Page 17 of Complete Me
When I was first dragged to Aspen Ridge by Sawyer almost a decade ago, he took me under his wing, never pried, just stuck to me like glue. I didn’t talk much, too lost in my sorrow and grief to let anyone in. He got me set up with a bunch of his stuff in a makeshift bedroom at the distillery, and I finally had to ask, the weight of his kindness gnawing at me.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Like attracts like,” was his answer, as if it were as simple as that. I recognized it, though, his grief was different than mine, but he still had experienced some type of loss. It bleeds from your pores like a virus.
“Goddamn rain needs to quit!” I scream into the night as I pull my motorcycle over to the side of the road, the gas gauge letting me know I’d be a lucky sonofabitch if I could make it anothermeasly mile. My boots clomp into the sodden earth as I get off my bike and take stock of where I am. I don’t remember the last time I saw a road sign. The deserted two-lane highway stretches endlessly in front of me, tall trees leading the way into the abyss.
A single car passes me with no notice, which is all the same to me. This is my penance anyway, and if Lena won’t ever feel rain fall on her skin again, the least I can do is stop bitchin’ about it and keep pushin’ on.
Her young, sweet face flashes in my mind and then is immediately marred by the last time I looked at her—badly beaten, bruised, and cut up. Bile turns in my stomach, and I roughly kick the stand down on my bike, bending over and retching the contents of my stomach onto the side of the road.
After purging my stomach lining and burning up my esophagus, I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my flannel, pushing my rain-slicked hair out of my face and tying it off. I reach into my satchel to pull out a bottle of water, rinsing my mouth out before chugging some back.
The rumble of a truck comes from behind me, slowing down as it approaches, then pulling off in front of me. Not having any idea what part of Washington I’ve traveled into, I look down, making sure my gun is easily reachable, just as a man jumps down out of the driver’s side of the truck.
He looks to be roughly my age, a few inches shorter than me, with broad shoulders and an athletic shape. I wouldn’t have an issue taking him, but he looks like he’d put up one hell of a fight based on the size of his arms.
“Need a lift?”
“Nah.” I shake my head, putting the water bottle back and flipping the bag closed. “I’m good. Thanks.”
“C’mon, man, it’s pouring rain, your bike break down?”
“Yeah, but I’m good, don’t mind pushin’ it to the nearest town.”
The guy chuckles. Actually chuckles at me. The fuck?
“Sorry to tell ya, brother, but next town over isn’t for twenty miles. I’m on my way home for break.”
Fuck.
“What town?”
“Aspen Ridge.”
Never been there. But it sounds nice. I know I’ve got to be close to the coast; the air is faint with salt even against the earthy scent of wet dirt and motor oil from my bike. The rain suddenly pulls back while I’m contemplating whether or not I want to spend the rest of the day pushing my bike into town or take him up on his offer for a lift.
I hold my breath as the clouds slowly start to glow, the sun fighting to break through in brilliant streams of gold. It reminds me so much of Lena. Her good always pushing through the bad. If this isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.
“Aspen Ridge, huh?”
I pull my bike into the parking lot of Knockout Boxing Gym and put down my kickstand. A few times a week, I come here to lift weights, sometimes by myself, other times with the owner, Dom, or Liam Hayes—Sawyer’s younger brother. Other times, I’m sparring with Sawyer. He’s the only one that I’ll truly go hand-to-hand with without feeling too bad. He’s trained in boxing, MMA, and Krav Maga. We’ve both only gotten bigger and stronger over the last ten years. The Hayes have grown up in this gym. Their dad forced them all to learn how to fight and protect themselves . . . and handle their disagreements. It’s a stress reliever, and I’ve taken part in it on more than one occasion.
To my surprise, Kinsey is here. Her long hair is pulled back tight in a ponytail, and she’s wearing tight black leggings and apink sports bra, her toned stomach on full display. She’s in the ring with Dallas, and it looks like she’s using him to work through some shit that has pissed her off. In typical Dallas fashion, he’s not letting her get far, blocking every single one of her punches.
I walk up to Sawyer, who’s leaning against the ropes of the ring, watching the two of them. He nods at my arrival, not taking his eyes off his siblings.
“She seems pissed.”
“He’s just not taking it easy on her, and it’s getting her riled up. She needs to keep her head in the fight and not take shit so personally.”
I want to bite back at his words, argue with him. Kinsey is strong as fuck, and taking things personally isn’t a bad thing, it just means she feels deeply. That’s admirable and not a weakness.
I watch as she bounces on the balls of her bare feet, Dallas being a dick and not even keeping his gloved hands up to protect his face, taunting her and running his mouth. Dallas loves just as hard as Sawyer does, but man if he doesn’t know how to push buttons and piss people off. Which he’s doing to his sister right now.
“Fuck you, Dallas!” she screams in frustration, but Dallas just keeps fuckin’ with her, making my molars grind together. My hands grip the ropes until my knuckles turn white, but before Sawyer can notice my irritation and desire to get in there and help Kinsey, I drop them to my sides.
“You fightin’?” I ask him, feeling the itch to get in the ring now that I’m watching.
