. Tonight, I was sitting outside Dahlia’s house, watching the light from her TV flicker in the windows. Watching the lights turn on and then off as the evening wore on and she went to bed. Tonight, I stared out of my truck’s window, and I felt more present than I had in years. More alert and ready for anything. The urge to drink was ever present, but it was easy to swipe away.
Rocky had been my brother and friend, and Dahlia had been the love of my life. There was no way I was letting anything happen to her. I would never sleep again if it meant protecting her.
Dahlia owed me nothing, and I deserved nothing —of that I was under no illusion. There would be no great scheme to win the woman. To steal her from the misery of losing her husband so I could worm my way back into her heart and her bed. That wasn’t my plan. I didn’t even need her to forgive me for the hurt I had caused all those years ago, because I knew I didn’t deserve it. But it didn’t matter. I was committed to her and to keeping her safe.
The night wore on, the stars began to fade, and I remained vigilant, my eyes never leaving Dahlia's house. The truck's engine was a comforting hum beneath me, a reminder that I was ready to spring into action at any moment. The quiet of the night enveloped me, but inside, an uneasy storm raged.
Her silhouette appeared briefly at the window, a fleeting glimpse that caused my heart to ache with regret. She was safe inside, her dreams untouched by the demons that haunted my own. As the hours passed, the weight of my dedication pressed heavily on my shoulders, yet it was a burden I welcomed.
I knew the darkness of the past could never be erased, but tonight, beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, I had a chance to make things right. As right as they could ever be, anyway.
As dawn approached, the first rays of sunlight cast a gentle glow over the roof of the house, promising a new day. My stomach growled loudly, and I patted it, thinking about the bacon I had eaten yesterday at Gods’, and realizing I hadn’t eaten anything since. I had lost a lot of weight the past couple of months—living off a diet of drink and being hungry hadn’t really bothered me—but now I was sober, and I was famished.
My skin felt clammy with sweat, and I lifted an arm and sniffed, grimacing at the stench of myself. I had showered at Gods’, but the alcohol was still working its way out of my system and making itself known.
I wound down the window, letting in some fresh air.
JD had said that he would send someone by to relieve me this morning so I could go and sleep for a couple of hours, and I had agreed, but now, as the sound of a motorcycles approached, I was regretting my decision. And I knew that I wasn’t going anywhere.
I stepped out of the truck as two bikes pulled in front of me, and I watched as Tex and Asshole 1 climbed off their bikes.
Tex was a good man. Played the guitar something wicked and sang at a bar in a low, Southern drawl, when the fancy took him. Always had a new woman on his arm and was always up for a game of strip poker with them. I had never seen him have to remove a single piece of clothing. He’d come to Colorado with a guitar strapped to his back and his thumb stuck out. No idea how he got in with the Kings, but he played his part as a prospect, and it felt like he’d always been there. He was younger than me by about five years, with an addictive laugh and a silver chain around his neck that I had never seen him without. He had a story, no doubt, but I didn’t think we would ever hear it.
We shook hands and Asshole 1 lit a cigarette before glancing up and down the street. He was close to patching in, and we’d been allowing him to know more and more of the club’s business. He was quiet, watchful, and he was real smart.
“Anything?” I asked, and they knew I was looking for information regarding Rocky and what had happened.
Tex shook his head solemnly. “Nope. The Wolves ain’t moved from their clubhouse since Rocky’s death. JD is planning on us going in there, but the last intel we had on them was that they were knee-deep in with the Irish so we can’t rush it.”
I winced at the thought of the Irish. They had been a big problem we had been trying to squash for the past year. Responsible for most of the illegal weapons trade brought into our city—which wouldn’t bother us too much, but we had found out a couple of shipments had included the trade of women last year, and that was not okay. They were crazy bastards who’d go down killing anyone and everyone just for the hell of it if they chose to.
If the Wolves had been dealing with them, then who knew what they had in the clubhouse. Or worse, who they had in there.
“Yeah, exactly,” Tex agreed noting my expression, “but they’ve got it coming to them. They won’t get away with what they did.”
“Fuck no,” I agreed.
Asshole 1 pointed up ahead and we all turned to look, watching as a couple of motorcycles approached. They weren’t from our club, and it took too many valuable seconds to realize exactly who they were. The Wolves.
We ducked behind my truck just in time as they pulled out their guns and started firing. Bullets ricocheted off Tex and Asshole 1’s bikes, and Tex called out angrily. Bullets pierced the side of my truck, making holes in the windows, and then they hit Dahlia’s house, smashing the windows and chipping the brickwork. One of Rocky’s tires went down on his truck as a bullet hit it.
Panic and fear gripped me as I thought about her being trapped inside. If she was standing in the living room or by the window, she was as good as dead. Tex already had his gun out as I looked toward him, and he nodded at me to go and he stood up. I began firing back as I turned and sprinted toward the house.
I felt my heart drop into my stomach as I ran, my mind racing with fear and anger. The gunmen sped away, their laughter echoing down the street at Tex and Asshole 1 fired after them, but I didn't have time to think about what was happening outside. My only focus was on Dahlia.
I reached the front door, which had been splintered by the hail of bullets, and pushed it open. “Dahlia!” I shouted, my voice trembling with desperation. The house was ominously quiet, save for the tinkling of shattered glass falling from the broken windows.
I burst into the living room, my eyes scanning the room frantically. There she was, huddled behind the couch, her face pale and eyes wide with terror. The sight of her there, unharmed, brought a wave of relief crashing over me. I rushed to her side and pulled her into my arms, holding her tight.
“It's okay, I’ve got you,” I whispered, trying to soothe her shaking form as the chaos outside continued to unfold. “You're safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She buried her face into my chest, her gasping sobs loud in the echoing silence of the house. Her whole body was shaking as I held her tightly against me like I was a bulletproof wall that no one could get through. I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, but I had no intention of moving until I knew that the danger had passed.
“You’re shaking,” she finally said, her words muffled.
And I realized I was.
I was shaking with anger and fear. But mostly I was shaking because I was close to her again. I swallowed and took a slow breath before speaking.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I wasn’t sure what I would do if she was. But someone—no, everyone—would pay.
“I think I’m okay,” she said, and I felt something inside me loosen. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I replied.
She pushed gently against my chest and turned her eyes up to look into my face. Eyes that I had once stared down into many times before. It had been so long since I had looked into her face like this, since I had held her in my arms. It felt surreal, like I might wake up any second. I would rather die than wake up from this.
“There’s blood,” she whispered, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. The words made no sense, all jumbling inside my head and getting screwed up.
“What?” I finally said.
“There’s blood.” She pushed against me again, and as I moved, I realized she was right. Blood dripped down the front of me. A slow trickle that had slid down my chest and had stained the front of her clothes. “Oh my God, were you shot?”
I shook my head no. “I’m fine.” I released her from my arms. A wooziness made my head spin, and I felt a pain burn through my shoulder. “Shit,” I said, touching a hand to the growing red stain on my shoulder, “I think I was hit.”
I hadn’t even felt the bullet penetrate me. Hadn’t felt the pain of hot metal tearing through my flesh and muscle. Or even when, or if, it had left. I had felt nothing in my panic to get to her and protect her.
Her eyes were wide and she stood up, a hand going to her mouth. I reached for her, wanting to drag her back down so she was out of the way of the window, but my arm flopped uselessly.
“Fuck,” I grumbled.
“I’ll go get your friends,” she said.
“What friends?” I replied. “I don’t have any friends.”
She frowned. “The men you were talking to outside—let me go get them.”
“They’re not my friends,” I said, feeling dizzy.
“Family then, whatever you want to call them. Let me go get them for you,” she replied impatiently.
I shook my head. “I have no family. No friends. I have no one. I’m all alone just like you said I would be.”
I slid down to my knees, the dizziness taking over more and more. Dahlia crouched down in front of me, her face blurring in and out of focus. I felt her cradle my head as my body slid sideways.
“Help,” she called, her panicked voice ringing in my ears. “Help us!”
“I guess you were right after all,” I wheezed, and she stopped yelling and looked back down into my face.
“What do you mean?”
I sighed, almost grateful that it was over. “You said I would die a lonely man, and look at me now.” I coughed, feeling wet hit my chin and chest. “I’ve got nothing and no one.”
“You have me…okay? You always had me.”
Heavy footsteps echoed into the house and then Dahlia was replaced with Tex. His eyes went wide when he saw the blood, and he turned to Asshole 1 and ordered him to call an ambulance.
In the distance, I could already hear the police sirens, but the darkness at the edges of my vision were creeping in, slowly drowning out the world.