Page 50 of Changing Lanes

“It’s pouring outside. Just started up but it’s supposed to rain all night. It should be a crazy one, too. We’re hosting a storm party and serving Slippery Nipples and Dark & Stormies for half price.”

Classy.

“I’m sorry to miss that.”

I hide my eye roll, reaching down to scratch the shit out of my ankle.

“S’all good. Do you want to take my car? I can have one of my servers pick me up.”

“If you’re sure you don’t need it?”

He assures me he doesn’t, so after thanking him, I’m on my way in his Mazda Miata to pick up some new clothes before heading in for my shift. It’s small but handles surprisingly well in the rain. Dixon isn’t a big guy so it’s great for him but it’s a little snug for my five-nine frame. That’s just one reason why I like my motorcycle so much—I don’t feel contained in any way. The sky’s the limit and there’s nothing holding me back. There isn’t anything to protect me either, but I like it that way. Having all possible dangers eliminated for me during my childhood only made me crave the risk that much more when I hit eighteen.

I lay on the gas, taking corners faster than I probably should. It’s been so long since I’ve driven a car, I warm at the thrill of pushing it a little further past the line of reasonable driving. No puddle too big, no corner too tight, I drive with no real forethought, squealing excitedly anytime the car hydroplanes.

Rainstorms are grossly under-appreciated. Dixon had the right, although greedy, idea of celebrating this tonight. Being in a semi-arid climate, rain doesn’t happen as often as the local farmers wish so when it does it’s a big deal. Most people act up by forgetting how to drive altogether but I’ve always loved the rain. Not riding on my bike in it—that’s not fun any way you slice it—but any other time I’m all about it.

Pulling into Creekwood is bittersweet. I haven’t seen my apartment since picking up some of my things for my stay at Dixon’s. As much as I hoped a break from all the tension would help, I found myself missing my space more. It’s not all mine but it’s still mine. I was just starting to get used to it. The smells, the random bits from the guys’ previous day discarded on every surface, the open magazines lying around, the milk carton sitting on the counter when I walked in each morning. I finally solved that mystery when I saw Beckett forget to replace it in the fridge after dumping a generous amount in his coffee before I left.

Before he ran me out of here.

No. I chose to leave.

And now coming back reminds me of coming home. A place that hasn’t felt the same since Mom’s diagnosis but still brings out the best memories that I yearn for like a bowl of hot soup on a cold day.

The excitement from the drive wears off as I glance around the lot. I don’t typically see my roommates before leaving for work but it’s a habit of mine—always checking for their rides. Unfortunately, the windows are covered by sheets of water blocking my view, so I shrug it off and make a run for the stairs, spotting both bikes parked and drenched but the Tahoe and BMW missing.

Alone inside, I decide to take another shower to get the fur-touch off my skin. With my toiletries still at Dixon’s, I use Beckett’s body wash and shampoo but forgo shaving. There are some things you just can’t share. My brother Nick would disagree wholeheartedly but only when sharing works in his favor, not the other way around. There were many times I’d find rogue hairs in my razor thanks to my most self-centered brother.

The reminder of Nick’s narcissism has me thinking of Vernon. He continues to mutter crappy things to me any time he thinks he can get away with it. What’s worse is ignoring it doesn’t even throw him off. His malicious behavior increases with each incident. I don’t want to run to Rosie like he’s accused me of but something needs to be done. And soon.

While everyone wants to point the finger at me and my mom’s move, I can’t help but think it has something to do with the boys not visiting anymore. Even when Tysen helped deliver her chair, he took one look at her, teared up, and ran. And since he won’t pick up his phone, I don’t know what triggered it. I mean, I know but I don’t know.

What else is going on with him?

My mother still hasn’t eaten a full meal and is more withdrawn than ever. That chair I bought her is about the only silver lining since she spends so much time in it these days. It’s the kind that lifts with her when she gets up so she doesn’t strain anything. I just want her to be comfortable.

I just want her.

It could be a combination of everything or maybe it’s her disease winning the battle I seem to be fighting solo the more time goes on. I check on her any chance I get but working the night shift can have its disadvantages in that sense. Plus, she’s been sleeping more, too, reducing the opportunities I have to visit with her fully. I still have a job to do and can’t ignore my other responsibilities even if all I want to do is curl up next to her and watch her sleep all night.

Cynthia helps out when she can by checking on my mom but she recently put in her two weeks’ notice, choosing to work at a higher paying job in the emergency room at one of the local hospitals. Since Rosie hired on another night nurse to replace Cynthia, I’ve also been training her along with constantly placating Dennis.

He’s been all out of sorts lately and more aggressive than ever.

Last night was the worst I’ve seen him and he actually swung on me. I dodged the blow for the most part, only nicking my bottom lip in the process, but it was such a shock that one of my favorites would turn on me. Theoretically, I know not to take it personally but it’s much easier said than done. Everything feels personal these days.

I run my tongue over the scab already forming on my lip. Luckily, there was only a small cut and Cynthia treated it before our shift ended this morning. It should be healed in no time.

My stomach, however, that’s a different story. It’s been tight, twisted, and sore for days now.

Beckett’s actions outside Xen’s were the inedible icing on the mud pie I’ve been shoveling down my throat. His sexy admission about the night before started out great. I loved knowing he was losing his mind outside my door while I was doing the same thing just inside. But then, it all changed. He changed. His hot words turned icy and mean, leaving me hanging in a bitter wind with nowhere to go and no idea how I got there.

I just want to know why he even bothers. Why the sendoff? If he doesn’t want me around, leave me to my fucked-up life and be done. Our schedules don’t even match up so it should be easy to avoid each other entirely.

Except, it’s not that simple for me anymore. Beckett has a way of being here even when he’s not. His absence takes up as much space as his tall body and the apartment is filled with him. As I smooth his earthy body wash over my legs, I smirk knowing it’ll lace my skin all night.

If only it worked both ways so I could torture him the same way.