Page 33 of Wreckage of My Life
Me: I crashed my bike…
I have no idea why I’m telling her all this. Not like she can do anything about it. She can’t come see me, and she most definitely can’t come play nurse with me.
Becca: OMG!! Are you okay?
Me: Cracked a rib, but I’ll be fine
Becca: Dylan! That’s bad! What did the X-rays show? Nothing punctured?
Her going into nurse mode is making me grin like an idiot through the pain. I decide not to tell her that going to the hospital was not an option.
Me: I’ll be fine, babe, promise
I never promised anything to anyone in all my adult life. My attraction to her seems to have taken a sharp turn. She went from a random hookup to me not being able to take my mind off her. That, on top of all the thoughts about the club I’ve been having recently, and my mind is a jumbled mess.
Becca: I know this is going to sound stupid and immature, but I really like you. I just wanted you to know that
My eyes go over her words a few times, not wanting to let them go. She feels the connection between us as well. Too bad we could never work. Too fucking bad.
Me: I really like you too, Bex. I wish things were different.
She doesn’t respond right away anymore. She either doesn’t like my answer, or she got busy at work. It’s better this way though. She is the one girl I would hate to lead on in any way. She would make it so easy on me, though, so, so easy.
Becca: maybe I can come visit again… If you want
Me: No
I can’t make her my out of state booty call. It’d be like purposely putting a price on her head. My father getting wind of this would get her not necessarily killed, but involved in ways she’d never be ready for.
Becca: Okay. Good luck with everything, Dylan. I hope your ribs get better soon, and that things work out with your son. Thank you for reaching out.
Her words will be imprinted on my brain for a long time. They are exactly what I was hoping when I told her that I didn’t want her to come back to Texas. But at the same time, I hate that she took me at face value and backed off. In spite of that and what my end goal with her is, I can’t help sending her one more message.
Me: Thank you for chatting with me. I’ll call you.
Becca: NO
I start laughing at her emphatic answer, all caps and everything. The pain in my ribs reminds me of my situation, so I let out a groan of distress.
I end up staying up for most of the night. My mind goes from her to my life in Texas, to what I am about to bring an innocent child into.
It’s kind of ironic how I never cared to think of what the biker life would look like through the eyes of a child. Plenty of my brothers got kids, and I never paid attention to them as they ran all over the fenced yard. Now that I got one, that is not where I want him to grow up.
And speaking of that, I’m supposed to go get him from Mia’s tomorrow. How in the hell is that going to happen? I doubt I can walk to the bathroom at this point, so I may have to piss myself in Wyatt’s chair. How am I gonna go pick up a four-year-old? And what am I gonna do with him afterward? I am in no condition to ride back home.
Without fail, my thoughts circle back to Becca. She would know what to do, I bet. She basically raised her little brother, she’s a pro at this. My fingers itch to type another text to her and tell her about my predicament. But, for once, I listen to my brain and leave her alone.
Plans of how I could see her again are hatching though. However, first things first.
What am I going to do with the boy?
15
Wrecker
It’sthe morning after I laid my bike out in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t sleep much, just sat here thinking of Becca. Then trying to come up with a plan to get out of this fuckin’ club. I need to be out. Then, switching back to Becca.
“Fuck,” I try to readjust myself in the recliner, feeling like every little move may actually kill me.
