Burnout Read online

  Burnout

  Stacia Leigh

  To the usual suspects: George, Bianca, and Ruby

  To the unusual suspects: Tango & Tilly

  * * *

  Burnout © 2018 Stacia Leigh

  Originally published in 2016 as Riding with the Hides of Hell

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design and photography

  by ESPIALdesign

  www.espialdesign.com

  No part of this book may be used, scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission by Stacia Leigh, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Purchase only authorized editions. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  ISBN-10: 1-7321435-0-1

  ISBN-13: 978-1-73221435-0-0

  Overdale, Powerhouse Inn, and Burnout Rally are fictitious places meant only for the imagination.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1: A Cold One

  CHAPTER 2: Dark and Light

  CHAPTER 3: Limbo

  CHAPTER 4: Nice Touch

  CHAPTER 5: Tail Pipes

  CHAPTER 6: Good & Plenty

  CHAPTER 7: Lucky Break

  CHAPTER 8: A Hot One

  CHAPTER 9: Big V

  CHAPTER 10: Crumbs

  CHAPTER 11: The Dark Side

  CHAPTER 12: Nocturnal

  CHAPTER 13: Friends

  CHAPTER 14: Lights Out

  CHAPTER 15: Picnic Time

  CHAPTER 16: Karma

  CHAPTER 17: Bits and Pieces

  CHAPTER 18: Unraveling

  CHAPTER 19: Guess Who

  CHAPTER 20: Unspoken

  CHAPTER 21: Back in Black

  CHAPTER 22: Go Time

  CHAPTER 23: Two Point Five

  CHAPTER 1: A Cold One

  Whenever Will heard his mom’s brusque voice in his head, it was time to crack open a cold one.

  Will, this is your mother speaking.

  Like now.

  Eleven months ago, she’d been killed, and in the beginning, he’d cried gallons of tears until his joints ached from dehydration. But it didn’t take him long to discover the beauty of getting drunk and passing out. Since beer was mostly water, it was hydrating, right? Water that buzzed his brain, so he could stop all the crying and go unconscious through the night. It was sort of like sleeping, but better because his mind turned into a vacant tube with no dreams and no voices.

  When he wasn’t drunk—or drunk enough—she’d sneak up on him and interrupt his thoughts in the same way.

  Will, Will, Will. This is your mother speaking, speaking, speaking.

  It was like his mom sat on the cushion of his brain with a bull horn. Her tone rang out crisp and clear, like the good old days when she’d harp at him to load the dishwasher or to ask for the loaf pan from the top shelf. He’d gripe about it, and she’d tell him to be thankful he had long legs. She couldn’t reach anything. Will, the world wasn’t made with short people in mind, she’d say.

  “So, leave the top empty.” Will used to tell her. “Or better yet, get a stool.”

  “Why?” She’d shrug. “When I have you?” Then, she’d pat his forearm, and the subtle gesture would infuse his system with belonging and love. Sometimes, he’d grumble all the way back to his laptop, and other times, he’d smile and rinse out a bowl or two.

  Will, this is your mother speaking.

  He wanted to yell at her, Of course, I know it’s you! But he couldn’t because she wasn’t really there. If he yelled at his mom, he’d be yelling at himself, and it would mean he was bat guano crazy, something he didn’t want to think about.

  Will, I was wondering if Helmet ate his dry food this morning. Did you check it? Have you seen him today? He doesn’t look well. Maybe you should take him to the vet again. Take good care of him, Will. I love you.

  Not now, Mom. I’m busy!

  He clenched his back molars tightly and tried to focus on his game. He was playing Goblin Strike online with his buddy, J.J., and Will could barely focus on the ogre kicking the red pixels out of his character.

  Things were getting blurry, but even so, it sounded like he needed another beer.

  While Mom lamented front and center about the health of her polydactyl cat, J.J.’s laughter boomed through the headphones. Will pushed his long bangs back and rubbed at his temple where a thudding headache threatened to crash the party.

  “Man!” J.J. hooted with glory. “Did you see how much swag that ogre was carrying?” His loud voice echoed deeply into Will’s ears. “Two magic scrolls, a morning star, and a wedge of cheese. Sweet.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re kicking butt,” Will said. His heart wasn’t in this game. Was it beer time yet?

  The wire trash basket next to his desk sat half-full—or was it half-empty?—of drained bottles in various colors: clear, green, brown. He wasn’t picky. He couldn’t be really, because he raided whatever was left in the fridge after his dad’s biker buddies stopped by. The guys were relatively tame. No more getting smashed, brawling on the living room floor, and ratcheting up the music. Those antics were saved for the clubhouse.

  Will, remember when the guys broke my pink lamp? It was your great-grandmother’s, and I told them no more parties at the house. You boys had school the next day, and how could anyone get a decent night’s sleep with that ruckus going on?

  One more beer. If he could sneak another one tonight, he’d be set, and then he could hit the sack with his mother turned off. She was getting way too chatty.

  “So…” J.J. drawled out.

  “Dude, I hate it when you do that. ‘So…’” Will mimicked him and dropped his head back to study the finger smudges around the light switch. “So…” meant J.J. had something on his mind, something he needed to chat about, and Will wasn’t in the mood to listen. Not tonight.

  “I’ve been wondering about something you said a while back. We were at a bonfire, the one in the meadow. Remember?” J.J. asked.

  “Uh…” Will frowned, and the chair squeaked as he leaned forward, wracking his melon for incriminating things he might have said while under the influence. He was barely conscious that night. Besides, it happened like two months ago.

  “You mentioned Zombie Lips—”

  “Dude!” Will dropped a heavy fist on his desk. “Are you serious?”

  “Last I heard, she flung her bikini top in your face, and it was like a year ago. You never mentioned her again until the meadow. You babbled something about how she was only after your body. What am I missing here, man? Like, what the hell happened? Not sure what’s up with the nickname, but the rest of it sure sounded good.”

  Oh, my God.

  Will pinched the bridge of his nose until it started to tingle. He could not talk about Zombie Lips right now. Not her. No way. “When did you turn into such a gossip queen?” Will muttered.

  “When did you get such a tight lip?” J.J.’s voice crackled over the line. “I’m not trying to ride your biz, man, but your mom’s been gone a year—”

  “What the hell do you know, Rad-boner?” Will asked. J.J.’s last name was Radborne, so any chance to call him a boner was a bonus. Will narrowed his eyes at the glowing monitor. With a couple clicks, he could hack J.J.’s character into chunky salsa. “You try losing your mom. Then you can tell me all about it.”

  “Hold it. Not what I meant.” J.J.’s deep voice vibrated in Will’s ear canal. “C’mon, man. I
’m only wondering if Zombie Lips is part of the problem.”

  “What problem?” Will snapped, pulling the keyboard closer. Get ready to die. Chunky style, dude.

  “Man,” J.J. said tiredly. “You wanna go out less and less, and when you do, you’re tanked all the time. If you turn into an alcoholic, you’re going to kill your liver or worse. Trust me. You know I’ve seen it in action.”

  True. J.J.’s uncle was a raging alcoholic who’d turned into a fist-wielding, family-robbing, drug-addicted asshole. Will pushed the keyboard back, sparing J.J.’s onscreen life, and slumped into his chair. He closed his eyes, trying to see inside himself, but it was cloudy and dark in there.

  “I don’t want you to pull a Chill Will on me,” J.J. said. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine. But it had to be said, man. And if I need to punch you in the face, I will. Because that’s the kind of friend I am. We good?”

  “Sure,” Will said and conjured up a sizable belch to lighten the mood, a juicy one, too. He wiped his thumb over the mic on his headset.

  “Thanks. No, seriously. You gassing my ear gives me a thrill,” J.J. chuckled on his end of the receiver, followed by soft clicking and shuffling noises. “And speaking of thrill, I gotta call my girl.”

  “Be sure to tell Suzy her ol’ man says ‘hey.’ After all, she was my girl first.”

  “The hell she—”

  “Later, dude.” Will laughed loudly and ended the call. Boom! He got the last word and the hang up. J.J. was the master, but this time, Will got him good.

  Will’s eyes drifted back to the dirty wall. He used to like Suzy. Sure, it was brief, but enough to ask her to junior prom. He even tried the “I saw her first” claim, but J.J. swooped in with some cockamamie story and—water under the bridge—Will stepped aside. His head and heart were numb, and deep down, he couldn’t fight for her. Good thing, too, because Suzy and J.J. were the real deal.

  Besides, Will had his mom in his head. What could he offer a sweet girl like Suzy?

  He drooped and his eyes closed. Maybe he’d had enough to drink, after all. He was comfy here in his office chair with his chin tucked into his chest, and his dark bangs drawn like a curtain. Already his mind hung like a humid cloud, not raining, not floating, just there.

  Will, please wake up and check on Helmet. He’s my soul kitty, and he needs you. Did he eat? Did he drink? Has he moved from the kitchen chair?

  Will lifted his head and struggled to peel up his eyelids. Game over. His computer screen had turned black, yet there was his phone, blinking with life. He had a text message.

  Z-LIPS: It’s been a while. Hope ur doing okay.

  Well, well. Someone’s ears must have been burning. J.J mentions Zombie Lips and look who’s texting again. Will shoved away from his desk, catching the corner to steady himself. What was the tally up to now? It had to be around twenty-something. He scrolled through the messages. He had no idea why he kept them, but the count was exactly twenty-three since he’d last spoken to her. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone? No clue. More importantly, why hadn’t he blocked her number? Too much hassle? If she sent him twenty-three more texts, maybe he’d forgive her. Yeah…maybe.

  He opened his bedroom door to a haze of smoke, swearing, and laughter, which meant the beer-drinking Hides of Hell bikers were still here. Didn’t they have their own homes to go to?

  Will used to consider these hairy, tatted up guys his family until after his mom died. Their world went back to normal way too soon for Will’s liking. For the Sullivans, things stayed the same. Dad pored over photo albums and played the “remember” game with Liam, who openly sniffled like the sensitive bastard he was. Will preferred to sit on the floral couch and let the days drift by…

  Will, don’t just stand in the hall with your teeth in your mouth. Go check on my cat!

  Yeah, yeah, check on the big-pawed kitty. Who didn’t love his mom’s littlest badass? He left dead birds on the porch, fished wet cigarette butts out of plastic cups, and scratched and farted with the rest of ‘em. Good ol’ Helmet.

  Will stepped around the corner into the kitchen, and the guys sitting in the attached living room fell quiet. He could practically feel their concerned eyes pelting the back of his head and wished the hood of his sweatshirt were big enough to engulf him. Why were they here again? They could hang out at Mook’s place or Flossy’s garage or—hey, here’s a great idea—go hang out at the clubhouse with the rest of the leather backs.

  “Want some grub, Will?” his dad asked tentatively.

  “I already ate,” Will muttered without looking over his shoulder.

  He scuffed across the cold slate floor in his bare feet to Helmet’s ceramic bowl. It was piled high with dry kibble, the water hadn’t been touched, and the orange fur ball was still curled up on the padded kitchen chair. He was off in dreamland—busy plucking feathers out of birds with his six toes—sleeping like he always did with an arm covering his eyes.

  But, he hasn’t moved in the past five hours, Will.

  He hasn’t?

  The floor tilted, and Will grasped the edge of the table. “Helmet,” he whispered. “Hey, buddy. Wake up.”

  His hand shook as he stroked Helmet’s soft head.

  It was cold.

  CHAPTER 2: Dark and Light

  Miki’s hair hung straight and sleek all the way to her waist. Everyone loved it, her friends as well as her frenemies, and it wasn’t because she had the longest hair in the junior class. Nope. Try the entire high school. Well, she used to. It also used to be a shiny black, the same as her dad’s.

  Not anymore.

  The plump hairdresser, decked out in polka dots and pinup heels, whisked the dark cape away with a flourish, then combed her painted fingernails through Miki’s tresses, as if she couldn’t let go of her masterpiece, her baby. Miki stared wide-eyed into the mirror and even after three grueling hours in the swivel chair, she still didn’t move. Finally, with tentative hands, she sifted through the blunt ends that swung around her shoulders.

  “You like it, don’t you, honey?” The hairdresser’s thinly sculpted brows edged up into her bumper bangs. “It’s what you wanted, right?”

  It was. Mermaid Blue like the picture. Aqua ends that graduated up to her natural black roots.

  “Is it the color? Is it the length?” The hairdresser clacked her glossy nails together. “Because thick hair like yours grows fast.”

  “I could kiss you.” Miki jumped out of the chair, sending the woman back on her heels. “I love it.” She beamed in the mirror and fluffed her hair again. It was different, beautiful even.

  More importantly, it wasn’t long or black.

  Dad would be pissed.

  Miki’d raced from the salon all the way home to pluck her brows, fight with her mom, and stare holes in the front door. She flicked her eyes at the clock above the mantel again, then back to the same spot on the door, the one her dad should have knocked on forty minutes ago. Some birthday.

  Normally, she embraced the virtue of patience, but since he hadn’t bothered to see her in six weeks, her eager anticipation slowly turned into festering dejection. Why’d he even bother to call if he was only going to stand her up?

  No. He wouldn’t. He’s the one who said, “It’s my day. I’m taking you to lunch.” Visitation rights and all that. It was her birthday; he’d remember.

  Miki checked her phone again and waited. She spun the black, woven bracelet on her wrist around and around, staring even bigger holes in the door. She yawned—

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  —and jumped at the loud pounding on the door that only a meaty fist could make. She breathed in through her nose, fluffed her dye job, and flung the door wide with a beaming smile.

  “Hi, Dad,” Miki said brightly and lifted her hand to flip at her hair, but her dad pressed into the room with his broad shoulders and looked around.

  “Hey, Miki-Lou. Your mother here?” he asked gruffly.

  “Upstairs.” She let her hand drop. �
�Why?”

  “Good!” Dad turned on his boot heel. “Let’s get outta here before she comes down. Your brother’s waiting in the truck.”

  That was that. No double-take. No wide-eyed gasp. No screeching, You paid how much? No wailing, Your beautiful hair! And certainly, no begrudging compliment, I’m sure I’ll get used to it, eventually. All that had been reserved for her mom.

  She climbed into the extended cab and wedged herself between a pile of balled-up hamburger wrappers and an errant set of jumper cables. Her brother, Owen, slouched in the front seat, barely acknowledging her. He was five years older, twenty-two, and thought he was God’s gift to society; he couldn’t tear his eyes off Mr. Good Looking in the side mirror.

  “Guess who’s in the hospital this time?” he muttered at the passenger window as he stroked his chiseled jaw.

  Hospital! Who cared? Probably another case of rally road rash or monkey-wrenching elbow.

  “Wait…is that what we’re doing?” She flung her hands out and gaped at the back of her dad’s head. His black hair curled damply along his neck as if he’d stepped out of the shower and toweled it dry about ten minutes ago. He turned the key in the ignition, and the truck rumbled at the ready. “I thought this was my birthday lunch.”

  She was a Gemini, so she appreciated the unusual, but please-please-please, for the love of God, don’t let her celebrate turning seventeen by eating packaged food in a hospital cafeteria!

  “Calm down, Mik,” Dad muttered and tapped the brakes at a four-way stop. He cranked the steering wheel into a sharp left turn and gassed it up Pill Hill toward the hospital. “It’s only a pit stop. Then we’ll be on our way. Badger Paw burgers like we said.”

  Surely, they knew they were playing with fire. Lack of food made her irrational. Nobody escaped her wrath, so they’d better be prepared to throw in a double order of onion rings and a large strawberry milkshake because she was starving. Miki rubbed soothing circles over her empty stomach. The lunch hour had come and gone.