Page 80 of The Biker and the Baker
“Yes. But Onyx has been consistent with this girl. It’s been her andonlyher. It’s…real.”
“And you wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt of ruining something real,” she concludes.
“No. I wouldn’t.”
Chapter 21
Pia
I’m a wreck. My insides feel like the burnt aftermath of a bombing. Clouds of dust and soot. Cracks and gaping holes. Debris everywhere.
In the weeks after witnessing Onyx’s proposal, I’ve tried to quit my job twice. But Cookie wouldn’t have it. Instead, she gave me a raise.
It’s not her or the job that I have issues with. It’s myself.
I’ve not felt likemein weeks. The light and spirit within me have dimmed, and my team rely on me for that light, to keep them energized and motivated. I’m the one that starts off our mornings with a quick motivational speech or quote. I’m the one that keeps them dancing and smiling while we work. Now, I’m mopey and reticent, and it’s put a damper on everyone else. I’m not the leader I used to be. They deserve better than what I’m giving now.
At home it’s no different. My wilting plants are an accurate representation of who I’ve become. They, too, have been abandoned. All I do is wallow in remorse, self-blame, and self-loathing.
Last week, I went out on a date with Trent Garza, an unbelievable guy who’s basically the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome with a double shot of alpha male. But I wasn’tthereand he saw it. He brought me home and told me to take some time. Dumped before we could even start.
My girls are here quite often of late, under the guise of needing me for this or that, but I know it’s because they’re worried about me.
Some nights, Mira stays over, and we hug each other in bed while eating a shit ton of chocolate. One night we hunted Official Girl on social media. When we finally found her Instagram, though, it was blah. She only posted face selfies, and there were zero images of her and Onyx. Not even one of those stupid hand shots with her ring on that screams “I’m engaged!”. A girl who likes to keep her personal life private, it seems.
Social media presence for Onyx was nonexistent. No surprise there.
Two nights ago, I went out with the girls for the first time since Blue Tail. We ran into Trent Garza and I pulled him off to a dark corner and made out with him. He was such a good kisser that by the time I got back to my girls, I wassmiling. It was enough to have me feelingalmostlike my old self for the rest of the night. We had a ball.
Tonight, I'm restless. Desolate. There's a rip-roaring storm outside, and with each crack of thunder, my heart splits wider and wider, aching. I can't sleep. At 1:52 AM, I'm pacing my apartment, feverish, feeling low on oxygen. Fear races up and down my spine.
I can't...
Suddenly, something snaps in me. I’ve no idea what it is or what it means, but Ifeelit.
I flip up the hood of the pullover hoodie I've been sleeping in all week—hishoodie—then fetch my car keys and umbrella, slip on my Crocs, and venture out into the storm.
Useless against the deluge, the umbrella bends to the will of the wind. By the time I get to my car, I’m near soaked. I toss the mangled thing in the back and fire up my cold engine.
After about fifteen minutes of slow and careful cruising, wipers sweeping swiftly from left to right, right to left, my heater chips out. Because the universe hates me.
An hour later, I find myself in Castle Pines, cold and shivering, staring at the closed, stately gates outside the Michaelson’s residence as thunder rolls across the sky like a bowling ball.
For a brief moment, I entertain the idea of climbing it, but with Scratch being a big, scary commando and all, I decide that calling Leyana at almost three in the morning is a less risky option.
Twice the call rings out and sends me to voicemail, but I’m persistent, hitting redial until she finally picks up.
“Pia?” she answers groggily.
“Hey, Ley. I know, it’s outrageously inappropriate to be calling you this late, but I need to talk to Onyx. Can you open the gates for me?”
“You’re outside the gates? At almost three in the morning? In this kind of weather?”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry for waking you up. You don’t have to come outside or anything. I just want to get in.”
“I don’t—” She’s cut off by the low rumble of a male voice in the background. “Hang on.”
Muffled audio ensues for a few seconds before she’s back on the line. “Okay, Pia. We’ll let you in. But only because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I made you drive back home in this weather and you get in an accident or something.”
