Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
As he hit the city limits he turned onto the road that led through town. He passed Maria’s, which looked slow, but then again it was only Thursday. He briefly considered stopping but really didn’t feel like being surrounded by people. He passed the motel and Burnout and turned down his own street and pulled in the driveway next to his bike.
He killed the engine and hauled himself out of the front seat. It was early yet, he thought to himself as he looked up at the cloudless sky. Their poker games usually lasted half the night, a nice distraction from sitting at home, which until recently had been a perilous pastime. Inside he felt jangly, hot and intense, and recognized that he was on the edge. He stood, paralyzed, at the bottom of his own front steps.
Next to him was a bike, small and shitty as it was. It was a Harley to be sure but only just worthy of the name. Easy hadn’t wanted to invest a lot of money at the time, not when he was secretly unsure he’d even be able to ride again. Beyond the front door were other options as well. Such as Jack Daniels, who a year ago had felt more like a brother than the men he’d served with. Easy had, so far, not found a problem that Jack couldn’t solve, or at least make him forget about for a while.
Also waiting ever so patiently was the box, a small bit of cardboard and silver Christmas wrapping paper replete with sparkling snowflakes- a gift to himself that he hadn’t yet opened. He stood on the concrete walkway with his keys digging into the palm of his hand. The booze, the box, or the bike?
He’d been off the hard booze for a while now, and he wasn’t ready for the box. He turned around and strode to the BarelyHarley and swung his leg over the side. He kicked it to start and revved the engine a few times, warming it up. He backed it up out of driveway and aimed it at the street. Right about now he could probably use a helmet, he realized, but then again if he was going to wipe out, maybe it was best not to survive it.
He hit the highway at sixty and threaded through traffic until it thinned out to just a few stragglers. The night sky was littered with stars, easily visible now that the lights of city were so far behind him. He’d bought Hope a star just after she was born, one of those silly internet things with a “deed” -more or less- and her name on it. As much as he’d wanted kids of his own, he didn’t know a damn thing about them. A star seemed as good a gift as anything else he could think of, which was not much given his inexpertise. He tried but couldn’t pick out the one that was hers, but he’d written it down for when she got older and wanted to see it for herself.
He still wasn’t sure about motorcycles in general. He’d ridden a few times before he’d enlisted. He’d liked it well enough, and the freedom was exhilarating. Then, after Iraq, he’d been almost rooted in place, fighting off panic at the thought of being trapped in a vehicle as the other members of his unit had been. He recalled the freedom of the bike, but the idea of nothing protecting him from other vehicles or the road had been equally terrifying. He could tolerate either type of vehicle at this point, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually like them. At this point driving anything was just a way to get from point A to point B, not something he enjoyed the way he used to.
By the time he reached the Badlands the moon was hanging over it. He parked the bike and walked to the edge of the scrub where the ground started to get rockier and eventually gave way to canyons beyond. He didn’t know how he felt about this place, the sterile wasteland that seemed both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Slick and Shooter had gotten married here, right on this spot. Easy had never seen two people happier. Tildy had almost died near here, violently, and her smile dimmed just a bit any time they rode out here for a picnic. Easy figured the Badlands were just like life, embodying both the best moments and some fucking horrific ones.
He wondered, not for the first time, if all his best moments might be behind him.
Chapter 11
Daisy was in the kitchen when Abby came in behind her. “He left!” she told them.
Sarah sighed and shook her head. Daisy bit her lower lip. She hated being the cause of all this strife in this obviously close group of friends. She scraped her thumbnail on the granite countertop. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Maybe I should go.”