Page 125 of Fury

I raised my chin, my jaw grinding together.

Her hand remained on her stomach, her back rigid. She turned away, focusing her attention back on the stage. On her new man up there playing his fucking guitar, howling out his douchebag lyrics.

My heart pumped hard, straining against the thick wave of venom filling my veins. My eyes remained glued on her.

Why couldn’t it be us, dammit? You and me?I screamed at her across the campground.

I roared.

I pleaded.

My fingers crushed the packets of weed, blow, and assorted pills I had in my pockets. I swallowed hard, my heels digging in the damp ground.

Here I was cutting deals, scoring big, scoring little, but what did it amount to? She was the only person on the planet that I’d ever felt close to, and now she was bearing a living, breathing miracle in her body, where once our miracle had taken root. But I had no part in it. Not me. Her body was not mine to hold and take care of, that body growing inside her not of me. Nothing to do with me.

Nothing.

A bucket of ice water smashed over me.

New life. New world. And I had no clue.

I blinked, willing my vision to clear, my breath to even out, the back of my hand scrubbing across my mouth. I’d never know that kind of life, that level of intimacy. I never would, not if it couldn’t be with her.

A heavy hand fell on my back, and I bolted upright.

“Man, I can’t listen to this shit,” muttered Drac. “Let’s head over to the other side of the concert area. Our bros from Oregon are over there.”

“Yeah.”

What I had now was good. I was an officer. I had brothers who I trusted and who trusted me. I was doing good. I wasn’t the “kid” any more.

So why did I feel like I was on the outside looking in again? Tossed back on the dusty shelf, labeled, “just not good enough.” That shadow of Meghan’s withering looks passed through me again.“He’s not coming to our house.”

Second best. Second rate. Under the table. Unwanted. Dirty little secret.

“Let’s go.” Drac nudged me with his shoulder.

Women were screaming, singing along with the band. I threw a final look back at the stage. The band’s name was “Cruel Fate.”

Fuck you.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Flexing my throbbing fingers, the fingers that weren’t there, I forced my lungs to take in air, forced my cold brittle bones to move.

Move forward.

Move.

Move.

And don’t look back.

36

“Iforgot how good your margaritasare, Jerry.” The girl at the bar licked her lips as she slid her empty glass toward the bartender.

A prickle tracked up the back of my neck at the sound of that silky voice.

I was on my way home to bury my head in Nebraska soil and forget everything I’d seen and felt in Colorado. The four bros I’d ridden with from Denver were hanging with women at a table by the dance floor, but I wasn’t much in the mood.

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