Page 51 of Truck Up
Angel
Please check in and let me know if you’re okay.
I’m worried about you.
And I miss you.
She messages me a few times a day, always saying the same thing. She’s worried, and she misses me. There’s so much I want to say to her, like how much I miss and need her too, but I don’t. Instead, I respond with the same two words I’ve sent her each time.
Christian
I’m fine.
It’s not much, but it’s all I can offer her right now. I’m a coward for leaving—and I know it—but I need time to process all this. A baby and a love confession are a lot for a man like me to handle.
I’m not built like my brothers. Emotions and empathy run in short supply in my brain. I suppose I have a fair amount of emotions. They’re just not the good ones. There’s not a lot of love and happiness swimming around in my thoughts. They’re consumed with hatred and contempt.
Though if I were to love someone, it’d be Amelia. Regardless, she’ll always be my angel.
“Hey sugar.” A woman who looks to be about fifty, even though she’s probably closer to my age, slides up next to me. Her chest is pressed against my arm and she rests her hand on my thigh. She’s rough and looks like she’s strung out on every drug known to man. “Haven’t seen you here before?”
“Don’t call me that.” I glare at her and remove her hand from my leg. I’m also pretty sure my lip turned into a sneer or something close to it.
She doesn’t seem to notice my contempt. If she does, she’s ignoring it. More likely, she’s too high to notice my reaction. “Call you what?”
“Sugar.” I give her a nudge, hoping she’ll get the point and get out of my personal space.
It doesn’t work. She just pushes closer against me.
“Then what should I call you?” I cringe at the stench on her breath. It smells like she hasn’t brushed her teeth in months. Her voice is scratchy and sounds like she hasn’t spoken in days. Her vocal cords are straining to get the words out.
“Nothing as sweet as sugar, that’s for damn sure.” My tone is harsh. I’m typically not afraid to tell people exactly what I think, but I’m being more direct and firm with her than most.
“You’re surly.” She runs her finger up my arm, and I knock it away. “I bet that makes you fantastic in bed.”
“Not something you’ll ever find out.” I growl. “I’m not interested.”
“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that.” She grins at me. She’s missing several teeth and the ones she has are dark with stains. “I know you’ll enjoy yourself once we get started. Plus, I’ve got something special that will make you feel so good.”
“Not! Interested!” This time I raise my voice, and she pulls away.
“No need to yell.” She has the audacity to look surprised by my reaction. “All you had to do was say no.”
“No,” I deadpan. Then I down my whiskey and wave at the bartender for another drink. He nods in my direction before grabbing a clean glass.
“You just look like a fella who knows how to have a little fun.” She looks me up and down like she’s studying me, then shakes her head. “Guess I was wrong.”
She pushes off the bar and heads back to whatever dark corner she crawled out of. I study her as she walks away. Her blond hair is long and greasy, with several knots in the back. She’s far too thin. Her clothes are dirty and hang loosely on her body. The shirt she’s wearing is stained with dirt and something that looks like blood.
As I stare at her, I can’t help but wonder if I ever looked that bad when I was strung out. It’s likely, but my memories of those days are hazy. And thank fuck for that. I don’t want to remember. The knowledge of how I hurt myself and my family is bad enough. I don’t need to live with those memories too.
“Hey man.” Edge slides onto the empty stool next to me. “You ready to go? The packages are ready.”
“Hell yes.” I pick up my fresh drink and toss it back. “Get me out of this hellhole.”
He chuckles and scans the bar. “Rough crowd in here.”
“That’s the damn truth.” I dig my wallet out of my pocket and throw enough cash down to cover my drink and a tip. “Where to, boss?”