Page 82 of Ice
I tossed the piece on the floor, and lay back on the scratchy carpet, to stare at the ceiling. I needed her, and she’d fucking disappeared from my life again. Everything felt wrong.Everything felt completely fucking hopeless. So much of my body throbbed with pain, the tremors were back, and my hair still fucking felt like some bastard had threaded it into my scalp with needles, one asshole strand at a time.
And maybe that’s what led me into the bathroom, on a mission to end my suffering, because there was still one fucking thing I could control.
Lissa
Ryderwasaniceguy too. I don’t know what I’d expected, especially when I’d caused so much trouble, but he’d taken me to the car that Has-Been had used that other time, and loaded my bags into the boot while I took the passenger seat.
“Hey, cheer up, love. Reacher comes across as an ass, but he really does have the best interests of his club members at heart.”
He steered the car out through the heavy gates.
“Yeah, I get that, but since I’m not one of you, that doesn’t include me. He cost me my career, you know.”
He nodded. “I heard, and for the record, he feels like a complete asshole for that. I don’t think even he realises just how terrified he is of losing Ice. He’s always… I dunno, had this kind of vulnerability about him. Apart from it pissing off Has, it pretty much makes the rest of us want to look after him.” Then he laughed. “No matter how often he tells us to fuck off.”
I watched the darkened street as he headed in the direction of my house. I hadn’t even given him my address…
“It’ll all be okay, you know, trust me. If Reacher can forgive me and my old lady for what we did? He’s definitely gonna let you guys be together. Just let him get those two dickheads to sort their shit out, and honestly, I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy, but as long as they say the right things when this is done, he’ll let you back.”
I saw my house approaching, and knew I was running out of time before I would be alone, and heartbroken, rethinking every decision I’d made in the last week, or maybe even longer.
“He apologised, you know.”
Ryder grinned at me as he parked up.
“He’s good like that. I mean, he’s gruff and snarky, but he’s a good President, and he does eventually admit it when he’s wrong. It doesn’t happen too often though. He’s also incredibly smart.” I hadn’t seen enough of that side of him. The side that his club respected and loved.
“I meant Ice. He apologised to Has-Been, just before they ended up punching each other.”
Ryder’s jaw dropped. “He did? Like he was making an effort to be civil?”
I nodded, reaching for the door handle.
“So even if I don’t get to be with him, maybe I at least helped a little.”
Ryder followed me to the door, insisting on carrying my bags. He tucked them into the hallway, and stood there for a minute, staring at me, while I glanced around my suddenly too-empty house. It felt cold and unwelcoming, and I really didn’t want to be alone.
He cleared his throat.
“Uh… any chance of a coffee before I go? You know… one for the road, and all that?”
It was with extreme relief that I let him in, and closed the door, shutting out the debilitating loneliness for a little longer.
Thirty-Nine
Asthefirstchunkof my hair hit the sink, I felt a sudden easing of my spirit, like a fucking weight lifting. It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it had, right? But my head seemed to itch all the time with this sense of ‘wrongness’ and it was one thing too many weighing on me, and the easiest to fucking fix.
After snipping off a few chunks with scissors, I realised that this wasn’t the best way to do it, and without my phone, which had actually been confiscated this time, when I’d literally only just fucking replaced it, I needed help.
I leaned my head around the door, and whispered to the prospect, who frowned, but agreed to pass on my request to Torch. Ten minutes later, he tapped on the door, and handed me the perfect tool for the job.
I knew Torch would have proper fucking kit for shaving that crazy tattooed head of his. I wasn’t going completely bare, just going for the closest fucking buzzcut I could manage. Using theelectric clippers without the guard on would give me the closest shave.
It was cathartic, watching clump after clump of my blue-grey hair landing in the sink, as I freed my scalp from the torture of bearing it, at least for a while.
It took ages, and too much having to keep changing the angle with the clippers, until I’d buzzed away every damn hair longer than the clippers left behind. Wow. Looking in the mirror, it was a shock, even though I’d watched it disappear, but it was the new me. I rubbed my hand over the incredibly short buzzcut, and grinned. I actually felt new, which was bizarre because all that had changed was my hair, but it was a good decision, and I really needed to start making more of those.
I cleaned up the hair, and the clippers, and returned them to the prospect at the door, who stared at me in shock.
