Page 170 of Bitter’s Sweet

“You don’t have to.”

“My stuff is upstairs.”

“It’ll still be upstairs in an hour.”

I stare into the garage.

Hyde stands near the workbench talking to Nevermore. Ghoul is beside my pale blue hatchback. CSI has a laptop open on a rolling tool cart. Boogie is sitting backward on a chair eating something from a paper bowl. Sweeney leans against one of the lifts.

And Bitter is there.

My stomach drops.

He stands near his bike with coffee in one hand, black T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, jeans, boots, and his cut on.

The same man as yesterday.

The same man as last night.

The same man who cheated on me inside a coffin and then looked me in the face like my mistake was believing him.

His head turns.

He sees me.

Everything inside me goes still.

Mercy moves slightly closer. “I can go up for you.”

“No.”

She looks at me.

I swallow. “I’m not hiding from him.”

Something like approval moves through her eyes. “All right.”

We walk into the garage.

Conversations change.

They do not stop exactly. They change.

That is worse.

I feel it immediately.

People know.

Of course they know. This is a motorcycle club, not a monastery. Gossip probably travels faster than gasoline around here.

Boogie looks at me, then at Bitter, then becomes extremely interested in his breakfast. Nevermore’s expression goes flat. Hyde looks tired. Ghoul mutters something I cannot hear.

Bitter does not move.

Neither do I.

For one second, the garage seems to shrink around the distance between us.