Page 3 of Christmas Wish
Chapter Two
In his struggleto sit up, Ryder knocked over the empty whiskey bottle, and it rolled off the nightstand and landed on the hardwood floor with a thud. Pain shot through his skull, and he sank back down on the mattress and groaned.
“Fuck!” Ryder rubbed his sticky eyes and stared into the darkness. His German shepherd, Brutus, nudged his warm nose against Ryder’s hand as he ran it over his soft fur.
Outside, the wind blustered, rattling against the windows and howling through the trees. Ryder gritted his teeth then tried to push up on his elbows as he ignored the stabs of pain circulating through his body. Sweat streamed down his face as he leaned against the headboard panting. After a few minutes, he switched on the table lamp beside the bed, and a soft golden glow illuminated the room. He gripped the aspirin bottle, shook out four tablets into the palm of his hand, and guzzled them down with a bottle of lukewarm water. Trickles of water slid down his chin, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.
The house groaned against the wind, and Ryder darted his eyes to the window. White swirled about densely, erasing the world around him.
“They didn’t predict this. Those sonsofbitches don’t know shit about the weather,” he said to Brutus, who jumped on the bed and sprawled beside him. “Make yourself comfortable.” Ryder chuckled and ruffled the dog’s black fur. He craned his neck to see the glowing red numbers of the digital clock face on the nightstand: 6:23 a.m.There’s no damn way I can get back to sleep now.He reached over and grabbed his crutches then pulled himself up, groaning as the pain in his head ebbed and flowed. The empty bottle he kicked out of the way told him he’d killed the last of his Jack Daniels stash. How the hell he would get through the storm without any whiskey was something he didn’t want to think about at that moment. The whiskey kept the memories locked away in the darkest corners of his mind.
Brutus ran over to the back door, his tail wagging as his black eyes darted from Ryder to the door then back to Ryder. The biker laughed and opened it, and a surge of frigid Arctic air slapped him in the face. “Shit, it’s cold. Don’t go too far,” he said as Brutus bounced out of the house and disappeared into the whiteness.
As he placed six pieces of bacon in the cast-iron skillet, he heard Brutus barking in the distance. Looking out the window, all he could see was the blinding snow.Probably came across some downed trees or something.The bacon sizzled and its hickory scent filled the kitchen, mixing with the roasted aroma of brewing coffee. Just as Ryder took out three eggs, he heard the soft thud of Brutus’s paws against the door. He smiled then hobbled over to open the door, and the dog, covered in white powder, came inside and shook himself vigorously. Water drops flew everywhere, and Ryder let out a hearty laugh as he grabbed a large green towel from a hook by the door and whistled for Brutus to come over. Seated on the chair, he covered the shepherd’s body and thoroughly rubbed the towel over the wet fur.
“What were you barking at?” he asked. “Couldn’t be a squirrel or a deer. They’re huddled somewhere riding out the storm.”
Satisfied that Brutus was dried off, Ryder pushed up from the chair and hung the towel back onto the hook then went back to cooking his breakfast.
He reclined against the back of the wooden chair and sipped his coffee as he looked down at the empty plate. The only sound in the kitchen was Brutus slurping from his water bowl. Ryder lived a quiet life except at night when he couldn’t keep the memories away while he slept. When he’d first come back from Afghanistan, he’d moved into the Insurgents MC clubhouse. He’d been a member a long time ago, but had gone inactive when his dad suffered a stroke and he took over the family’s plumbing business. After his dad had passed, they’d sold the business, and Ryder decided to join the Marines so he could go to college after his commitment period.
He scrubbed his hand over his unshaven face. He didn’t want to go there; he didn’t want to remember. Not since he was still fighting a hangover from his late night binge. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back.
The noise at the clubhouse unnerved him, and he didn’t feel like he belonged. Hawk told him he’d always be a brother of the Insurgents, but Ryder didn’t feel like an Insurgent. As a matter of fact, he didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere, so he bought several acres of land about forty miles from Pinewood Springs and hired a local builder to construct a home for him. That had been two years ago, and he’d never regretted his decision for one minute. His phone’s ringtone sifted through his reveries, and he stared at it for a second then picked it up.
“What the hell are you doing up so damn early?” he asked Hawk.
The Insurgent’s deep chuckle resonated through Ryder’s earpiece, and the corner of his mouth curled slightly.
“Just making sure the fuckin’ snow hasn’t buried your sorry ass,” Hawk replied.
“Still here. Are any of the stores open in town?”
“Probably not. They won’t even begin plowing until the storm lessens. Throttle and Rags are on standby, but Throttle told me it’ll probably be another day or so before he can get any plows out.”
“Fuck,” Ryder muttered under his breath.
“What’d you say?”
He cleared his throat. “You never answered my question as to why you’re up so fucking early,” Ryder said.
“Isa’s sick. Cara was up with her all night, so I’m taking over and letting my old lady sleep.”
“What’s wrong with Isa?”
“She’s got a fuckin’ ear infection. The meds the doc gave should trigger in pretty soon. She’s better than she was yesterday, but I feel for her … Do you need anything?”
Good ol’ Hawk—always watching out for me.The outlaw biker had been the one who’d coaxed Ryder to attend the VA peer support group when he’d returned to Pinewood Springs.
“A bottle of Jack. I drank my last one last night, and I’m paying the price today.”
“Bad night?”
In the background, Ryder heard the small whimpers of Hawk’s daughter.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“You wanna talk about it?”
