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I don’t spare him another look as I slide out of the booth. “Get the fuck out of my sight,” I say distractedly, as I’m already making my way to the newcomer at the bar.
He’s waving down Bree, the bartender, like she isn’t already slammed. Inconsiderate: strike one. I slide in next to him to listen to their exchange.
“What can I get ya?” she asks, exacerbation seeping into her tone.
“Is Stella around?”
“No, sorry,” Bree answers without a hint of apology. Gotta love her.
I reach my arms above my head in a lazy stretch. “Not responding to your texts, huh?” I let out a relaxed sigh as I lower my arms and tilt my head to assess him. I’m a few inches taller, definitely stronger. He has dark hair and fair skin like Finn. But without any of the Fox good looks of course.
He shifts uncomfortably under my unnerving stare and light smirk. He doesn’t return my smile, instead asks flippantly, “Sorry, who are you?”
“Lochlan Fox.” Some sort of recognition lights up in his eyes.
He holds out his hand, trying to compensate for his prior dismissiveness. Backpedaling: strike two. “Yes, good to meet you, bro.” Bro. Fuck this dude. I flick my gaze down at his hand and then back up, ignoring his proffer. “I, uh, just wanted to apologize to Stella for canceling last minute. Will you let her know I stopped by?”
“Hmm, probably not.” I shrug apathetically then twirl my finger in the air to signal Bree to bring me another drink.
“Right, well . . .” He tries to leave but I grab his shoulder and rise, placing myself between him and the door he’s desperately eyeing.
“You’re gonna delete her number and think real hard before you show your face around here again.” Bitterness laces my words. I can’t believe this loser stood up Stella. He doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her, let alone know the sounds she makes or how her pussy feels when she comes.
Not that he’d ever be able to find her clit.
He puffs out his chest. “If she doesn’t want to see me, she can tell me that herself.”
“I’m saving her the trouble.” My tone dares him to contradict me one more time. I glance at my watch. “You should be going now. Not only have you outstayed your welcome, but you don’t want to miss spin class with Macie.”
His face falls. Even if Stella didn’t willingly give over his name, there’s no way I wasn’t going to find out who he is, and our friend here never misses a Thursday night class with his favorite spin instructor.
Nervousness begins to flash in his eyes. “I didn’t mean any offense.” I can feel him frantically try to figure out how I know his workout schedule and what else I might know about him.
My glare switches in an instant to a bright smile and I laugh boldly. “Ah, no worries, bro.” I clap him on the shoulder before I let him go and step aside. He warily starts walking away.
“Help yourself to some complimentary matchboxes on your way out!” I shout after him with a laugh.
I stay until closing; it’s almost three a.m. when I leave. Once in my truck, I roll down all the windows and peel out. There’s a knot of pent-up energy in my chest threatening to explode.1 The image of David and Stella together makes me punch my dashboard, but they aren’t even together. He stood her up. It must be my protective nature kicking into overdrive. No one fucks with family.
But she’s not really family. If she were, I wouldn’t be beating my fist every day for five goddamn months to the memory of her like I’m stuck in a never-ending dream.
I race through the empty city streets. The area surrounding the Den is mostly residential and desolate at this time of night. I press my foot harder on the gas as I speed toward the railroad tracks, knowing I can get a good lift if I hit the elevated part of the road fast enough. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Wind whips through my hair and in my ears until it drowns out the music.
I spin the volume dial up to bump the music even louder. Nothing but speed and adrenaline course through me as the rail crossing lights start flashing red, bright and garish. Excitement spikes while I wonder if I can make it across before the arm is lowered. Even with the wind and music, I can still hear the blaring horn from the train as I barrel toward the tracks.
I’m almost to the crossing gate when I hit something uneven on the road. I instantly hear and feel my right front tire blow. It throws me off kilter at nearly 100 mph. Before I can even think to react, my truck is spinning out of control. My bumper hits the tracks and the momentum sends my car rolling, flipping over itself.
I’m jostled and shaken in my seat as the car rotates in the air, landing on its top in the middle of the tracks. Hot blood trickles my mouth and my head feels rocked from the airbag. My vision spins, but the bright train lights are clear and blinding, blaring through the smashed windshield, making my temples feel like they are splitting. I don’t think I lose consciousness, but the tracks now shake with the oncoming train and the horn sounds like it’s right on top of me.
Between the flipping and the disorienting lights and sounds, I can’t tell how far away it is. I can barely tell which way is up as I wriggle in my locked seat belt. My heart pounds in my throat as I urgently take stock of my limbs, making sure I can feel everything.
I tug harshly on the door handle, but I’m not surprised to find it stuck, the outside of my car probably looking like a crushed soda can. I use a knife from my pocket to cut the seat belt and pop the airbag. Adrenaline racing, I scramble across the center and passenger seat to try that door. I yell, frustrated when it doesn’t budge. The train is so close. I can hear the screeching sound of its brakes desperately being activated, metal grinding against metal. It won’t be enough to stop the throttling beast at this short of a distance.
I kick my legs as hard as I can, trying to propel myself out of the driver’s seat. The jagged, remaining edges of the shattered windshield are like the jaws of a shark. It’s my only way out. There’s no doubt I will die if I don’t use it.
I’ve looked death in the eye before, been shot, stabbed. But it’s never hit me quite like this.
My mortality is dancing in front of me on the other side of the tracks, taunting me. This isn’t how I’m supposed to die.
