Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

He dropped sweetheart in there on purpose. He knows I hate being called names like that. It’s belittling, especially the way he says it. My lips close tightly and a rush of air seeps angrily out my nose. There’s a boiling sensation in my stomach, and I hate that.

  “You’re just like those two,” I say, nodding to the house next door as I turn to head inside to Leo’s. I’m trapped here. I don’t want to go back to the gym where everyone watched that play out, and I don’t want be in this house. I linger with my palm on the round, wooden top of the stair rail leading up to the dark room I plan to hide in.

  “I hate it here so much,” I pant, my voice low. My eyes sting, and I know they’re red. They’re angry tears forming, and the only way to dry them out is by screaming.

  “I hate you all!” My voice echoes from the enclosed space, and the temporary relief in my chest lets me take a large breath just in time to ready myself for the next choking feeling.

  “You ain’t exactly our favorite person around here either, you know.” The cavalier way my uncle speaks cuts deep, but the words themselves—from him—stab me through the heart. He couldn’t be nice forever. I knew this side of him was coming.

  I turn around to face him, slightly breathless, but angry enough to engage.

  “What happened to favorite niece and all of that shit? Just an act so you could lure me here and make me watch you steal money from me?” My pulse is rattling my ribs, I’m so mad.

  Leo chuckles, smoke puffing out with each laugh.

  “You stole ours first, and you know you did.” He tilts his head to the side; I follow his eyes, leaning mine with him.

  I never asked them to invest with me, to put money into any of Enoch’s funds. My mom couldn’t help herself, though. If I had something good happening, there was no way in hell she was going to let it be mine and mine alone. She was going to ride my coattails. The fact that Enoch’s Ponzi scheme made fifteen grand disappear from the Valentine assets was in a way the only silver lining I got.

  “Mom did that all on her own. You know it and I know it. You were here, Leo! You were here when I told her not to get involved. No…I even demanded it! I told her to stay out of my new life, but her greed just couldn’t let it be.”

  I never imagined the financial ruin that was only a few years away, but I was worried about the possibility of losing her money legally. I was in love, and I didn’t want the stress of having to earn for my parents to poison my relationship. The stock market is fickle, and my mom is resentful as hell. So resentful, that apparently she’s willing to steal from me in a sick game of tit for tat.

  His brow low, and forehead creased with a deep wrinkle, Leo kneels down slowly, smooshing the end of his cigar on the ground, adding to the collection of burn marks. His eyes flit up to me when he’s done.

  “Look, I was angry,” he begins. This is where his guilt comes in and I get Sweet Leo. This always worked when I was a kid. I hate that it ever worked. I see through it now, with adult eyes. It’s all tactics with my family, and my uncle uses several.

  “I want my money, Leo,” I press on.

  He sighs, then stands slowly, having to push himself up with his hand on his knee. His knuckles are bloodied, and his body looks worn. He’s deceptive this way—always has been. I’m sure Memphis thought he was going to hurt my uncle, but that’s how Leo has always caught people off guard. While most of my dad’s fights were under the lights and in the ring, Leo’s were all in alleys and around broken barstools. When he was younger, Leo walked around this neighborhood like he owned it—the way Capone owned places. He’s aged, but the ugly fighter still breathes inside his body.

  “Liv, hon. You’re gonna have to let that go. Your mom needed to pay some bills, important bills. This place is all she’s got, and really…that money was dirty anyhow. You said so yourself back when you found out you had it.” His eyes stick on me for a few seconds before he rounds the corner and heads into the kitchen.

  Tactics.

  I trail behind him, remembering how I felt when I found out that my dad tried to pay my mom to keep her mouth shut. She was a homewrecker, at least for the previous Mrs. Valentine. I was the dirty secret.

  “That money was the only thing I had left, Leo,” I say, my voice hoarse from shouting. I lean into the counter and stare at his back as he pulls a hunk of frozen meat from the freezer, holding it against his rib as he turns around. His skin is a deep red where he lifts his shirt, where Memphis hit him.

  “That’s not all you have left. You’ve still got two parents, too, you know. Have you even seen your father since you’ve been home?”

  He means to scold me and inspire guilt for not visiting with my dad. He should know better than that. I step away from the counter and move in the direction of the front door, planning to leave without another word.

  “Memphis left when I did. I wouldn’t bother looking for a sympathetic ear over there. He’s got some thinking of his own to do too.” I hear the last few words from my uncle as I step out the door, and I don’t pause to think about them until I’m fully outside and out of his view.

  It’s the same psychological bullshit my dad pulled with my mom for years. It’s the reason he strung her along, warning her that the fighter life didn’t have room for volatile things like love or marriage. He’d reasoned away his first wife by dismissing their relationship—promising my mom that it was more of a business partnership. But she’d seen them together—she knew he was a liar. He paraded his first wife around like she was one of those golden belts he’d won. Public displays of affection were par for the course. My mom’s kisses all came in the shadows, stolen moments and when he was drunk. I learned a lot from those early brawls; eventually, my mom wore him down, and Archie won plenty of fights after they got married.

  She told me once that she was a distraction of convenience. It took me a while to understand what she meant by that, but after my father lost a major title, I understood. I was old enough to know he wasn’t prepared. He’d been partying hard and stepping out on us for months. He went into the fight tired—and that was on him. My mom took the heat, though. Her needs were distracting, her constant accusations—distracting.

  “Loving her was goddamn distracting,” he once said.

  There was never any love in this house, or between those two. Never has been. There are a lot of other things—egos, codependency, anger triggers, adrenaline—fame. They got off on all of the terrible things a relationship can be built on.

  When my father lost, it was easy to blame her.

  It was convenient.

  I, however, won’t be anyone’s crutch.

  When I reenter the gym, I’m both surprised and not to see Memphis lying on his back in the middle of the ring. There are only two guys left from the group that gathered to watch the scene a little bit ago. They both stop their work on the heavy bag when I enter, and their eyes follow me all the way to Memphis’s feet.

  “Your uncle kicked my ass,” he says, rolling his head to the side enough to catch a glimpse of me.

  Shoulders sagging, and thumbs catching my pockets, I breathe in deeply and exhale through my nose. I dart my eyes to the right and get a peek at our audience. They aren’t even pretending not to eavesdrop. I forgot how much being a Valentine fascinates others. Living here, where gym members look up to everyone in this family as if they’re special, is a lot like reality TV—only there’s no roses or opportunities at the end—just gossip, and a clientele that will always take the side of the men in the family.

  I sway my hips with my thumbs still hooked to my jeans and swing my elbows back and forth, brushing into his right foot. He lifts his head in response, propping it up on a fist behind his neck.

  Shrugging my shoulders, I hold his gaze.

  “I don’t suppose I had anything to do with the ass-kicking you got?” I hold my breath and suck in my bottom lip to prevent me from saying anything more.

  His mouth curves and he breathes out a short chuckle, shaking his head slightly and closing
his eyes. He opens them slowly, back on me, and we stare at each other in silence under spying eyes from assholes waiting for more show.

  “Come here,” he says quietly, nudging his head to the space to his left.

  I look down at my feet and let myself feel the tightness in my chest. I promised myself that I would listen to the warnings my body gives me from now on. My heart throbs heavy beats and my insides squeeze. I’ve strayed out of my lines, and this is where I’m supposed to force myself to get back on track.

  My hands fall from my pockets and I reach forward, latching my fingertips on the rope above Memphis’s feet. He’s pulled the tape from his hands, but it’s still tangled in a pile by his side, his gloves and headgear on the floor next to me.

  “Why do you even want to be here?” My eyes flit up, catching his waiting for me. I roll my gaze from side to side and lift my brow. “You know this place is just a name, right? Valentine—V’s. My dad was a big personality, and yeah…he won a few fights, too. But look around, Memphis. Look at the walls crumbling, the people who show up before the sun who haven’t gained an inch of muscle in a year.”

  I scan to my right and briefly look at our audience. The two men start to move toward their cubbies when I glance at them—either finally feeling awkward or insulted by how I categorized them. I was being honest, though. V’s hasn’t produced much of anything in years, and my uncle isn’t the man he used to be when he trained my dad.

  Memphis draws his legs up, bending them at the knees, and lifts his torso to rest his weight on his elbows. I follow his movement with my eyes and stop when our gazes meet again. The thumping in my chest has grown stronger, but its sound is muted in my ears. I shouldn’t have come back here in the first place, and now that I have, I should leave before I get too close. I can feel this line—this…decision that’s impending in the air we’re both breathing. I allowed myself to have a friend, but I was never strong enough to cage my feelings completely.

  Memphis curls the left side of his mouth and leans his head to his left, glancing next to him once more and silently inviting me to join him again. I hold his stare until I hear the door close behind the last two people who were in here with us. My hands fall from the rope until my palms are flat on the mat. I dip my head, but keep my eyes on Memphis’s as I crawl under the only line that was physically dividing us, missing just enough to clip the top of my head and rip out a few strands of hair. I roll my eyes at my own clumsiness. When I’m positioned even with him, I rest my cheek against my palm to hold my head up as I lay on my side. He turns to face me, doing the same.

  “Why do you even want to be here?” His question stops my breath. I wasn’t expecting it, and my mind doesn’t know how to understand it.

  Shaking my head, I draw my brow in tightly, the line between my eyes deep and painful. His words somehow hurt me to hear.

  “I don’t,” I say, shaking my head.

  Memphis doesn’t add to his question, instead studying my face with a softness that leaves me slightly numb. His lashes flit as his focus moves from my eyes to my cheek, down to my chin, his gaze tracing the strands of hair that have clung to my arm while I lay here. He lifts himself slightly, reaching forward with his right hand and uncurling a few strands of my hair from my skin. His touch tickles, and my nerves begin to fire away. I’m sure he can see me tremble, so I adjust my weight to mask it. His eyes flit back to mine when I do.

  “I didn’t say a word to Leo about the money. I wouldn’t do that to you unless you wanted me to help,” he says, his fingers trailing down my arm to my elbow. He leaves a fraction of an inch between us when he rests his hand back on the mat.

  I nod and flash a short-lived smile on one side of my mouth.

  “Thanks…I guess.”

  Memphis chuckles and rolls from his side to his back again, taking his hand with him. He folds his fingers together and rests them on his chest, and I take the opportunity to look at his bruises.

  “You need to put something on that cut. It’s not deep enough for stitches, but it’s not good,” I say.

  His head rolls sideways and he starts to laugh. I pull in the corners of my mouth at first, a little pissed that he’s dismissing me, when I realize what he’s doing—he’s showing me the other side of his face, where the cut is much deeper.

  “Yeah…that one? You might want to have Leo sew you up,” I say.

  “You do it.” His response is fast, and it leaves several seconds of quiet between us again.

  “Okay,” I say, pushing myself into a sitting position and sliding my way back to the edge of the mat.

  Just like last night, though, Memphis stops me with a touch on my wrist. My reaction is the same—I’m frozen. I glance at him over my shoulder and our eyes lock again.

  “I want to know you,” he says, and I stop my breath. He doesn’t really. The more you know of me, the uglier it gets—the baggage is endless.

  “What’s to know?” I respond.

  He scoots forward so he’s sitting next to me, but his hand stays on mine, our fingers not totally threaded, as if we’re both pretending that this touch is completely accidental and not impulsive. That would be a lie on both of our parts.

  “About your family, and the problems you all have—at least as it relates to you—have I seen it all? Or…is there something I should know?” His mouth has grown serious. His eyes have lost the spark that’s usually there. I think maybe he’s scared.

  “Memphis, I don’t need you to rescue me,” I say. His hand reacts, finally gripping me with a slight force.

  “That’s not it at all,” he answers, squeezing his eyes closed and running his other palm over his face. “God, I don’t even know what I’m doing, but I just—”

  “I get it,” I say, turning my hand under his until we’re grasping each other. I look down at where we connect, and imagine what a life like that would be. “Yes, I’ve told you everything. My mom got pregnant on purpose to trick my dad into marrying her. They’re both selfish assholes, and my uncle isn’t any better. They’re terrible business people, all three of them, and they’ve lost every dollar they’ve ever invested. You probably saw my last few years on the news. I’m just like them, it turns out, and they blame me for every financial hardship they’ve ever had. That’s everything—my existence in one breath. I know you can’t focus with all of this,” I say, holding my other palm up and gesturing it across the room, a symbolic move to represent my messy family and life.

  I laugh lightly and pull my hand away from his finally, resting both of mine in my lap as I bite the tip of my tongue and smile as it finally hits me. I turn to look Memphis in the eyes.

  “I can’t be your convenient distraction,” I say, forcing a tight-lipped smile when I’m done.

  “So don’t be, whatever that means,” he says. I reach for his face and rest my palm along his unshaven and bruised cheek, blood from the few gashes drying already.

  “You don’t really know me. And all I know about you is you’re ambitious, and you work really hard in here every day. You have to have something to show for all of that, and if I sit here for another minute, we’ll both regret it. You’ll regret it more—they always do.” My hand skims along his cheek lightly until it completely falls away. I slide myself under the rope to my feet, turning to face him once the rope barrier is back in its place—between us.

  “I’ll get the kit and stitch you up, then tomorrow I’ll shut the office door and we’ll both just do our jobs,” I say, smiling through my words. I wait for a beat, then spin toward the training room, my mouth falling with every step I take until I’m wearing my real feelings.

  I flip the switch for the training closet light and step inside, my hands finding the kit; a flash of my past races through my body at the touch. I stitched my dad up a few times—he taught me how. Leo wasn’t gentle enough, but I had “the touch of an angel.”

  Glimmers of good dot my memory, and I wish those things never happened. I wish there wasn’t one percent of it that was goo
d—it’s easier if it’s all rotten.

  When you feel one of the good things it makes you hate all of the bad shit even more, and the good parts just feel like tricks to make you stick around.

  The closet door closes just before I turn. I grip the plastic case for the medical kit tight against my chest. This space is small, and Memphis takes up most of it. My eyes naturally dart to either side. Sensing my panic, he leans back on the door to give me space.

  “Don’t, Memphis,” I say.

  “Don’t what?” His arms rest heavily at his sides, his chest moves in and out slowly, and his eyes are red from taking abuse.

  “You are beaten and defeated, and right now I look like a life raft,” I say, hugging the box against me tighter.

  His focus moves to the spot where my hands are folded over the red cross on the box, and it stays there for several seconds. My legs begin to feel weak, so I shift my weight, and my slight movement startles him out of a trance. His eyes instantly move to mine.

  “I grew up in a group home,” he says, his eyes unflinching in their hold on mine. “I spent fourteen years wondering who my parents were and how I got there. Then one day, this postcard shows up from Tennessee.”

  “Memphis,” I whisper.

  He leans his weight into the door behind him, sliding down enough that his feet stretch out a few more inches.

  “I ran away to find him, but by the time I got there, the only thing that was left was a diary, a few of his things, a pair of boxing gloves, and a score card with your dad’s name on it.”

  His gaze settles just below mine.

  “That’s why I’m here, Liv. I spent a lot of time training on my own, in other places, but really…the only thing that mattered was chasing a fucking ghost.” His chin lifts and his eyes meet mine. A second passes before he shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not under some delusion about this place. Ha, I mean…Liv…I have eyes! Your mom has always been good to me. I’ve learned about Leo’s past, and your dad is a legend—but this place is a shithole, Liv. Your family is certified—I see that!”