Total pages in book: 195
Estimated words: 185573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 928(@200wpm)___ 742(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 928(@200wpm)___ 742(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
“Bianca, it’s me,” she says softly. “Your mother.”
I stare at her for a full minute, but nothing registers. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you.”
“It’s okay,” Birdie tells me. “We can leave. You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”
I break eye contact with the woman and slip into the back seat. She calls out for me a few more times before Birdie slides in next to me and shuts the door, sealing us away from her.
“Go, Gypsy. Please.”
The drive to the compound is a long one. Although, I suspect my sense of time might be skewed because I’m not sure how long anything should take. The one thing I do know is that the rumble of motorcycles behind us is no coincidence. When I glance back at them, Birdie takes my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze.
“It’s okay,” she says. “They’re just making sure we get home safe. You don’t have to talk to him. Not until you’re ready.”
I turn my attention back to the scenery passing us by as silence suffocates everything in the car. I wish I had something to say. Something to make me feel normal, whatever that is. But I feel like I’ve been transplanted into someone else’s body without any instructions and far too many expectations, and all I want to do is sleep and cry.
When we finally arrive at the compound, I focus on the landscape of the desert. It’s beautiful here, although a little desolate, and my nerves increase as we drive down the dusty road behind the locked gates. I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know if I can even trust these people. All I have to rely on is Birdie’s word, and when I look at her, I’m still not entirely sure about that. But out of everyone who showed up at the hospital, I seemed to be the most comfortable with her.
She forces a smile that feels like it’s for my benefit, and the car rolls to a stop outside a stucco house.
“This is it,” she says. “We’re home.”
Home. When I stare out at the structure, I feel nothing, but I suppose I don’t know what home should feel like.
Birdie gets out of the car, and I follow her, pausing to look at the men on the motorcycles parked down the road. They hung back and didn’t come all the way to the driveway, and I know it’s because of me.
“Is that him?” I ask, my eyes locking onto the man at the front of the group.
“Yes,” Birdie replies in a gentle tone. “He just needed to know you were safe.”
Chapter 72
Madden
—PAST—
“Ranger, I don’t know what to say. I just… you were the best dog. The fucking best.” Kieran sniffles as he focuses on the waves breaking against the shoreline.
Beside him, Colt wipes away silent tears, and I’m pretty sure Ryan does the same next to me. I’m grateful none of them have looked directly at me because I don’t want them to see my agony.
I hold Ranger’s urn tight as the guys each take their turns saying something about him. Colt tells a story about the first time he came to play with us and how Ranger made him feel at ease. And Ryan talks about slipping Ranger extra treats when nobody else was looking.
When it’s my turn, I say the only thing I can.
“He saved me.”
We leave a handful of his ashes in the ocean because a piece of him belongs here in Malibu. He loved this place, and it’s where we spent the last days of his life together. But I can’t bring myself to part with all of him, and the guys don’t want to either. We all decided that if we were going on tour, so was he.
A quiet solitude blankets the evening air as we sit down in the sand together, staring out at the ocean. We don’t speak again, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I don’t know how much time passes before the guys eventually get up and leave, giving me some much-needed time to myself.
Darkness settles over me, and I cradle what’s left of Ranger in my arms, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I just let it all out. I cry over the loss of him, and the empty space he’s left behind. I don’t know how long it goes on. But when I finally wipe my face and take a breath, it’s like a weight has been lifted from me. I can still feel him, even in death. He’s here, comforting me. And I thank him for that, kissing the top of his urn with an appreciation that he was a part of my life, no matter how short.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I ignore it. But then it starts all over again, and when I try to check the screen, I accidentally answer Bianca’s video call.