Six weeks. That’s how long it’s been since all hell broke loose. It’s also the closest thing to happiness I ever imagined I would have. My days are spent working at the club garage. I’ve always had a knack for working on vehicles and the busy work keeps me from going insane. Nights are spent in bed with Carrie and fucking her every way I can think of. She might have been shy when we first started, but each time we’re together she becomes more vocal. It’s fucking phenomenal.
The whole thing with Francis (aka Phoenix) took a lot out of all of us. Crusher has recovered from his gun shot. The bullet somehow managed to go straight through and missed anything vital. He lost a lot of blood at the time, but that probably saved his life. We figure the goon working for Francis saw the blood and decided Crush was dead, not bothering to finish the job.
Bull is another story. Bull was released from the trauma center a couple of days ago, but he was sent to a rehab center in Nashville that is part of the Vanderbilt Hospital Complex. The hit on the head combined with the oxygen deprivation he endured (however briefly) took a toll on his body. He doesn’t talk much, not that he ever did—but now it is even less. Something happened with his vocal chords and talking pains him physically, but more than that, he has a stammer. His right side is weak as a result of the damage and for someone like Bull that’s probably the hardest thing to accept. We got him settled and offered to have one of us stay down there with him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. In fact he told us to go fuck ourselves. No one else understood, but on this I totally understood where my brother was coming from. Unless we had been there, our words were useless and pathetic. Dragon is planning on going down and spending the weekend there next week. Carrie and I might go, though to be honest? Fucking bastard that I am? I don’t like Carrie being around him one bit. For all I know, she has a thing for trying to heal the broken and she’ll switch her interest in me over to my brother.
The other thing I’m dealing with is this house of cards I’m building with Carrie. I’m not sleeping. I take a nap through the day so I can function. Carrie believes I sleep when she does. I haven’t been able to manage that. Ever since Dragon confronted me about my dreams, I have this big knot of fear inside of me. I don’t want anyone else to know about the …about my attack. No one, but especially not Carrie, I can’t handle her knowing. The thought literally makes me break out in a cold sweat.
She also thinks I’m going to therapy twice a week. I hide out in a hotel on old State Route 25 and sleep for a couple of hours instead. I’m not about to share those memories with anyone, but especially some jerk in a suit who knows shit about the real world.
I’m not stupid. I know that eventually the cards will fall. I’ll face that day when it comes. In the meantime, I’m doing everything I can to fix it so Carrie won’t leave me when she discovers the truth. I need her to be so deep in this thing with me, she won’t ever think of leaving.
At times, I’m almost like I was before I went to jail. I know that’s because Carrie is in my life. She shines light in the darkness and fills up some of the emptiness which threatens to swallow me whole. I need her to function.
At least Dragon and the club have become less tense with the threat gone. Seems the fucking idiot panicked when Dragon had Freak made sure his assets were tied up. So his big scheme was to blow up Carrie, me and himself all at once to get revenge for his son’s death. Funny, how the mighty fall when they don’t have money to back their asses up.
These thoughts filter through my brain as I pull into the house that Carrie and I have been living in. Dragon offered it to us after I let him know I wouldn’t be living at the club. He didn’t question me about it. I think he was afraid to rock the boat after our last blow up.
Carrie told me it is the one that Nicole and Dani rented when they first got to town. I like it. It’s bigger than the safe house, closer to the club and it suits Carrie. She’s happy. I see it in the way she smiles and that’s all that matters. I need her happy. If she’s happy, she’s less likely to leave, so this house is essential to my plan.
I walk in the back door that leads into a kitchen. The house is quiet, which is unusual. Carrie normally has music blasting while she’s getting supper together. Maybe she’s taking a nap. All of the excitement has worn her out and she’s having trouble catching back up. It doesn’t help that I wake her up all night long to fuck her senseless. That thought makes me smile as I enter the living room. Carrie is asleep on the couch, looking like an angel. No she is an angel. My angel. She’s saving me and doesn’t even know it.
I bend down to kiss her lips, pulling away to watch her slowly wake up.
“Hey, Care Bear.”