Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
As she drove over the bridge, she thought of the person who had her cringing in humiliation at how terrible she had been. She couldn’t blame anyone for not liking her; she didn’t like herself.
She had paid her parents back what she’d owed them, volunteered countless hours to charities, but there were still amends that needed to be made.
She was going to spend one last Christmas in Treepoint, attempt to make amends to those she had wronged, and lay a headstone on a little child’s grave, which remained unmarked.
The wheels of her car gave a bump as she came off the bridge, dragging her attention back to the present. She tightened her hands on the wheel as the snow grew heavier, the lines on the road barely visible. The road hadn’t been salted here, and the snow on the road looked pretty and pristine, as if she was embarking on a journey into a winter wonderland.
Every mile she drove closer to Treepoint brought back the despair and helplessness of the life she had left behind. Going back wasn’t going to change the past, but that wasn’t why she was doing it, anyway. She was going back for two reasons.
She had to find out if she was mentally strong enough, that whatever the circumstances, she would be able to handle it this time without breaking and harming others. The scary part was if she failed and lost her sanity, which had been so hard to regain, for good. As scary as it was, she had to know. She wouldn’t take a chance endangering anyone ever again.
Secondly, she wasn’t going to live her life looking over her shoulder, waiting for The Last Riders to get their revenge. She was going to give them their shot. What they did with it was up to them. They couldn’t hate her more than she hated herself.
Fifteen minutes later, she crossed over the small bridge which led to the main street. The small town hadn’t aged well. Paint was peeling off some of the older businesses, the town’s drug store was closed down, and weathered signs looked outdated and damaged.
As depressing as the sight of the town’s further decline was, she also saw the cracked and broken sidewalks had been repaired and new business had been opened, which seemed encouraging, but the sight which truly showed the town was fighting to stay alive brought a sheen of tears to her eyes.
The same Christmas lights she would gaze wonderingly at when she was a little girl were attached to the streetlights, giving the town a festive atmosphere. Treepoint would never be described as a cheerful place to live, as many of the inhabitants were dirt poor and, despite their poverty, had no desire to leave their family or the mountains behind.
Treepoint was home. They had been born in the mountains. It was in their blood. The grass wasn’t greener on the other side of the mountain, nor did the city lights beckon them away. With resignation, they lived the same life as their parents, and their parents had lived the same one their children would live. So many generations had grown up under their holiday glow … as she had.
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she fought back tears at the memories of the Christmases she had experienced here. It was a special time of the year, when everyone was welcomed to join in the festivities regardless of how well liked they were.
If the people of Treepoint were ever going to allow her back within their midst, it would be during Christmas. Christmas was meant to be a celebration of life, to share love, hope, and faith with family and friends, not crying in a lonely apartment, watching the lights on a Christmas tree blinking alone.
She didn’t expect to find absolution for her sins just because it was Christmas. What she was desperately searching for was to make peace before she said a final goodbye to Treepoint, embarking on a new future somewhere else … if The Last Riders let her have one.
One
Continuing through town, she stayed on the two-lane road as it began to climb a mountain. Her fear ratcheted higher as she neared her destination. Then, with sweaty palms, she turned the steering wheel into The Last Riders’ parking lot.
She thought she would throw up when a group of bikers standing by their bikes broke off their conversation to stare at her as she got out of the car. Clenching her teeth together so hard her jaw hurt, she walked confidently toward the factory and opened the door.
Male and female eyes swung toward the door as it closed behind her. The workplace chatter came to an abrupt stop, their friendly gazes turning chilled as they recognized her.
One man, who had been loading packages onto a cart, dropped the package with a loud thump before striding toward her. Recognizing The Last Rider as Train, she braced herself to be thrown out.