Page 3 of Downfall

The point is that Miller knows he’s about to be banned from the bar for at least a week. Cade takes his ‘no weapons’ rule pretty seriously. It is absolutely my fault, but I don't feel bad. My lips turn up into a bloody grin as I brush past Miller, who is now being escorted out by Cade and another bartender. The look in his eyes tells me he’s not done with me. Good. He’ll be even easier to manipulate next time.

“What the fuck was that?” a familiar voice interrupts my internal self-sabotage. That’s when I get a better look at the man who walked in earlier. Luke Collins. He owns a custom bike shop in Emberfield and is the only person I trust to take care of my baby. The problem with pissing off bikers? Sometimes they take their aggression out on your Ducati rather than your face. That’s where Luke comes in. He also happens to be engaged to Emory, an ER nurse who used to date the man my mother had an affair with. It’s an elephant in the room that neither of us cares to acknowledge.

“Just another afternoon at the Motor Cade.” I clap him on the back as I make my way out the door and out to the parking lot. Stepping into the frigid air, I scan the rows of chrome. Thankfully, it looks like no one fucked with my bike today.

“He had a knife, Declan.”

Jesus, he followed me out.

Luke’s intense blue eyes scan my face, concern etching his brows as he takes in the shiner on my eye and the split in my lip. Not to mention the blood I still feel trickling out of my nose.

“I’m good,” I assure him.

Like I said, I can read people. I’ve always been able to. It’s how I knew at the age of eight that my parents didn’t love each other, probably never had, and how, when I was only ten, I realized that my mother hated her life. She only stayed for me and my sister, which brought on more guilt than my underdeveloped brain could comprehend. It’s how I knew what it meant when older girls started to notice me. They only wanted a quick fuck behind the bleachers while their boyfriends were at practice, or in the bathroom at a party, which was fine with me. I may have developed a reputation as a manwhore at the ripe age of fifteen, but it worked. Until it didn’t.

Right now, it’s how I know that despite his concern, Luke wants nothing more than to put the flyers from his shop, still clutched in his hand, on the bulletin board and get home to his girlfriend and kid. The problem is he’s a good guy. He’s only a couple of years older than me, but he has his life together and genuinely cares about helping people. He’s a fixer of more than just motorcycles, so he won’t leave me here without at least trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

“Seriously, man,” I say when he doesn’t move. “It was a misunderstanding.” I grab my helmet, shoving it over my head, wincing at the pressure it creates on my swollen cheek.

This is what I wanted, right?

Pain to numb the pain.

Luke shifts his attention to my bike. He knows I’m lying. He’s had to replace too many smashed parts to believe I didn’t bring this on myself. He’s never once questioned it, but I guess he draws the line at bodily harm. “That clutch working out okay?”

Grateful for the subject change, I flip my visor down and nod as I kick my leg over the seat of the bike. I turn the key, the engine roaring to life beneath me, and give Luke a quick salute before tearing out of the parking lot. The last thing I need is a heart-to-heart with a tatted-up superhero. I already have one meddling best friend who harps on my choice of coping mechanisms. I don’t need another.

As the trees blur beside me, my mind drifts to the conversation I had with Ashton earlier today—the one that brought on this particular outing. There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for him, so I know when he asked me to do the one thing that could make me hesitate, he saw no way around it. I owe him one for going to a charity event last year in my place when I couldn’t stomach the thought of having to entertain a woman all night only for her to storm off when she realized she wasn’t going to get anything from me.

Even if I didn’t owe him a favor, I would still do it. Ashton wants both of his best friends at his wedding, and as much as it’s going to tear me up from the inside out, I won’t back out of this.

You see, I may have fucked my way through high school, but I’ve only ever been in love once. And when I pissed it all away? When I let the fear festering at the bottom of my cold heart take over? Ashton stepped in and did what best friends do. He dried her fucking tears and didn’t ask questions.

For that I owe him everything.

3

SKYLAR

“I look like a preteen who just discovered eyeliner!” Allie screeches as she plucks a set of fake lashes from her eyelid.

“Keep your voice down,” Emory scolds. “We’re in a courthouse.”

“Well, it’s your fault I look like this,” she retorts.

“I think you look beautiful,” I offer, taking in the tiny gems lining my own eyelids as I glance at myself in the courthouse bathroom mirror. Emory may have gone a little overboard. Like me, she’s not well-versed in the world of makeup. I’ve only ever seen her wearing a thin layer of gloss and maybe a sweep of mascara. She’s got me beat, though. I barely wear lip balm unless it’s a special occasion.

As the maid of honor in a no-frills wedding, Emory has taken her duties pretty seriously. She’s been sending me videos of makeup and hair tutorials every day for the past week. It also hasn’t helped that she recently discovered Euphoria and has been binging it when it’s slow at the hospital. Come to think of it, that definitely explains the geometric pink and blue eyeshadow that goes all the way up to her brow line.

Allie huffs, muttering to herself as she applies mascara to her natural lashes. Despite the pit of dread whirling around in my stomach, I can’t help but feel a little lighter being around these ladies. Emory and Allie have been friends since college, but they welcomed me in with open arms when Allie joined the paper as our food writer last year. Even though Allie left and ultimately opened up her own restaurant, we still keep in touch. She may be a little rough around the edges, but there’s no one else I would rather see marry my best friend. They’re stupidly in love. Like that kind of all-encompassing, knock-down, drag-out love you see in movies. As with anything worth a damn in life, they didn’t have an easy road, but they made it here, and I’m going to do everything I can to help make it special for them, including facing the ghosts of my past. Or rather, a ghost, singular.

Allie finally turns around, and Emory and I both gasp. She’s absolutely gorgeous. In true Allie fashion, she’s wearing a white mini-dress with a tulle skirt, black fishnets, and Converse sneakers. Her hair is half up in a crown braid, the rest of it cascading down her back in dark waves. Her ocean blue eyes sparkle behind the black-rimmed glasses she replaced after fixing her eye makeup. Ashton is going to flip when he sees her.

“Holy shit,” Emory blurts.

“Is it—too much?” Allie looks down at herself. “Should I take the skirt off?”

I can’t help but let out a soft giggle. I’ve never seen Allie this flustered.