Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I have never told her or anyone that every time I meet someone new, I look for pieces of her in them.
Everyone comes up short.
Now, she sits a mere twenty feet away and yet, she feels farther from me than ever before.
She stands, brushes off her jeans, and looks towards me for a second.
I think she knows.
I think she can see all the things I’m not saying.
She nods oncebarelyand then disappears into the clubhouse.
I remain outside. Looking to the stars, I wish she could have it all.
Happiness.
Love,
And I wish I could be the man who gave her everything back.
Except fate doesn’t ask for outside input.
Some endings come too early, before we are ready.
Sometimes I don’t get to be the one who saves her.
Instead, I have to sit back and witness the wreckage.
All I can do is hope I’m strong enough to help her rebuild if she can ever let me in again.
SIX
DIA
"A bear's loyalty mirrors the steadfastness of true friendship." — Unknown
The laughter from the Hellions' party still echoes in my ears as I sit on the edge of the bed, picking at the frayed hem of my hoodie. I’m in one of the crash pads usually reserved for the brothers. They are these duplex type set ups my grandfather had built years ago when he started doing the annual barbecues. Last night, the party was for Clutch. A memorial, a celebration, whatever word makes it feel less raw. They all wore their cuts with pride, toasted their fallen brother, and raised hell like he would’ve wanted. I smiled. I hugged. I thanked everyone for coming. But inside, I felt nothing.
That’s the worst part.
Not the pain. Not the emptiness.
The nothing.
It’s like grief hollowed me out and now I’m a walking shell. Everyone thinks I’m doing okay because I’m upright. Because I shower. Because I fake a smile when people look. But no one sees the numbness under my skin. The way I’ve turned everything off just to survive.
It’s been three weeks since Benji—Clutch—took his last breath. Three weeks since I laid beside him in that hospital bed and told him it was okay to let go. Three weeks since the world made any kind of sense.
How can I exist in a world where I don’t feel anymore?
What I had with Benji was sweet. He was safe to my heart, my life. Everything was about me. How do I move on when no one will ever love me like he did? How do I exist without the person who made me feel like I was on top of the world is gone?
How do I go back to simply being Dia again?
The knock on the door is soft, almost hesitant. Instantly, I look for Skye, my ever-watchful dog, she isn’t here tonight and I have to remember that. Being at the compound, I didn’t bring her. Even though I’ve had her for a few years now, she still hasn’t relaxed around people. Hell, she didn’t even tolerate Benji well some days. She didn’t bite him which is an improvement since she bit my brother once just for coming over. Benji she simply mean-mugged and barked at. As long as he didn’t mind her sleeping between us, they had a mutual understanding of each other. She came first. It is her house and she’s kind enough to let him hang out.
It's funny because with all the people who she literally has to be caged if they stop by, and how she was with Benji, the only person she ever embraced and accepted in her own was is Justin.
In the beginning she barked wildly but he would come in and somehow in moments she calmed down. Over time she stopped even barking at all when he came. I don’t know if it’s because he seemed to be the one always drawing the short straw of ‘Dia Duty’ to pick me up after I went out or what. BW told me once, Justin volunteered to be my keeper so to speak. I don’t know how true it is. But according to my dad he knew Justin and I had a thing long before the man came to him and spoke up.
We don’t talk about it. What happened with me and Justin or the club and how it all came to fall apart.
Maybe we should have.
Maybe we should talk about Benji more.
Except those are these inside pieces of me that feel too raw to share with anyone so I’m thankful they don’t want to talk about either man.
The knock comes again, softly. I don’t move at first. I don’t want company. I don’t want to pretend. It’s why I stayed here instead of going home after last night.
But something in me stirs. Some flicker of curiosity or maybe just habit. I get up, pad barefoot to the door, and open it.