17.
Bear
I could hear her crying on and off through the night. I wasn’t obnoxious enough to believe they were all for me, but I had to hope that some of them were. Because as much as it pained me to hear her cry, knowing that she was crying because of me gave me hope that she still cared. That she still had some feelings for me.
And right now, she was my lifeline.
I stared at the bottle of unopened beer, desperate to twist off the cap and swallow it down. I hadn’t brought much with me when I’d set off, but a four-pack had been a necessity—yet now I knew I had to get rid of it. But that was easier said than done.
The cabin had fallen silent around an hour earlier, and I hadn’t heard or seen any movement since. In the cold dead of night, the silence was a welcome retreat. My head felt like it had been full of voices and problems for as far back as I could remember. Now there was just one voice and one problem.
The voice telling me to drink, and the problem of getting Dahlia back.
These two things did not go hand in hand.
I growled with frustration and stood up, lifting the bottle above my head, ready to launch it into the woods. I needed it away from me. I needed the temptation gone. But when I tried to throw it, my hand wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t let go.
Sober for the first time in three months meant focusing, and focusing meant remembering that my brother was dead and gone. I had given up everything to protect him, and then when I had failed at that, I had spent the rest of my life looking after him. Now, without him, I knew I would have to focus on my own life.
But what life did I really have now?
I had once had a future.
A woman I loved.
A life I had been building with her.
Now all I had was the club, and most of them hated my guts. And who could blame them?
Rocky was dead, and that was my fault. I should have been with him that night, but instead I had been drunk somewhere. His death was on my hands. His blood running through my fingers. Maybe I couldn’t have saved him, maybe I could. Maybe I would have been killed too…but at least it would have been fucking honorable.
I sat back down and gripped the neck of the bottle tighter.
The thirst for it was growing.
My tongue felt parched, like I hadn’t drunk a single drop of water in years. My body shook with the need for the beer, but I knew it wasn’t just one beer. It could never be just one beer. I drank to annihilate myself and my dark thoughts. And I didn’t stop until I got there. But I couldn’t do that now. Right now I had to protect Dahlia. I had to keep my head about me so that I would see any dangers coming her way and then I could throw my body in the line of them to keep her safe.
Because really, wasn’t that what I had been doing for all these years?
Hadn’t I left to keep her safe?
How fucking stupid would it be to let down my guard now.
I carefully placed the bottle by my feet like it was a precious heirloom. I put my head in my hands, dragging my calloused palms over and over my short hair, scratching with my nails as I fought myself and my demons.
“Pull yourself together,” I mumbled to myself. “Fucking pull yourself together.”
I stood up, walking away from my little camp, and the beer that shone like a beacon. I needed distance between me and it. I needed space. I needed to goddamn get rid of it.
I stalked back toward the fire, reaching for the beer once again, but as I got close to it again my mouth began to water.
“Fuck off,” I grumbled, spitting on the ground. I slapped at my head over and over until my skin hurt and my skull ached.
I was thirsty. So damn thirsty.
I trudged farther into the dark, away from the tent, away from the fire, away from my torment. The night was cold and I shivered, not just from the chill but from the battle raging within. Each step was heavy, like I was wading through a swamp filled with my past mistakes. The weight of my desires clung to me, dragging me back to that cursed bottle.
Dahlia’s face flashed before my eyes, her smile, her laugh, the way she crinkled her nose when she was concentrating. I knew I had to protect her, to keep her safe from all harm—even the harm that came from within me. My love for her was the anchor that kept me from drifting away into the abyss.
I stopped, staring up at the stars, pinpricks of light in the vast darkness, and yet they seemed so far away, unreachable. I clenched my fists, feeling the sting of my nails digging into my palms, grounding me in the moment.
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp night air, and let it out slowly. “I can do this,” I whispered, though the words seemed feeble against the storm inside me. “I have to do this. For Dahlia.”
I turned back toward the camp, determined to face the night without the crutch of alcohol. I would fight this battle, every day, every hour, every minute, for her. Because her happiness was essential to my own. Because love demanded that sacrifice. Because if nothing else, I owed her that much.
I stalked back to the camp, and as I got within reach of the bottle, I kicked it as hard as I could. It flew in an impressive arc, up into the air and away from my camp, landing somewhere within the darkness of the forest. I heard the smash of the bottle and knew that the liquid was soaking into the dark earth somewhere out of my reach. I swallowed down the rising panic, wondering how I would cope without it. There were three more bottles in my truck. Three more temptations, but for now, at least the closest one was out of sight.
Sitting back down on the log, I stared into the dying fire, willing myself to pay attention to the forest around me. To listen and watch for anything out of the usual. To find anything that might be there to hurt Dahlia.
My concentration was lonely and intense, and I got lost in the sound of my own breathing, barely noticing when the sun began to rise and the flames of my fire died down to glowing embers. The sound of the cabin door opening brought me slowly out of my daze, and I blinked sluggishly, coming back around.
Dahlia came out of the cabin wearing a pair of denim cutoffs, a white tank top, and a pair of brown cowboy boots. The outfit definitely wasn’t ideal for the forest, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. Her short, dark hair framed her face, making her puffy, kohl-ringed eyes pop. She looked tired, and she refused to look at me as she trudged off into the forest. I stood up slowly, letting my back stretch and crack, before following her.
She stayed well ahead of me, climbing over fallen tree logs and holding on to branches as she stepped between the trees. The forest was dense, the undergrowth thick, but she moved with a kind of determined grace, as though the obstacles were mere trifles. I watched her, my heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words, as she navigated the shadowy terrain.
The morning air was cool, and the smell of pine and earth was strong, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of last night’s argument and my own personal struggle. The sun began to filter through the thick canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Birds chirped in the distance, their songs a reminder of the world’s relentless beauty, even in moments of personal turmoil.
Dahlia stopped for a moment, her back to me, and I could see her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. She turned her head slightly, as if sensing my presence, but didn’t look back. Undeterred, she continued her trek further into the forest. I followed, maintaining a respectful distance while still keeping her in sight, the leaves crunching softly under my heavy boots.
The path was uneven, and at times I had to reach out to steady myself on a tree trunk or balance on a moss-covered rock. But Dahlia moved with an almost ethereal fluidity, unfazed by the terrain. Watching her, I felt a surge of awe mixed with a pang of sadness. She was strong, resilient, and she’d do just fine eventually. She was a stark contrast to the chaos that raged within me.
Sweat glistened across her shoulders, and when she turned her head to decide which direction she wanted to go in, I could see her hair damp against her flushed cheeks.
I was out of breath, my muscles getting tired. I was dramatically unfit compared to her, my body not used to strenuous hikes.
“You plannin’ on going much further?” I called out. The sun was at its highest point of the sky, meaning we had been out there hiking for over two hours. Jesus, I hadn’t even eaten breakfast or had a cup of coffee yet.
“Are you planning on following me much further?” she called back.
“As long as it takes, Dahl.”
There was a moment’s hesitation before she spoke again. “Then I guess I’m planning on going further.”
She continued walking, using both hands to scale a small boulder, and I grumbled under my breath as I stalked after her. A mile or so later, I stepped between two large pines and found her rinsing her hands off in a stream that ran downhill. She glanced up as I lumbered through, breathless and sweaty. A small smile flitted across her pretty face, though I wasn’t sure if she was glad to see me still with her in my pathetic attempt to keep her safe or if she was just happy to see me looking pissed off from the exertion of traipsing after her.
She stood back up, ready to go again, and I groaned quietly, needing a break but knowing I wouldn’t get it. I was still in my heavy biker gear, with my gun tucked into the back of my jeans. Hell, I hadn’t even brought a bottle of water with me. Was she trying to kill me off? Death by hiking? Fuck me, this was too much. I wanted to strip off my leather jacket and cut, kick off my boots and sit down in the stream to cool off, but there wasn’t a chance in hell I could.
She glanced across at me, our eyes meeting across the pine-scented air, and for a moment I wondered if I saw something there. Love? Lust? Longing? Or just memories of those forgotten feelings. I didn’t expect forgiveness, and the more exhausted I got, the more I saw and understood that. The more I knew I didn’t deserve it.
Dahlia had always been fiercely strong and independent, always happiest doing her own thing in her own way, but at one time she had leaned on me. At one time my opinion had mattered. Not anymore though.
She twisted the lid off her water bottle and took a long swallow, and I watched, famished for those soft lips of hers to wrap around something else. Her mouth glistened with dampness, and I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, knowing I’d give anything to drink that water direct from her mouth. Heat crawled through my body, and not just from the exercise, but from seeing her. From wanting her. She closed the lid, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned to leave.
“I think we’ve gone far enough,” I called.
She kept on walking, leaving the echo of her laughter in her wake.
“Dahl, come on, let’s start heading back before we go too deep.”
She looked over her shoulder at me. “You go back. I’m good.”
“Babe…” I pleaded.
“Bear…” she mocked, using my biker name. A name she hadn’t said before. And from what I heard, she never used Rocky’s biker name either.
Hearing it on her lips did something to me. A chain reaction beginning. I growled, desire filling me at the challenge she was setting, whether it be all in my head or a very real thing.
“What? That’s your name, right?” she said, her mocking tone growing deeper. “Bear…fucking ridiculous,” she laughed.
My anger spiked at her tone. What did she know about biker names and the rules of the club? I had a good mind to tell her so, but as I stepped forward, opening my mouth to speak, the echo of a bear not far away called out to me, and I knew we were fucked. Whatever I had to say didn’t matter right then, because there were more dangerous things in those woods than me or rival gangs. The real danger was the animals that lived there.