Porter (Dirty Misfits MC Book 2)
Porter: Chapter 4

I white-knuckled the steering wheel of my squeaking car as I blazed a trail down the highway. The painless conversation with my landlord didn’t even take me two minutes, and after that I was free to leave my lease. It paid to have good relationships with those around me, but for some reason I couldn’t seem to cultivate a relationship with my own damn brother. The closer I got to Santa Cruz, the angrier I became. How the fuck could he not replace a few seconds to even send me a text message and let me know he was out of prison?

Me, his sister!

Maybe moving back will help.

Moving away from Santa Cruz had been hard in the first place. But with Brooks being in jail for five years and Porter being off limits, it wasn’t as if I had a reason to stay. Plus, Porter’s drinking reminded me of our mother’s addiction and how powerless I was to help her.

It became toxic for me, so I left.

I drew in a deep breath and rolled down my window as I eased off onto my exit. Just past the Santa Cruz city limits sign was the exit I needed to get back to my childhood home. I wasn’t sure what kind of condition it would be in, but I figured as long as it wasn’t moldy and drafty, I could work with it.

Especially since it would be rent-free.

I just hope Brooks doesn’t continue to leave me out of shit.

He always did that. Ever since we were kids, he left me out of everything. He always dangled secrets that he knew over my head and teased me whenever his friends were around. And while he always stood up for me when necessary, I wanted more than a pseudo-abusive relationship with him. I wanted to really know my brother. I wanted to be an integral part of his life

But ever since he joined that stupid crew, all he seemed to do was push me away.

I knew my brother well enough to know he was probably trying to protect me. He probably saw the crew as his only way to live some sort of life since he always sucked in school, so now he pushed me away to protect me. I called bullshit, though. I knew there was another reason. Deep down, I knew there was something else to all of this.

So, maybe going home would provide the answers I needed.

And I’ll see Porter again.

The idea rushed heat down my neck. I drew in a sobering breath as I meandered through the streets I knew I’d never forget as long as I lived. I wondered about Porter and his drinking problem. Whether it took him under or if he dug himself out of the hole he created for himself. I saw alcohol addiction firsthand with my mother. I watched how it sucked her under. How it drowned her until she drowned herself in the vodka of her choice. I watched her sneak it into church and into restaurants to put in her soda. I saw her pull small airplane bottles out from beneath her seat while we blazed down the highway running errands.

I watched as she literally drank herself to death, choking on her own vomit one night while she laid there on the couch with a half-empty bottle still in her hand.

I’m a coward.

Tears rushed my eyes the more I thought about Porter. Before I moved my ass to L.A., I spent a lot of time with Porter, especially after my brother first went to prison. I saw how he struggled with his drinking when Brooks left. I overheard the multiple phone calls they placed to one another, and I eavesdropped whenever Porter started crying on the phone to him. I’d never once heard a grown man cry before, but whenever Porter listened to my brother go on and on about our mother in an attempt to get him sober, he always broke down.

I wanted to hold Porter in those moments. Kiss his sweaty forehead and hold him while he shivered through his withdrawals while whispering to him that he would be all right.

And instead, I moved to L.A. to get away from it all.

“God, I hope he’s all right now,” I whispered to myself.

I flipped on my turn signal as I approached the small neighborhood I grew up in and eased myself past Jodie’s old place. I smiled at the memories as my eyes canvassed the massive front yard tree her and I conquered as little girls. The rotted, knotted rope swing we used to get into the rafters of the tree still hung there, coated with the memories of smiling girls and endless giggles.

I had so many good memories in this place.

Then, my eyes focused on the house rising before me.

The two-story home had a pale yellow exterior, dark green shutters, a porch that seemed to be in decent condition, and a driveway cracked and growing thick with weeds. The grass in the front yard was completely dead and devoid of life, much like the leafless bushes that lined the house. I pulled up to the mailbox and opened it up, seeing the keys glittering inside the cobweb-filled cavern.

I grimaced as I reached my hand in and prayed nothing was in there to bite me.

“Gotcha,” I whispered.

After pulling the keys out, I headed up the driveway. I parked in front of the dented garage door that still hadn’t been repaired since my mother slammed into it one evening. She had driven home drunk after Dad called to bitch her out for not cooking dinner, so she decided to swerve her way home and crashed right into the damn thing.

So many memories.

As I turned my car off, a million ideas wafted through my mind. I wanted to call Brooks and tell him to come over. I wanted to tell him to bring Porter so I could hug that man’s neck again. I wanted to track my high school best friend down and climb back up into that tree so we could pretend that life hadn’t eaten us alive just yet.

Then, it dawned on me.

Brooks knew I was coming in today, and he’s not even here.

I dug my phone out of the cup holder and checked my text messages. And of course, he hadn’t even read the one I sent him this morning. I told him I’d let him know whenever I was on the road so he could meet me at the house. And here I was, sitting alone like the fucking idiot I had apparently become.

I quickly typed another message to him, letting him know that I had arrived in town.

Then, I opened my car door.

I tried not to feel like coming back home was a mistake. I fought my brain as it tried to convince me that my brother didn’t really give a shit whether I came or went. I blinked back tears as I walked up onto the porch and jumped, taking in how sturdy the foundation still seemed.

It was the only thing my father gave to this house—and to our lives—that had withstood the test of time.

And that included his presence in it.

“Stupid fucker,” I murmured.

I slid the key into the lock and turned it, but I still had to shove my shoulder into the door in order to get it open. But I didn’t get a chance to step inside before a bike engine revved behind me. I drew in a deep breath and tried to swallow down my anger, but I felt it working its way back up my throat just as quickly as I had drawn in my deep breath.

“You know, you really are something for not even reading my fucking text messages. I’m surprised you even know I’m here, idiot.”

The chuckle that sounded behind me wasn’t my brother, though. “His loss, I guess.”

And when Porter’s voice settled against my ears, I slowly turned around.

Allowing my eyes to take in the breathtakingly handsome man that straddled his bike just behind my car.