Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2)

by S. L. Jennings

  That only made Matthew more determined. I hadn’t objected, so surely I was willing. But why wasn’t I aroused?

  He massaged and caressed me, twisting his wrist, going fast, going slow. I knew he was getting annoyed with me, so I tried not to look at him. Instead, I closed my eyes, and thought of the Dominic Trevino that still lived in a parallel universe with his mama and papa. He was in 7th grade, just like me. But that Dominic made straight As. And he was class president. And a star athlete. Everyone knew him and loved him. He’d walk down the halls of his middle school, and classmates would shout out, “Hey, Dom!” and “Good game, superstar!” and “School dance this Friday night . . . Can’t wait to see you!” He was popular, smart and beloved by all. Especially his parents, who were his biggest supporters in everything he did.

  Mindlessly, I let myself look down, and realized that I wasn’t flaccid in Matthew’s hand anymore. I wasn’t numb anymore. Yes, my mind had managed to block it out and trade my reality for a fantasy, but my body could feel him. It was responding to what he was doing to me, and Matthew was overjoyed.

  No.

  No, I don’t want to feel it.

  I don’t want to like it.

  This feels wrong.

  Wrong and disgusting.

  But it also feels okay. And it doesn’t hurt.

  It doesn’t hurt, so that means I like it.

  But I don’t want to like it.

  I didn’t speak up. I wanted to, but I didn’t. So maybe that meant I wanted it.

  Maybe it meant that this was okay.

  That his hands and his mouth and his skin were okay . . .

  I jerked awake in a pool of my own sweat. I was panting, shivering, and I wasn’t alone in my bed.

  “Shhh, shhh. It’s ok. I’m here. I’m right here with you.” Her familiar scent washed over me, and I felt her small arms around my frame, squeezing with all her might. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here. It wasn’t real. It was just a dream . . . just a dream.”

  Angel was soothing me, holding me close to her body and absorbing my pain. My face was wet and salty, but it was not with sweat. I had been crying. Just like she said I’d been doing for the past week or so.

  I nestled into her bosom and just let her hold me until I had calmed myself enough to speak. I didn’t like this weakness; I didn’t relish the fact that I needed her to take care of me. That had been my job. And now . . . now I was that little boy, willing to do any and everything just to feel loved.

  Angel rubbed my back until the movement lulled me to sleep again. This time, I didn’t dream, and when I woke up, it was well past the time I was due in for work.

  I jumped up like my bed was on fire. “I already called. You have the flu,” Angel rasped, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She was lying beside me, but I could tell she had been up for some time. A big mug of what I suspected was coffee was on my nightstand. There were only three bold, black letters printed on the mug—U, N, T. However, the handle was also painted black, fashioned into a C. If that was indicative of the type of day that was ahead of us, I was in deep shit.

  “This is the third day I’ve missed this week. I have to go in.” I ran a hand through my sweat-dampened hair. The moment I lifted my arm, I realized how achy I was. Maybe I did have the flu. That would have been much easier to explain than the real reason I had been avoiding work, or the entire world for that matter.

  Angel sat up, shaking her head. “Amber insists you take another day and come back refreshed next week. She doesn’t want to risk getting the kids sick.”

  Of course. Always about the kids and their well-being, as it should have been. Too bad I hadn’t just kept it just about the kids. Nope. I had to go and fall for Toby’s sister. And she didn’t want me. She had rejected me. Not only that though. She was repulsed by me.

  And all that only solidified what I had felt inside for years. I was disgusting. I was flawed. I was ruined. A girl who worked in a strip club to raise her mute kid brother and lived in one of Charlotte’s sketchiest neighborhoods, looked at me like I was scum. Like I was a monster.

  Angel was right. I was still too raw with doubt and self-loathing to try to inspire those young minds. How could I anyway? I was no role model. Even without the dark cloud of my past looming over me, they shouldn’t aspire to be some self-absorbed prick that would pretty much fuck anything with two holes. Who the hell did I think I was to even think I could be some type of mentor to young men? At nearly 25 years of age, I didn’t even have my own shit together.

  “Kami is already on her way over,” Angel stated, breaking me from my reverie. “Take a long, hot shower. She’s bringing breakfast.”

  I shook my head. “Why do you always have her on food runs?”

  Angel mimicked my gesture with a shrug. “She insists. She said she misses taking care of us. And now that Blaine won’t let her work behind the bar, she’s bored and feels like she has no purpose. Plus, let’s face it . . . we like to eat.”

  She was right. We did always seem to bond over food. Emotional eaters to the core. And if it helped Kami come to grips with slowing down, then who was I to stop her?

  I did as I was told and spent a good twenty minutes under the hot spray of the shower. I reeked of dried sweat and two-day-old funk, and my hair was greasy and matted. Angel had given me my space when I asked. She was used to my highs and lows, but she had never seen me this bad before. Calling Kami ensured I couldn’t avoid my problems—my feelings—any longer. It was two against one, and I had a feeling they were prepared for battle.

  After I had slipped on a pair of loose sweatpants and towel-dried my hair, I padded out to the kitchen, where Kami and Angel were unpacking Styrofoam trays of food and small bottles of OJ. The aroma wafting from those containers had my mouth watering, and my stomach growled so loudly that I almost blushed with embarrassment.

  “Mr. Bradley did me a solid and whipped up something special for us,” she smiled before leaning forward to peck me on the cheek. “He knows how much you love a good southern meal, so we’ve got homemade biscuits and sausage gravy, eggs, grits, country ham steaks and fried green tomatoes. Dig in!”

  Everything looked as delicious as it smelled, and considering that I hadn’t eaten more than a few handfuls of dried cereal and a bag of Chex Mix in the past couple days, I was more than grateful for the unexpected gift from both Kami and Mr. Bradley. Their thoughtfulness was overwhelming, and for a second, I felt undeniably full.

  We sat down cross-legged on the carpet like we always did, the TV on but muted. It seemed like it’d been weeks since we saw each other instead of days, and I was glad to listen to the girls prattle on about their recent adventures. Besides, we had a lot to talk about.

  “And then I told that bitch . . .” Angel trilled, waving around a forkful of scrambled eggs animatedly, “if you don’t shut your damn mouth, I will come through the fucking phone and slap you so hard that your teeth will knock together. And that heifer acted like she didn’t even hear me! Can you believe that?”

  “Angel . . . it was an automated message,” I deadpanned. “She didn’t hear you. Because she is a machine.”

  “I don’t give a damn! I told her my credit card was not closed. It’s a fucking black card. You can’t close a black card.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe there was a glitch?” In reality, I was concerned for her. Not because she was cussing out a computer-generated voice over the phone, but because her card had been closed. The card her parents had been paying for. The parents who had ostracized her for being gay. Maybe they were cutting her off for good.

  “Glitch my ass,” she grumbled before digging back into her breakfast. She talked a good game, but deep inside, Angel was as soft and sensitive as they come. I wondered if she was as worried as I was. And if she was, in fact, being cut off, what did that mean for her? Was this their way of ceasing all communication and making her disappear?

  “Anyway,” Kami began, successfully changing the subject. Thank God for that girl. “Som
ething interesting happened today during my OB appointment.”

  “You had an appointment?” I questioned, around a mouthful of fried green tomato. Mr. Bradley was a beast in the kitchen. After going from an Army cook for thirty years to a culinary god who could probably land a job at any fine establishment, I truly admired his loyalty and perseverance.

  “Just a routine one, no big deal,” she waved. “Anyway, like I was saying, something interesting happened.”

  “And that is?”

  “I saw your friend again. Raven, right?”

  If the stunned, slightly pained, expression on my face didn’t explain what I felt, surely my jumbled words did. “You saw . . . what? What do you mean? How? Where?”

  “At the hospital. She was assisting my nurse. You didn’t tell me she was a nursing student. Makes sense, considering the scrubs that one day in your office.”

  I hadn’t told them much of anything, really. But some things were better left unsaid. Like the fact that I had tried to kiss her, only to grossly offend her.

  “Yeah,” I shrugged. “Did she recognize you?”

  “I think so. I mean, obviously, she didn’t want to say anything since she was working, and Blaine was there. But before we left, I stopped her in the hall.”

  “And?”

  “And, I said hi.”

  “And that’s it?” Why was she being so reticent? She had to have known I was chomping at the bit for answers.

  “And I asked her how she was. Honestly, she was a bit standoffish. Like she didn’t understand why I was speaking to her, or she was surprised I was. And once she realized I was trying to be nice, she kinda looked . . . surprised. I don’t know. You didn’t tell her I was a cold-hearted bitch or anything like that, did you?”

  “Me?” I snorted and shook my head. “No. Trust me, if I did, she’d probably welcome you with open arms. Maybe even teach you a secret handshake.”

  Kami lifted a speculating brow. “Yikes. Jaded much?”

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “Look, I really don’t want to talk about her right now. Can we talk about something else? Like, oh I don’t know, your freakin’ engagement?”

  Now it was Kami’s turn to squirm with discomfort. Even Angel gave a co-signing Mmm Hmmm.

  “Engaged? Who said I was engaged? Don’t you think I would have told you guys something like that? And do you see a ring on my finger?” She wiggled her fingers in front of her face to emphasize her point.

  “So you told him no?” Angel asked, reaching over to steal a chunk of Kami’s country ham off her plate.

  “No. I had nothing to say no to. He didn’t ask.”

  Angel and I gave her a skeptical look. She was bullshitting. Everyone knew Blaine was insanely in love with Kam and couldn’t wait to give her his last name.

  “We both agreed it wasn’t the right time,” she tacked on. “And when it is, we want it to be on our terms. Not because someone spilled the beans and we’re obligated to.”

  Angel dropped her gaze to her plate, reliving the regret of ruining Kam and Blaine’s special moment. She had apologized a hundred times, and they both forgave her, of course. But she still felt bad. So did I, for telling her.

  She also hadn’t told us what happened that day when she came into Dive in tears, and now I had to wonder if it had something to do with her parents. Or the straight, married friend she had been spending all her time with.

  I lifted a hand and brushed her cheek, causing her to look at me. “Speaking of that day . . . what happened? You were upset about something. Talk.”

  She shook her head, but spoke anyway. “It’s just . . . Gia. She keeps telling me what a massive dick her husband is, and how it’d be so much easier if she could just leave. And how she wishes she was gay, because she loves me, and I’m her best friend, and it’d be so much better, and blah blah blah. I’m just so sick of hearing all the ways she wishes she could be with me, yet won’t. She keeps going back to him.”

  Shit. She told me she wouldn’t get involved with a married woman. She knew Gia was married and straight—two things that Angel couldn’t and shouldn’t fuck with.

  “Have you two . . . ?” Kami asked, her voice soft and comforting.

  Angel shook her head. “We kissed once. We were both drunk, and she said she had never kissed a girl before. So . . . you know.” She let out a pained sigh, prompting both me and Kam to reach out to touch her.

  “You don’t need to be anyone’s experiment, Angel,” I told her and meant it. “You are not some chick’s guinea pig, you hear me? If she can’t see what an incredible human being you are, then fuck her. Leave her to be with her shitty ass husband. That’s not your concern. And if she cared anything about you, she’d stop making it your concern.”

  “I know,” she nodded through a tight smile. I really hoped that she did.

  We finished off our plates, and Angel popped a bottle of champagne to make mimosas for her and me, hoping to lighten the mood. Kam looked into her pathetic little glass of juice. “God, I can’t wait to have this baby. I miss tequila. And sushi. And sleeping on my stomach.”

  “And sex?” I asked, wriggling my brows.

  “Why would I miss that?” she blushed. “I think we do it more now than ever. Hormones . . . they’re something else.”

  “Ew!” Angel squealed. “Doesn’t his dick hit the baby? Is little Baby B going to be born with a huge dent in his head?”

  “No!” Kami chuckled, leaning back onto a mound of throw pillows. We were all stuffed and sleepy. “The baby doesn’t feel it at all. Actually, my doctor suggested that we keep doing it. It’ll help when it’s time for delivery.”

  “But isn’t that weird?” I asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, I get that pregnancy is a beautiful part of life and all that, but your belly is right there . . . And the baby can hear you . . . you know.” For all of my whorish ways, talking to Kami about sex was just something I couldn’t do. She was delicate to me. A sweet, delicate flower. Angel was another thing. I could pull my pants down, show her a mole on my balls and ask, “Does that look weird to you?” and she’d drop to her knees and thoroughly inspect it.

  Of course, even this made Kami’s face turn beet red, even though she was accustomed to the plethora of freaky shit that had gone down under this roof. “Actually . . . it’s better. And before it was . . . you know . . . amazing. But now . . . oh my.”

  “Really?” It was surprising to admit that I had never done the baby bump thing. I thought I had pretty much covered the entire spectrum when it came to women. Hell, I’d slept with a lesbian.

  “Really,” she deadpanned with sincerity.

  Somehow, the three of us ended up falling asleep right there on the floor, and when I came to, Kami was gone and Angel was getting dressed for AngelDust’s performance tonight at Dive. AD had become local celebrities, and the place was standing room only when the all-girl band took the stage on Friday and Saturday nights. I was proud of them. Every one of those girls put their all into the music, especially Angel. It was the one thing that brought her pride and purpose, and it showed.

  “I’d think you’d be sick of sleeping, considering that’s all you’ve done for three days. You gonna make it tonight?” Angel asked, slinging her guitar case over a shoulder.

  I sat up and stretched the soreness out of my joints. How long had I been sleeping? “Yeah. What time is it?”

  “Almost 5. Better hurry before CJ tells everyone you contracted Ebola and starts up a GoFundMe to raise money for your medical expenses.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. He would totally do something like that.

  “All right. I’ll meet you there.”

  Just before Angel hit the front entrance, she paused and shot over her shoulder, “Don’t think you’re off the hook about Raven. We will talk about it.”

  I nodded in response, anything to get her to leave the subject alone, even if only for tonight. I just needed to get through tonight.

  IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT, and the unthinkable
had happened.

  I had the night off.

  I always worked Fridays, so I hadn’t thought to check the schedule. But there it was, in black and white. Other than tomorrow night, it looked like I was off for the rest of the weekend, which meant I would be losing some major tips.

  I went to Sal’s office to question him about it, wondering if there was something going on that I didn’t know about. He fed me some bullshit about the other waitresses asking for more hours, so he wanted to be fair—which meant whatever waitress he was screwing got the extra hours. I was pissed. I needed that money. My tips paid for our groceries, gas and utilities. I could have applied for assistance, but I refused. I did have my dignity, and as long as I was able-bodied, I would support us.

  Velvet was just getting off shift when she spotted me in the hall, still seething. “What crawled up your arse, love? You look positively miffed.”

  “Sal cut my hours,” I huffed, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “Ah, yes. He’s shagging that blonde one . . . Britney. Don’t worry. He’ll tell her to bugger off soon enough, and will be looking for a new hole to stick his tiny todger in.”

  “Well, he better not look here,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

  She slipped her arm around my shoulders and led us to the dressing room. “Oh, he wouldn’t dream of it! But look on the bright side, love. We’re both young, beautiful and single on a Friday night. And you look like you need to get completely pissed. We’re going out!”

  I groaned. “Out? What do you mean by out? I’m not dressed for a club,” I explained, looking down at my ripped skinny jeans, black ribbed tank and wedge sneakers. At least my hair and makeup were done for work.

  “Tosh! You’re perfect. Besides, I hate bloody clubs. Bad enough I have to work in one. I just need to stop by my flat to wash the stripper grime off me.”

  “I don’t know . . .”