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He'd been riding for fucking ever.
He'd been riding so long the throb of the motorcycle between his legs felt like a part of him, the smell of asphalt and diesel and leather all tied up and in his head.
He'd started in Boston. Jesus fuck, it had all started in Boston.
Or was that ended?
Him and Jimmy'd ended, that was for damned sure.
"Just in case you didn't clue in when you saw the boxes by the door full of your shit, there's a guy in our bed who you don't even know."
Watson might have broken a thing or two.
Then he'd climbed on his bike and headed West.
Now he was in the fucking Rockies, trying not to freeze his ass off, gaining altitude with every mile, but too fucking stubborn to turn back.
He was going West, damn it.
To find a better start than a fuck-assed dumping by a two-bit little creep who was supposed to love him, or at least be in lust with him. He honestly wasn't that picky.
Obviously neither was Jimmy.
He increased speed, not caring if the road wasn't safe. Not caring that he was going way over the speed limit. He went around a corner, nearly losing it, the bike trying to go one way and send him the next.
Oh, fuck. Okay. Slow down, asshole.
No getting yourself killed--Jimmy wasn't fucking worth it.
There were lights ahead and Watson slowed down. He couldn't remember when he'd last stopped for more than a piss off the side of the road and if he could think past the vibrations moving through him he was probably thirsty and hungry and fucking tired. What sleeping he'd done had been under the stars and frankly, it was too goddamned cold up here to do thattonight.
It was a big old chalet type building, but he couldn't be sure if it was a store or a restaurant or a bar, or hell, someone's house. He pulled up next to a battered and filthy Jeep and turned off the engine, the sudden silence ringing in his ears.
His helmet and gloves came off and he did a few squats, trying to get some life back into his legs, and then headed up onto the balcony, trying to decide if he should knock or just walk on in.
"You lost, man?" The voice startled him, coming from the shadows.
He peered, trying to see through the darkness, as he considered the question. "I don't know where I am," he allowed. It was a different thing than being lost. He wasn't lost.
"You're on Sutter's mountain."