Tyler(18)

***

Zane’s job offer rattles inside my head as I climb on my Ducati and rev it up. As jobs go, I could do worse than holding the front desk at Damage Control. I didn’t realize Zane had the power to hire and fire people. Then again, he seemed to look for confirmation from Rafe at some point, which is even weirder. Kid is Asher’s age. Maybe the shop belongs to his family?

Trying to clear my head, I drive around town. Before I realize, I’m heading toward my old neighborhood. Dad’s house.

No, not Dad’s. Jake Devlin’s.

It appears at the end of the street, on the turn, just as I remember it. I’ve made a point of never coming back here, even when I was checking on Asher. I’d pass by his school, instead.

Cutting the engine, I just sit there and look. The garden is overgrown, and the fence is rotten in places. Rotten is a good word for this house and the man who owned it. I can see the window of my bedroom, and I wonder what it looks like now. Is it as I left it? Is it empty?

The lawyer’s message said I have to go through my stuff, see if there is anything I want to keep before the house is sold, but the thought of walking through that door turns my stomach. It’s hard escaping from the memories when I’m far, and I don’t know what will happen once I’m inside those walls—stuck inside the living memory of what happened.

Last time I was here, Mom was alive. I can see her in my memory’s eye, walking down the steps, her long dark hair fluttering in the wind. I loved her, dammit, even when she chose to ignore the way Dad treated me, the way he hurt me. Even when she called me a liar when I confided in her. I know she was sick already and wasn’t telling us. Maybe she didn’t want to believe. Maybe she didn’t have the energy to care.

Then I remember her eyes that night in the basement... Scared. She was finally scared for me, but I was beyond that by then. Dad had lost it completely and then...

Jesus F. Christ.

As I stare at the familiar, hated sight of the house, I realize I’ll have to tell Asher what happened here. If he’s ever to forgive me, he needs to understand my reasons for leaving. To know how Dad held a knife to my throat and threatened all of us if I opened my mouth to tell anyone about it.

And Erin...

No. Not Erin. Can’t tell her. I don’t know what she’d think about me.

Besides, the truth doesn’t guarantee forgiveness. I made mistakes. Hell, I’m a walking mistake myself. I’m only alive due to circumstance. Maybe chance has given me a second shot, and I should fucking use it.

Talking of second chances…

Revving the engine, I take a skidding U-turn and head back to town and Damage Control. My gloved hands squeak on the handles with every narrow turn I take, and the side of my knee brushes the asphalt.

Snow begins to fall, fat, swirling flakes that curtain my view of the town, turning it blurry and ghostly. On days like this, my scars itch, and the old fractures in my bones ache. It was a winter like this when I was sent away, my arms wrapped around broken ribs and burning wounds.

Goddammit, I don’t wanna remember. I’m over that shit. I’m strong now; what happened to me then can’t happen again. Nobody can touch me.

I park my bike outside Damage Control and pull off my leather gloves. I flex my hands. Snow is covering the sidewalk, erasing spills and stains. A fresh carpet for me to walk on.

I throw my gloves into the tail case, lock and secure my bike and make my way to the shop. Chimes jingle as I push the door open and enter, shoving my hair out of my face.

“Hey.” Zane is wiping his hands on a towel. His Mohawk is drooping, and his fingers are stained with black ink. “That’s a sweet ride you got out there.” He nods at my black Ducati, visible through the shop front window. “Must be worth a lot.”

I shrug. My bike’s the only thing that really belongs to me. “She’s not for sale.”

Zane clucks his tongue. “Didn’t think she was. How’s it going?”

I lick my chapped lips. The urge to start counting in my head—to start repeating her name over and over again until my mind blanks—is overwhelming. “Came to talk to you about the job.”

He grins. “Want it?”

“If you’re still offering.”

“Damn right I am.”

Some tension leaves my body, and I nod. “When do I start?”

“Today if you want.” He gestures at the desk. “Megan helped out as long as she could, but she has her job at the café. Welcome aboard, Tyler Devlin.”

That easy? I narrow my eyes at him. Why is he being so friendly? “Grayson.”

“What?”

“Tyler Grayson.” I scratch the stubble on my cheek. “I’m not Jake Devlin’s son. So I ditched his name.” And took Uncle Jerry’s family name instead. Why the hell not?