Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2)

by S. L. Jennings

  “So this is what you want? And somewhere in your distorted mind, you thought I would be okay with this?” Kami questioned.

  Blaine leaned across the bar, and leveled his sincere stare with hers, blocking out Angel’s accusatory curses, CJ’s phony concern, and my deep belly laughter. “Babe, seriously. Does that sound like something I would want? Or does it have CJ’s stupidity stamped all over it? There is nothing a stripper could do for me. There is no other woman on this earth that could drive me crazy and make me feel like the luckiest man alive all in the same breath. You know that.”

  She took a minute to consider his words before looking at me to verification. I shook my head and tipped it to Blaine, putting him out of his misery. “Wasn’t him. All CJ.”

  Right on cue, as if it were choreographed, both Kami and Angel smacked CJ upside the head, as we had witnessed Blaine do a million times whenever his cousin was acting like an even bigger dumbass than usual. He hardly even flinched. He was probably numb to the assault.

  “Oh come on! You know it’d be popular. Am I right, Angel? I know you can appreciate a room full of tits.”

  Angel shook her head at him, but replied, “I can. But not everyone should be walking around naked. Could you imagine Mick?”

  We all cringed and shivered at the mental image of CJ’s dad sporting a beer gut, three inches of body hair, and nothing else.

  “Blech,” CJ grimaced. “Good point.”

  I hung out for another hour or so before I had exhausted every excuse to stay. I was fidgety, on edge and unfocused. My friends kept trying to pull me into their conversations, but I was too preoccupied to engage. I didn’t want to be there, but I didn’t want to go home. And the only place I wanted to be, I assumed I wasn’t welcomed.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t keep denying where my heart and mind were. I was just going through the motions for my friends at this point. And that wasn’t being fair to me or them. I knew what I wanted was stupid, reckless, and could potentially get me fired, but I just had to try. I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t, and that was hard enough as it was.

  “Hey, I’ll catch you guys later,” I said suddenly, sliding off the barstool.

  “Where are you going?” Angel frowned. Everyone I cared about was already here, and if I had a “date,” I wouldn’t need to deal with her until much later. Plus she knew I was trying to slow down and get my head together.

  “Something I need to do.”

  She looked perplexed, but let the issue drop, just as I had done for her the day before, and looked to Kami who nodded her head. We all had a lot to discuss—Angel’s tears yesterday . . . Kami’s impending doom, I mean, nuptials. But this wasn’t the time or the place.

  “Be careful,” is all she said, mimicking the very same words I’d offered to Raven last night. Little did she know that I wasn’t warning her against men in the club. I was warning her against me. Hell, maybe I was warning myself.

  I DIDN’T GET A lot of free time to spend with Toby, so when I did, I tried to make it count. My days off were devoted to him and to trying to instill some normalcy in his life. So on Tuesdays, I cooked. It wasn’t anything grand, and honestly, I wasn’t great at it, but it was something he liked helping me with, and something I enjoyed.

  There wasn’t much Toby and I could bond over. We hadn’t had the same upbringing, and for that, I harbored a lot of guilt. Nobody knew how bad it had become after I had left. Nobody could have known that our mother would self-destruct after Gene left. But that didn’t ease the feelings of regret and sorrow for my little brother. I’d always feel responsible for what she’d done, yet selfishly glad that she hadn’t done it to me.

  “Pass me the oregano, kid,” I instructed, stirring the pot of marinara simmering on the stove. It was jarred sauce, but we always spruced it up with our own special touches. Tonight we had sat at my crappy little dining room table and rolled the craziest looking meatballs in existence. Some were big, some were small. Some were shaped into our initials that would probably look like turds once they were cooked. But we did it together, and we had fun. Toby smiled, and that was all that mattered.

  “You know what this needs? Hot sauce!”

  Toby nodded enthusiastically and grabbed the bottle of Texas Pete. We ate it with everything, I swear. On scrambled eggs, in tomato soup that we dipped grilled cheese in, atop the crunchy potato chip layer of tuna casserole . . . One time I had dared him to put it on his ice cream. After much coaxing, he did, but quickly spit it out, scraping the cold, spicy goop of his tongue with a spoon.

  “So I heard from your vice principal today,” I remarked casually. I didn’t want to put him on defense and cause him to shut down. “She said they’re positive they’ve found those punks that cornered you. So if you were worried or anything . . . you don’t have to be anymore. They’re handling it.”

  He shrugged and focused on tearing lettuce for the salad. It wasn’t much of a response, but it confirmed that he had heard me. I’d take what I could get.

  I had just taken the meatballs out of the oven and popped in a cookie sheet of garlic bread when there was a knock at the door. Simultaneously, we frowned, the shared dimple between our brows deepening, and looked at the closed door. We weren’t expecting company, and it wasn’t as if either one of us had a social life. Factor in the less than desirable neighborhood, and I was already reaching for the aluminum bat that was situated against the coat rack with the umbrellas, and Toby was moving toward the back of the apartment.

  I looked out the peephole, but it was too dark to see much more than a shadowy figure. The hall light was out again. Usually, I didn’t get home from work until after 2 in the morning. Making my way to the door was like walking on a minefield wearing a blindfold every night.

  “Who is it?” I called out, letting my voice drop a few octaves as if it would make me seem more intimidating. I sounded ridiculous, and had probably just relayed that we were alone to whoever was on the other side of the door.

  “Um, uh . . .” a muffled male voice stammered. “Dominic . . . Dominic Trevino?”

  Dominic? What the . . . ?

  I clicked open the locks and tentatively cracked open the door. There he was, sheathed in shadows and twilight that spilled in from the hall’s single, dingy window. He wore a white, button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and black slacks. His hair was black silk styled in its usual un-styled way. He wore a pensive expression, as if he were still trying to understand what had brought him to my doorstep. I was sporting something similar. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets nervously, the light spilling from my apartment highlighting the frustration on his brow. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just . . .”

  I had the feeling that there was no simple answer for why he was here. That even if he knew it somewhere subconsciously, it wasn’t possible for him to verbalize it. Maybe it was the same impulse that had made me spew my guts in his office yesterday. Whatever the case may have been, I saved us both the awkwardness and invited him in.

  Toby was already at the door, looking at Dom with expectation and wonder. And . . . joy. It was like his best friend had just come over for a sleepover. And that made me both relieved and sad for him.

  “Hey, my man,” he said, greeting Toby with a fist bump, which he happily returned. Then he was looking at me with guarded eyes. “Sorry to drop in on you like this. I just . . . I wanted to see that you were ok.”

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest and squinted at him. “How did you get my address?”

  “Your file . . . shoot, I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

  I heaved out an irritated sigh through tight lips. “Well, you did. Is there something you need?” Having him in my space was too real for me. In public, I could keep him at arm’s length. I could turn and walk away, even flip him the bird, if need be. But he was here . . . in my home. And suddenly, the place seemed eve
n tinier, and my furnishings even shabbier. Judging by the way he dressed and the car he drove, he probably didn’t come to this side of town often. So it made sense for him to spit out what must’ve been so dire that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, and get back to where he came from.

  “I, uh, wanted to check on you. We didn’t get the chance to talk once—”

  “Once I was dismissed because you were there to see Cherri.”

  He looked stunned at the bite in my words, and I was more than embarrassed for coming off as a jealous (non) girlfriend, but I didn’t back down. I gave him an expectant smirk, daring him to lie about last night, yet secretly praying that he’d say it wasn’t true. That he didn’t give Cherri more ammunition to deem me weak and hopeless. That he wouldn’t confirm that he had zero interest in me. I mean, I wouldn’t care anyway. He had a girlfriend. Girlfriends, for Christ’s sake. I just wanted him to want me for the sole pleasure of being able to shoot him down.

  I watched a million shades of discomfort and regret flash across his face before Toby put him out of his misery and handed him a note scribbled on one of the dozens of notepads we kept around the apartment.

  “Oh, um, sorry, man. I don’t think . . .”

  Toby snatched the notepad out of Dom’s hands before he could think of a good reason and quickly started writing another one. He tore it off and handed it to him, his pen ready to shoot down any further excuses.

  “Sure, I do. It’s just . . .”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Dominic looked to me for help, but I had none to offer him. Toby wanted this. Maybe he needed this. It had been hard for him to bond with anyone, and God only knew how lonely he had been before our mother died. I couldn’t deny him this one wish, especially since he never asked for anything.

  “Fine,” I huffed. “Dinner’s almost ready. You two can set the table while I finish up. I’m about to burn the rolls.”

  Dom nodded his thanks. It seemed like he was just as adamant about making the kid happy.

  As I pulled the bread out of the oven, I watched with stunned eyes as Toby grabbed Dominic’s hand and pulled him toward the drawer where kept the silverware. He rarely touched anybody, even me. The first few times I tried to hug him, he clammed up and his body went rigid. I had made it a point not to invade his space since then. But here he was, casually touching this guy that he barely knew. Shit, Dominic was a stranger to him! I didn’t know whether to be suspicious or grateful that he had finally bonded with someone.

  I decided to let go of my skepticism just for one night. Tomorrow I could be a nagging harpy. Tonight, I would be what Toby deserved.

  “Four plates?” Dom questioned, looking at the dishes in Toby’s hands. He looked around warily. “Are you expecting someone else?”

  I shook my head. “No. The fourth is for Mrs. Ralston in the unit next door. She keeps an eye on Toby while I’m at work. In return, I cook for her a couple nights a week and help her around her apartment. Toby can take care of himself, and he has . . . before. But she’s an elderly widow, and I think she just enjoys the company.”

  He nodded at my unintentionally long explanation and watched in silence as I made Mrs. Ralston’s plate. Then Toby got her key from the hook and took it over to her while I watched him.

  “He’s a great kid. Thanks for letting me stay,” Dom whispered, sending a shiver down my spine. I hadn’t noticed how close he was to me. He was also watching Toby, leaving a mere hairsbreadth of space between us. I could sneeze and be in his arms.

  “Yeah, he is. So I appreciate that you’re decent to him. I’m sure this is the last place you want to be.”

  Dom snorted a chuckle, causing the hardness of his chest to press against my back. Oh dear Lord. “Actually, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

  I turned to look at him over my shoulder, searching his face for any sign that I had misheard those words. But he just stared back, those hazel-green eyes completely clear and sober. As if he actually meant it.

  The closing of Mrs. Ralston’s door brought us both back to reality, and Dom quickly stepped aside, giving Toby room to reenter, and putting a full three feet of space between us. I hated that I noticed. I hated that it bugged me even more.

  “Ok, let’s eat,” I announced, brushing past him to tend to the pot of spaghetti. No more doe-eyed looks. No more talk about his reasons for being here. I needed to keep my hands busy and my focus on hating him. Or pretending to hate him.

  The three of us sat down at the rickety, old table that I’d scored at a yard sale, and dug in. After a few minutes of silent chewing, Dom made a sound in his throat and said, “This is really good, Raven.”

  “Thanks. Old family recipe.” I shot Toby a wink, and he replied with a small smile. Huh. He was on a roll.

  “Really?” Dom mused, twirling a bite around his fork. “I didn’t know your family’s name was Ragu.”

  “Prego. Get it right.”

  We shared a chuckle, shifting the mood into something much less suffocating. I could do this. I could be casual. No sweat.

  “It’s Spaghetti Tuesday. Toby and I always make spaghetti on Tuesdays.”

  “Why spaghetti?” he replied, stabbing a deformed meatball. He didn’t seem to mind.

  “Never got into Taco Tuesday. Hate tacos.”

  “You hate tacos?” he grumbled around a mouthful of ground meat and sauce. He quickly grabbed his soda to wash it down, and tried again. “You hate tacos? How can anybody hate tacos?”

  I shrugged. “I just do.”

  “Like, is there a specific type of taco you hate? Or you hate them all?”

  I shrugged again. “I don’t know. I just hate the whole meat and veggies and condiments thrown inside a tortilla mechanism. It’s like handheld chaos.”

  “Dear God, woman,” he said shaking his head. “It’s like you aren’t even human. Soon you’re going to tell me that you go around kicking kittens for sport.”

  “You never know. The night’s still young,” I jibed, smiling genuinely. Oh yeah. I could totally do this. I was killing casual.

  We finished our plates, Dom quizzing me on all the stuff I liked versus all the stuff I hated. Then he would ask Toby his opinion on things, who watched us with rapt attention, so intrigued by the exchange that one would think he was viewing a tennis match. After he and Dom cleared the table—Dom’s idea—I told Toby to go get his shower and get ready for bed. This left me alone with Dominic Trevino, the one person I shouldn’t be alone with.

  “These are great,” he said studying the framed prints situated on almost every flat surface and wall. He picked up one of my favorites—a black and white picture of a homeless man huddled in the corner of a storefront, sharing his meager meal with his dog. He was covered in grime, his clothing mere shreds. Yet he was giving what little he had for the sake of love and companionship. I envied that.

  “Local photographer?”

  “Yup,” I answered, grinning. Oh God, I was grinning.

  “Really? Who? This artist has an incredible eye.”

  “Me.”

  The look of utter disbelief and admiration on his face was one I wished I could capture and hang on my wall. “Seriously? You’re a photographer?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I said, moving beside him to get a better look at the photo in his hands. “I used to wish to be one a long time ago. But life has a funny way of happening.”

  “That’s crazy. My best friend says that. Life happens.”

  “It does.”

  He nodded, but his expression turned somber. “Sometimes I wish it would happen less.”

  “But isn’t that what we wish for? To live in the moment? To seize the unknown? If everything happened as we planned, our experiences wouldn’t define us. We wouldn’t know how to embrace the good, because we would never know the bad. We would never be able to accept true happiness, because pain would be foreign. And I want to know happiness one day. Don’t you?”

  I didn’t know how we came here. H
ow we found ourselves at this juncture, sharing a piece of honesty just as that homeless man shared his sandwich. Dom had revealed just a shard of himself to me, and, in return, I did the same. Now we were even. Now we were connected.

  Needing the space and the time to think, I excused myself to check on Toby, who was already in his tiny, twin bed. The ghost of a smile remained on his face as he closed his eyes and turned on his side. He’d had a happy day. He would wake up tomorrow morning, and the sun would shine a little brighter, and his cereal would taste a little better. And maybe, he would begin to believe that life, in general, could be better.

  When I returned to our small living room, I allowed myself a moment to watch Dom gaze at the photo that meant the most to me. I had kept it all this time, and no matter what it represented, I refused to see anything but beauty and innocence.

  “Cute kids,” he remarked when I stepped beside him. “Who are they?”

  “Me and the kid.” I had a devastating haircut with a severe bang and wore fuchsia overalls. Toby was just a plump, roly poly bundle of baby, his gummy grin almost too cute to stand. I kept it to remind us both that he was happy once, and to give him hope that he could be happy again.

  “Who shot the picture?” I knew the question was coming. I had armed myself with the answer the moment I saw him looking at the photo. That way, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

  “My mother.”

  There. One more little thread of truth. I just wasn’t sure if I was done giving them away, offering these fragments of me that would eventually reveal who I was and ruin everything.

  Tonight, I can be free. I told myself. Tomorrow . . . back in the cage I go.

  “You mind if I show you something?”

  I was already grabbing my camera bag before he could respond.

  I THOUGHT FOR SURE that Raven would slam the door in my face when I showed up uninvited. No sane person would do that, especially one that wanted to remain employed. But I guess it was true when it came to matters of the heart. They made you dumb as fuck. Dumb and happy.