Chapter 3
DYLAN
I’m walking toward my Harley in the outdoor parking lot when Jimmy calls out to me.
“Come join us,” he says, while ushering two girls into the sleek, luxury bus. “We’ll find a girl for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, getting on my Harley. “But I’m taking a solo ride.”
Jimmy walks over to me. “All the way to Chicago? You're nuts, man. Someone said a storm's brewing."
“I’m stopping in Whitefish for the night. Not too far.” I put on my helmet. “I'll meet up with you guys in a couple of days.”
And just like that, I’m off.
The night is clear, the moonlight bright, but my thoughts are dark. I had tried to put it out of my mind, but tonight’s my birthday.
The big Four-oh.
I’d been on the stage twenty years straight now. My every dream had come true.
Making music. Sold-out venues. Gold records.
But for the last few years, something felt like it was missing.
Couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.
I always thought of myself as a lone wolf type. Girls came and went. They all wanted to stay, wanted something more, but creating music was always my life.
Still is my life, I tell myself.
But even so …
I let the crisp night sky and rush of the wind cleanse the hell out of whatever doomsday scenario has infiltrated my mind.
The wind feels good, so I lay on the speed. Sixty miles an hour. Seventy. I’m climbing fast …
But I sober up fast when I feel my thick wheels slide on something slick on the road.
What the—
Before I know what’s hit me, I’m catapulting over the embankment. My Harley goes one way and I fly the other.
Holy hell, I say to myself before darkness closes around me.