I’m too on edge to argue about this much longer, anyway. I want a bath. Screw that, a hot shower. And I want to crawl into bed and bury my head under the covers. I feel like something really messed up has gone down tonight, but I still can’t put my finger on it. I’m too jacked up to sort through my rampaging emotions.
“All right, fine. I’ll drive your car.” I hold out my hand and he drops his car keys in my palm.
“I want to ride the bike.” Darla stumbles as she kicks off her boots. “I hate that car. It smells like toe jam and fast food. I want to feel the wind in my hair, and—”
“You mean your freshly fucked rat’s nest?” I say. My stomach immediately cringes; I have room to talk. Her hands go right to her head as she attempts to smooth down the teased knots.
“Whatever,” I say. “I’m out. Fuck you two lame asses.” I head around to the driver’s side of Jesse’s car and wrench open the door. “Just don’t let her talk you into milkshakes.” I frown at Darla, who always insists on a chocolate milkshake when she’s messed up, then always passes out before she takes one sip. “I want my ride parked in my presence in less than ten.”
Jesse nods, and his mouth parts. I pause before getting in the car. Wait for him to say what’s on his mind—which makes me want to lose my stomach all over again for some inane reason. Our gazes meet, and he closes his mouth. His jaw ticks as a muscle jumps.
I shake my head and fall into the seat. As I turn the engine, I look up and watch Darla climb onto my bike behind Jesse. She twists around and waves, then blows me a kiss. I can’t help it. Through the coke amping my senses and anger over getting the shaft driving Jesse’s POS, I let a laugh slip. That’s my girl. She’s the only one who knows how to loosen the kinks that bind me tightly.
I blow a kiss back to her. She smiles, then turns and latches on to Jesse’s waist. Jesse’s back rises as he jumps and his foot slams down the kick starter. An angry growl from my Harley, and then they speed off.
The fading rumble of my bike resonates under my skin. A fierce shiver wracks my body.
The tail lights twinkle out into oblivion.
Melody
Break for her
FLASHING LIGHTS. SIRENS. RISING screams. My screams, hitting my ears on impact.
Impact.
The scene swims before my vision. Rippling like waves of heat steaming off the pavement in August. The gravel presses into my skin. Scrapes my knees. My hands—coated with blood and hair.
I run my fingers through her hair. It still has two large, teased knots. I swipe my thumb over her cheek, under her eye, clearing away the black makeup smudge. To make her look pretty. Because she wouldn’t want to look like—
“Miss?”
A thick male voice bleeds into my ears, distorted and distant.
“Miss, you need to move back now.”
Hands grip me under my arms and wrench me away. My fingers snag her pink bandana, and I ball it in my hand. Grip it tightly until my fingers ache. My gaze is steady on her as I’m forced behind yellow tape.
Too many noises and flashing lights. Static from radios and beeping bangs against my eardrums. Blinking red and blue lights spin, flashing in and out. I close my eyes, can feel their heat on my lids. My head expands. Shrinks. Expands. Shrinks.
“Miss, are you all right?”
Everything blacks out as I hit the ground.
Melody
Ascend, and be salvation
“WILL THE DEFENDANT PLEASE rise?”
My pro-bono lawyer touches my arm and we both stand. The judge’s gaze shifts between me and the sheet of paper before him. He doesn’t look anything like the judges you see on TV. No white hair. No bald spot. No wrinkly, furrowed brow as he scowls at me. He looks too young, and too happy.
“By the state of Florida, I hereby sentence you to six months of probation, in which you, Melody Lachlan, will report to your designated parole officer.” His gaze flicks to my face. “After which, upon a full evaluation conducted by the Mental Awareness Center of St. John’s County, you will, successfully, complete twenty days of rehabilitation in the recommended facility of their choice.”
My stomach drops—free fucking fall. I start to open my mouth, but my lawyer’s foot taps my shin. She’s well aware of my outbursts, and reminded me three times before we entered the courtroom to “keep your mouth shut.”
I swallow my rebuttal.