Lost Boy

  “So does Jack.”

  They laughed, and for first time since Ma started drowning in a liquor bottle, I felt like I was with a family that actually wanted me in their home. Which didn’t make any fucking sense, but it didn’t change the fact I wanted to be in their home too, making even less fucking sense.

  Bailey tried to distract me by getting to know me a little better while Aiden went to work, stitching more cuts than I thought I had. Pulling out shards of glass from not only the side of my head, but my arms and knuckles as well.

  “Where do you live, Noah?” she led on.

  “Over on McMullen Street, but my Ma, you know… so… mostly I stay at the clubhouse.”

  “Clubhouse?”

  Fuck.

  Apparently, letting my guard down made me have no filter. “Yeah, my old man is uh… he’s the president of an MC.”

  “Oh, really? Which one?”

  Aiden and I locked eyes.

  “Devil’s Rejects,” I simply stated, hoping she wouldn’t kick me the fuck out of her house with this needle still in my arm.

  “Oh…” she breathed out in a recognizable tone everyone had when they learned who my father was.

  It pained me to see her expression change. Aiden wasn’t lying, her face read nothing but worry for me. Which again, made no fucking sense. She didn’t owe me any sympathy, she didn’t owe me shit.

  Neither one of them did.

  By the time I was done with breakfast, the good doctor was done with me. Thank fuck too, I couldn’t take his wife’s kind, concerned eyes for me much longer. He handed me a few prescriptions for pain, and some other shit I didn’t understand and wouldn’t be filling anyway.

  I stood, getting ready to leave. Pulling out my wallet to give him money for fixing me up.

  “We’re good,” he said, nodding to the bills in my hand.

  I shook my head, expressing the truth, “Don’t want or need your charity.”

  “We’re friends, Noah.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yeah. Friends.”

  “Hey, Noah, what do you know about boats?” Bailey chimed in out of nowhere.

  “They float, yeah?”

  She chuckled, smiling. Trying to hide the unease in her eyes. “That’s about as much as Aiden and I know about them, but his grandpa left us an old one in his will. We’re not even boat people.”

  “Baby…” Aiden murmured, bringing her attention to him.

  “What? It’s the truth. It’s been sitting at the marina for the last year, collecting more dust and God knows what else inside. You don’t have time to restore it, maybe Noah does.”

  I shook my head again. “No, I don’t—”

  “It would really be a huge blessing and favor to us if you took it off our hands. It’s actually a fifty-five-foot yacht, but I hate the way that sounds. So snotty, I have a yacht. Anyway, it has three bedrooms, a full kitchen, and living room. Looks like you use your hands a lot.” She smirked, nodding to my knuckles. “Why don’t you put them to good use, maybe you can fix it up and live on it.”

  Aiden sighed, looking at me. “I told you. She worries.”

  “I do.” She nodded. “It would make me feel better, but like I said, we also don’t have the time to put in the hours and days it needs to be restored. It would be beneficial for the both of us. Considering the slip is paid for and so is the boat. It’s yours free and clear if you want it. As long as you take us out when it’s done.”

  “Jesus, Bailey, I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cuz… I mean… you don’t even know me.”

  “Yes, I do. Your Noah, our friend.”

  My eyes shifted to Aiden who was just grinning at her with a gleam in his eyes, like what she just said reminded him of another place and time.

  “She’s not going to take no for an answer, Noah,” he added, still only looking at her.

  “I won’t,” she agreed, still only looking at me.

  “Why are you doin’ this?” I asked, needing to know.

  “Because, Noah, I can.”

  Both of them completely caught me off guard, I never expected to meet people like them. To have people like them in my life. Making me aware that good people did exist in this world, and that maybe I deserved to have them in my life too.

  Even though…

  That life wasn’t in the cards for me.

  TWENTY-ONE

  SKYLER

  It had been a month since I’d last seen Noah.

  Thirty days since I left home and flew back to L.A.

  Seven hundred and thirty hours since I felt whole.

  It didn’t matter that I hadn’t talked to him, that I didn’t answer any of his calls or return any of his texts. I still listened to every last voicemail, read every last message, and thought about him every last second of the day. Missing him as if part of me was missing, as if nothing else mattered but him, as if…

  I was head over heels in love with him.

  Scaring the absolute shit out of me.

  Love was something I never considered or even thought about for that matter. My life had always been about one thing and one thing alone—my career. It was a lonely life I created, where I had believed my own lies about not needing to rely on anyone other than myself. I was the source of my own sadness and possibly the destruction of my own happiness. It was easier that way, to drown out the chaos of the heavy load I carried day after day. Trying to find the meaning of life and the price I would pay for working mine away.

  My mind was sometimes my own worst enemy. The memories were a constant reminder of the battle I fought every single day. They felt so real, so consuming, so life changing like they hadn’t already changed everything. Like my life hadn’t been flipped upside down and turned inside out, by the past, by my career, and especially, by Noah. At times, I felt our relationship was more than just wanting to seek refuge within each other, it was more than the classic boy-meets-girl story.

  Our lives may have been completely different on the outside, but the sentiments of what we lived through and the internal scars they left behind were the same. Making our feelings for each other run that much deeper, that much harder, that much more real. It had been that way since the very beginning, and as the years flew by, the more I realized he didn’t just want to know me…

  He wanted to own me.

  When my life already did.

  Which was why I had said from the very start, I needed to stay away from the boy who had always meant more to me than words could ever truly express.

  It was only seven in the morning and my thoughts were still looming in the back of my mind as I walked into my dad’s house in Southport. Throwing my keys on the entryway table, I grabbed the stack of mail my dad let pile up and made my way into the kitchen.

  “Junk, bill, bill, bill, more junk, magazine I want to read, magazine Dad would want to read, oh, and magazine with my face on the cover that I definitely don’t want to read. More junk, more bills, and more shit to throw in the trash.” And I did just that, making a mental note on paying the bills after I cleaned up the house and did some much-needed laundry. Living out of a suitcase was easier said than done, and it always took its toll when I’d eventually fly back home.

  Although, for some reason as I stood there, gazing around the wide-open space I’d lived in all my life, it didn’t come close to the feeling of when Noah’s arms were around me. When he was kissing me, laughing with me, making me feel like I was his everything. Knowing in my heart that I truly was.

  His presence.

  His voice.

  His love.

  That felt like home to me.

  He felt like home to me.

  To make matters worse, my conversation with Diesel, after Noah decided to show me the very last part of him on our birthday, still weighed heavy on my mind.

  “Fourth townhouse on the left!” I shouted over the engine of Diesel’s Harley.

  Riding on the back of his bike felt di
fferent than riding on the back of Noah’s. Not that Diesel’s driving skills weren’t that of an experienced rider. It just didn’t feel the same, only adding to my incessant thoughts of Noah and how everything between us had always felt so natural. As if we had known one another all our lives.

  There was this huge sense of longing as we pulled up to my house, wishing I had someone to talk to about all these emotions and thoughts that were so controlling and confusing. Where nothing made sense but the fact that Noah consumed every last part of me, and he had since day one.

  Relief washed over me as I jumped off Diesel’s bike, handing him his helmet. “Thanks,” I affirmed, wanting him to know that I was grateful he’d brought me home with no questions asked.

  He didn’t know the difference between me and a hole in the wall, and yet he took it upon himself to make sure I got home alright. Knowing I needed some distance from Noah and the violence that was their life. However, I was also thankful Noah had someone like him to help weather the storm he was adamant to stand in.

  “You good?”

  I nodded, smiling. “I’m Skyler, by the way.” Pointing to the scratch I left on the side of his face, trying to get to Noah, I professed, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “No worries. Not bad for a girl, you can hold your own. That’s a good thing to have in an old lady.”

  “Old lady? I’m seventeen.”

  He chuckled, and I couldn’t help but notice how deep and husky it sounded. “Old lady means my woman, my wife, my girl. My whole fuckin’ world. Ya feel me?”

  “Yeah. So, you’re a member of Devil’s Rejects too?”

  “I’m more than a member. I’m Sergeant at Arms.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Damn, Noah got himself a civilian, yeah?”

  “A what?”

  He laughed again, big and throaty. “I fuckin’ like you. I can see why Noah does too. Sergeant at Arms means I kick fuckin’ ass. Anyone gets outta line, I make sure they step back in.”

  “Oh. So that’s like a big thing then? The fighting? You guys just don’t know how to talk shit out, huh?”

  He busted out laughing that time. “So what you sayin’ is you want a fucker who’s a pussy, not a real man?”

  “By ‘real’ man you mean one who fights and kills for money?”

  He shook his head with disappointment searing off him. “You gotta lock that shit up, Skyler. This is Noah’s life, he’s a biker. You wanna ride wit’ him, then you stand beside him, and ain’t no one gonna be there for him more than you. He don’t need that shit, not from you. From everyone else, maybe, but never from you. Right or wrong, in the end, he’s puttin’ motherfuckers to ground who should be there regardless. This ain’t no good cop, bad cop bullshit. He’s doin’ a fuckin’ solid gettin’ those motherfuckers off the street. They up to no good.”

  “So all the men he fights are bad? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Would it make a difference to you if they were?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It’s all so confusing.”

  “Only confusin’ ’cuz you lettin’ it. If you love him, then that’s all that fuckin’ matters. Noah’s lived this life since the second he came out fuckin’ screamin’. His old man is my Prez, but what he does to his sons is all sorts of fucked up. Noah was dealt a shitty fuckin’ hand, and he don’t need you makin’ it worse for him. You either stand wit’ him or you don’t, but I’m hopin’ you do.’Cuz he don’t have many people on his side. And every man, good or bad, needs an old lady standin’ beside ‘em.”

  I took a deep breath, not knowing how to reply or what to even think. I wanted to be there for Noah, but at the same time, what he was doing scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

  For him.

  For me.

  For us.

  What if he lost? Did that mean he would die too? Would they kill him like he would have killed them?

  There were so many questions that swarmed my mind, and the truth was, the answers to those questions scared me just as much, if not more than the questions themselves. This life of violence was nothing I ever imagined I’d be involved in. And knowing that it came attached to the guy I was possibly in love with, was just as hard a pill to swallow as any of this was.

  Listening to everything Diesel said made me realize I couldn’t face Noah, not right now. I needed time to think, to figure out how I fit into this huge part of his life. A life I never wanted to begin with. A life that terrified me more than anything.

  As his girl.

  His best friend.

  His one and only.

  His old lady.

  With one last curt nod, Diesel kick-started his bike, and I made my way inside. Doing the only thing that seemed natural to me, I threw myself back into work. Taking the first flight out the next morning, needing to clear my mind from the guy I thought I knew.

  At least, for a while.

  Keith wasn’t surprised when I’d told him I was flying back to L.A. the next morning. He was used to me being a workaholic. It was just in my nature, all I’d ever known. But he didn’t know the real reason I was running away.

  Noah.

  He had no clue what I had witnessed that night, what haunted my thoughts in more ways than one.

  The blood.

  The violence.

  The aftermath.

  I’d waited on pins and needles daily for the other shoe to drop. Anticipating my face on the cover of every tabloid magazine, and just waiting for Keith’s wrath for how irresponsible I was. Fucking up my image and everything I’d worked so hard for, all for a boy covered in tattoos who drove a Harley and lived on the wrong side of the tracks.

  I had convinced myself that the man Noah knocked out on our birthday was going to run to the press, informing the tabloids I was with Noah the night he almost died. The night Noah almost killed him. Then they’d dig like the cockroaches they were and air out all Noah’s skeletons from his closet. Shining light on me and my involvement with him. Reporters would eat me alive along with the rise of social media platforms like Myspace and Facebook. They wouldn’t hesitate becoming keyboard warriors, spreading their hate and more rumors behind computer screens. Fueling the fire and enjoying every minute of it.

  I envisioned it all, expecting the worst. Trying to come up with ways to spin the truth, getting my stories straight for Noah’s privacy and for my career. But the truth had yet to be exposed, and as the weeks went by with not so much as one nasty thing printed about me, I just knew Noah had something to do with that too. There’s not a chance that man wouldn’t have sought his fifteen minutes of fame. Not to mention the money for a story like that, if Noah hadn’t put in his two cents on what would happen to him if he did.

  As much as I tried throwing myself into work, filling my days with meetings, interviews, and everything and anything to keep my mind occupied, nothing worked. So after speaking to my dad a few times while I was in L.A., I decided I’d come home and hopefully spend some much needed time with him. Time I had craved for most of my life.

  “Dad!” I called out, walking room to room through the house. Stopping every few feet to pick-up some sort of garbage or article of clothing he’d left sitting out. “Dad, I’m home!” Whispering under my breath, “Not that you care, obviously.” But he was nowhere to be found. “Dad, you here?” I knocked on his bedroom door next, listening for an answer.

  Nothing.

  “I’m coming in!” And just as I thought, his bed was made like always and his room was a mess similar to the rest of the house.

  With still no sign of him.

  I deeply sighed, becoming more annoyed and frustrated. “How can one person dirty these many clothes?” I asked myself, treading through the chaos on the carpet and around the room as I tossed piles of work jeans and shirts into the laundry basket.

  “Eww.”

  Beyond grossed out by the moldy food on his nightstand, but relieved he was at least eating. It was like he was the damn child and I wa
s the adult in this household, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now.

  But nope.

  Not in the least.

  I shook my head, collecting the rest of his dirty clothes and once I finished picking up after him, I threw a load in the washer and started separating the rest by colors and whites so I could move onto my own laundry. When the doorbell suddenly rang.

  “I’m coming!” I announced, glancing at the time on the microwave as I walked toward the front door. “Who the hell is up this early?”

  I should have known…

  I should have felt it.

  I should have done anything but open that door.

  Unexpectedly coming face-to-face with the guy who never left my mind.

  “Noah,” I breathlessly mouthed, at a loss for words. Instantly gazing into his blue-green eyes that always did things to me.

  He looked better than I remembered. His hair was a mess of waves, his skin tanner, highlighting his five o’clock shadow that was doing fluttering things to me too. His arms more chiseled, his chest broader. His whole demeanor read of a man who had been lost without me. Losing sleep, his mind, his heart to me.

  How the hell did he look this good in the morning?

  I immediately noticed he wasn’t wearing his cut, like his instincts told him I wasn’t ready to see it again. The silence between us was deafening as we just stood there, lost in each other’s presence. Taking one another in, as if we hadn’t seen each other in years when it had only been a month.

  I watched the way his lips moved with each rapid breath that blew out of his mouth, knowing his heart was racing as fast as mine.

  I watched the way his hair blew in the wind, framing his defined face and intense stare that was solely narrowed in on me.

  I watched the way his solid muscular chest heaved up and down, mirroring mine as if they were in sync with one another.

  I especially watched the way he was looking at me. No one ever looked at me like he did. I had engrained it in my mind, a memory and piece of him I took with me wherever I went.

  When he casually brushed the hair away from my face, he still didn’t say a word, only needing to feel my skin beneath his callused fingers and loving touch.