by Fields, MJ
“We’re good together,” she continues. “But you aren’t dealing with your issues, and it’s too much for me to handle. I’m getting scared.” She gasps. “I see these women come in and out of the Center, and what’s the difference between them and me? They date men who claim love, but they are abusive.”
My eyes widen. Abuse? What the fuck is she talking about?
“I tried to ignore the parallels,” she continues, “but they’re there.”
I hear her crying. I’m helpless. I need to comfort her, but she won’t open the door.
Wait. What did she say?
“Abusive?” I huff out loud. “Parallels?”
It’s as if she’s speaking Chinese right now. I close my eyes and lean my head on the door. What she’s saying is causing me physical pain. My chest feels splintered, cracked.
“Yes. You get up in my face if I cross an imaginary line. You’re taking drugs, Slade. I-I know you are,” she stutters.
Drugs? She … knows. Shame and fury enter the spaces in my chest. I’m eroding.
“There’s a crack in the rock. A heavy rain comes down and seeps into that crack along with sediment and natural debris, which then carve away at the inside edges.” Eve’s voice echoes.
She said this, right? Lake Powell? Yes. No. My mind can’t be trusted.
I look down. I’m sweating. My T-shirt is soaked.
“I found a baggie of pills in your nightstand,” Lauren says. “You drink constantly. Your smoking is nonstop. You wake up in the night, talking to yourself. You’re sleeping on the floor, next to the bed. You need help, Slade. And last night …” She pauses, and then the door swings open. Her face is soaked with tears.
I suck in a hard breath. My sweet girl is in pain.
“Last night was frightening. You hurt me against the wall in the alley.”
She steps forward, smacking my chest. My mouth gapes open, but no air gets through.
“You woke up around three a.m., and you were outside and then on the ground. Then, we had sex. I’ve been ignoring all the signs, but they’re there. And I’d be with you through it, but you won’t talk to me. You know how I feel about you. But you won’t tell me what’s happening, and you’re lying!” she screams loudly, punching me in the chest, hurt and angry and in fucking pain.
My temper flares up, giving me fuel to speak.
I step up to her terrified face, covering her mouth with my hand. “Enough!” I scream.
I can’t hear this shit anymore. I’m frantic. I take her by the arms, shaking her. I need to keep her quiet. She’s making it all sound worse than it is. I’ve got to make her understand!
“I’m fine. I’m going to be fine!”
What the fuck is happening here? To me? To us?
My shirt is heavy from sweat. Her face is completely terrified. I stop.
A flash in front of my eyes. Rex crumbling to the floor. He’s on fire. I’ve got to get to him …
Lauren screams. I blink. I’m hurting her.
Turning her body around, I hold her wrists tightly behind her back with one hand and lift her shirt with the other. I need to see it with my own eyes. Her back is … it’s … raw. Sliced. Cut up and streaked. Blue bruises line her shoulder blades.
Is this me? Did I do this? Who am I?
“Let me go,” she cries, begging. Her face is red and wet.
But I can’t let go. I need to refocus my brain. My anger is opaque smoke, infiltrating every sinew within my body and impossible to see through. I need to take something. Without drugs, I’m insane.
I turn her back around, scanning her stomach, wondering what I’ve done. She has handprints on her hips.
From me? I can’t remember. We had sex last night. I was rough.
I’m trembling as a fresh round of sweat breaks out on my forehead. I’m a lowlife. Damaged goods. I finally release her wrists.
“You were awake,” she sobs. “Talking. I can’t—” Her breaths are erratic.
Like a thump, my chest shuts. It’s a horrible suction. A vacuum. The whole world zeroes in on me, like one of those TV shows where the lens focuses on one character, and everything else becomes a blurred static. Everything I’ve been hiding, maneuvering around, and controlling has been slammed back into my face. As though every private truth of mine has been scooped out from my lungs and then flung from Lauren’s mouth for me to eat. Emotional force-feeding. I step backward. I made a mistake and should have listened to my gut. I don’t deserve Lauren. I don’t deserve anyone. I’m nothing but smashed glass.
She puts a hand to her mouth, as though realizing I’m falling to pieces. “Slade, I don’t—just wait a second—we can—”
Lifting a hand in the air, I tell her, “Don’t talk to me.” I turn away, walking swiftly out of the room as she follows at my heels.
“Please—Slade—”
I ignore her. I can barely hear her actually. All I hear is a loud swooshing sound between my ears. Somehow, I find myself on my bike, turning on the engine. I see Lauren from my side-eye, her quickly moving mouth, but no words are coming out. I take off into the mountains, leaving her in the dust.
When I get to the base of the mountain, I pull out my gun from my saddlebag along with a flask full of liquor. Walking up the trail, I ask myself how I got here. My mind wanders to last year at Joe’s gym. That’s where it all began, I suppose. With Joe, the gym’s owner, and James, another trainer, getting punched in the face.
“How many times do I have to tell ya? These men who come in here to train with us aren’t actually trying to fight. Jesus Christ, Slade. For one seventy-five an hour, they just want to sweat a little bit and then go home to tell their friends they train at a boxing gym. They wanna tell people they box. They don’t actually wanna box.” His jaw twitches as he raises his hands in the air in an animated gesture. “All you need to do is make ’em sweat. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, sir.” I can feel my nostrils flare as I take a deep inhale and exhale through my nose, the black T-shirt I’m wearing stretching against my chest.
The last thing I would do is tell him that Leon, the asshole finance guy I’m paid to train, kept talking shit and asking me—no, begging me—to take a good swing at him. Idiot thought he could take it—from an ex-Navy SEAL, no less. These Wall Street types think they own the goddamn world. They want to prove their superiority every-fuckin’-where. I’ve got to keep this job. The money from the house sale has been floating me, but I need an income.
Joe is right. These guys are here for a good sweat. It’s glorified cardio so they can look chiseled at the beach in the Caribbean or wherever these rich guys vacation. They don’t actually want to fight. God forbid they damage their pretty faces.
Regardless, I’m not a man who gives excuses. At the end of the day, I hit that asshole too hard in the face. Sure, he’d asked for it. But I did it, and now, my job is on the line.
“Can you?” he asks again angrily. “I gave you this job as a favor. I know leaving the service is hard. I remember it, son. But you cannot take out your aggression here. One more wrong move and you’re out.” He points an old finger, crooked from probably multiple breaks, over his shoulder. “Don’t make me regret taking you on.”
I can see it in his eyes. He hopes it won’t come to that. Still, Joe has a business to run, and he can’t have a loose cannon on his staff.
We both turn to find James grumbling loudly as he leans against the window facing the street. He’s holding an ice pack over his eye.
“What happened to you?” Joe asks, thick white brows furrowed together.
“Borignone,” he spits out the last name like a curse. “I can’t work with him anymore. He’s too big. Too strong. Find someone else, Joe. Boy got out of prison, and I swear, he’s twice the size as he was when he went in. He throws punches like his damn life is on the line, and I’m not down with that. Plus, Maria swore she’d divorce me if I came home with another bang to the head. What the fuck am I gonna tell her now?” The right s
ide of his face pulses red, the bruise threatening to be nasty.
“Why’d he hit you? You don’t spar.”
Baring his teeth, he yells, “I couldn’t hold up the damn pad!” His face flashes red, anger covering up embarrassment.
His eyes dare us to laugh. Joe chuckles despite the threat. I try not to, but my smile stretches wide. It’s funny.
Like Joe, James’s accent is thick New York. Growing up on a farm in Virginia, I never thought anyone actually spoke like these men in real life. Maybe just in the movies. But, as it turns out, the accent is real.
A fire engine goes off somewhere outside, and my heart skips. I’m still not used to the nonstop noise of Manhattan. Close to a year in this city, and sleep is still impossible. I need to leave, but the main question is, Where to?
Joe faces me, a smile moving from ear to ear. “Well, son, looks like today’s your lucky day after all. Between the two o’ you?” He points to Borignone, who’s doing push-ups on a corner mat. “Not sure who’s angrier.”
I walk into the gym, toward the back. Here he is, the Mafia man. Ex-convict. Son of Antonio Borignone, boss of the largest Mafia on the East Coast. What if I piss him off and he decides to throw his goons on me? I shrug to myself. That would be an ironic way to die. Borignone thinks he’s dangerous, but I’ve got nothing to lose other than my life. I win.
I push my emotions aside as I step over to the hulking lunatic. He hooks two sixteen kilogram kettlebells onto a weight belt around his waist. Pull-ups. I’m impressed, but my face shows nothing.
He completes his set and drops to the ground for push-ups. After that, he asks, “You the new guy? Hope you’re ready to spar.” His black eyes are hard, as though he’s seen some serious damage. I know the look well because I wear it myself. He doesn’t look over thirty, but it’s obvious he’s lived heavy. There’s just something about him that’s different. Commanding.
“Gotta get permission from Joe.” My voice comes out strong and sure.
He laughs. The motherfucker actually cackles at me like I’m some brownnoser.
“Joe knows what I do. If he told you to work with me, it’s because he knows you can take a punch.” He looks me up and down as though he’s estimating my weight.
“Two-oh-five.” I crack my knuckles as he moves to tape his. “Don’t.” I gesture to the white roll in his hands. “It’ll weaken your grip.”
He looks up at me in silence before nodding. He places the tape by the grimy window and enters the ring. He’s bouncing from foot to foot while I confirm with Joe, who shrugs and tells me it’s my own life.
It’s on.
I pull my shirt off, and he does the same. His shoulder is tatted up with the infamous Borignone insignia, surrounded by an intricate tribal design. We go at it, and I get some good punches in.
I fuckin’ love this. Boy is a beast, but it’s a damn good thing I am, too. I’m in my element, smiling as my body starts to pound from the grind, the motions natural.
Minutes later, and we’re both soaked in sweat.
“Holy fuck, man.” He drops his hands to his knees, panting. “You’re good. Where’d you learn to fight?”
I throw him a towel. “Navy.”
Moving to the water cooler, I pour myself a swallow. He follows behind me.
“Vincent.”
He puts out his hand to shake, knuckles red and angry. I take it.
I walk to higher ground, remembering how it only took a month for Vincent and me to become good friends. Vincent took a chance on me when I was lost, offering me a job any guy on the SEAL Teams would have killed for—head of security at the soon-to-be-famous Milestone. The opportunity spurred me into action, causing me to reconnect with Rob and Mike. The three of us started VST, the Vulcan Security Team. We have plans to expand our operations beyond the Milestone, but with my head all fucked up like this, that obviously can’t happen anymore. This job grounded me for a while though. Kept me straight and focused.
Finding a tall and flat rock about a mile uphill, I sit. It’s time to face the haunting truth. I’m here, but I’m also still there. Building my career at the Milestone kept me afloat, but that’s done.
And then Lauren … I thought maybe I could make it work. For just a little while at least, she’d be mine. When I was with her, my hurt was washed down and shrunken. Her beauty and intelligence. We had something. That’s ruined now, too.
I’m taking drugs to stay buoyant, but what for? What’s even left for me here?
I pull on the ends of my cropped hair before screaming out at the top of my lungs, my skin breaking out again in perspiration. What’s the point in waiting? I’m exhausted and humiliated. Out of my mind. I’ve got … no one left. I break down, crying and cursing the earth. Staring down at the gun in my palm, I know what I need to do.
Twenty-One
Lauren
I immediately call Eve, and she curses when she hears my tears. I can barely get a word out, but she lets me know she’s on her way to my room. Twenty minutes later, she shows up with a cold bottle of wine and a cozy sweat outfit.
“I’ve done something terrible,” I stutter out as she sits next to me on the bed. “There’s a side to Slade I haven’t really discussed with you in detail, but when he came over, I sort of just opened my mouth and told him so many things at once and I think I—”
She places a warm hand on my shoulder. “Take a breath, and let’s just start from the beginning.” Her eyes are concerned.
I break down, giving her all the dirty and dark facts, even dropping the bomb about the drugs I found inside his bedside table. When I get to last night, during the opening of Hook, her mouth drops open.
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let him fuck me against the wall like that.”
“Let me see your back. Lift your shirt.” Her voice is no-nonsense. This is the lawyer born and raised in New York City.
I turn around and let her raise it herself.
“Oh. My. God. Lauren, he hurt you. He really hurt you!”
“He didn’t mean it.” I turn around in a rush. “He was upset because I was talking to this guy, and—”
“Do you hear yourself? Do you? You sound like one of the women at our Center, trying to make excuses.”
“It’s not like that …”
I take in a hard breath as Alicia’s face smashes through my mind’s eye. The parallels between her and me aren’t imaginary. They are real. I’m making excuses, just as she did. I’m allowing a man to hurt me, physically and verbally. I stood up for myself to Slade, but I’m still trying to protect him to the outside.
“You’re allowed to be sexually wild with a man who respects you, but did he notice the pain in your face while you were having sex? There is no way you enjoyed that, Lauren. You must have been in agony.” She sadly bites her lip, but her voice is outraged. “The pattern of instability …” she continues. “I can’t believe Vincent hasn’t picked up on this. And where did that asshole go after you told him off?” She turns her head, looking at the door.
“I don’t know. He ran as though I’d stabbed him. It’s not his fault—what he does at night when he sleeps. He obviously has a severe case of PTSD. But the drugs I found, obviously illegal. The drinking …” I think about all the words I said to Slade only moments ago and the words I didn’t say.
“He needs help. That’s for sure. But it’s on Vincent and me, not you.”
“Why not me?”
“Because you’ve got a life to set up. You’ve been through enough shit these last weeks. Go back to California and straighten yourself out. That’s what you came here for. Look up degrees in social work. Think about your options. As I said before, there is always a place for you here, regardless of Slade. You should have a good life, Lauren. More than good.”
“But he would give me a good life!” I exclaim. “He just needs a little time maybe. I know I have to leave here. But I don’t want to give him up …”
I clench my fists, knowing deep within me th
at I simply cannot turn a blind eye to the fact that Slade has major problems and that he’s taken those issues out on me. If I don’t leave, I’ll end up as another Alicia. And that’s not acceptable. I told him off. I can’t follow up by running back to him, begging forgiveness for something I shouldn’t be sorry for.
“Slade is an incredible man. But he’s abusing drugs and getting up in your face and hurting you. You need to step away from him. He’s got to work out his problems. Let this be a new start for you. A fresh start at life. You survived the shooting in Vegas and, now, all of this.” She shakes her head, decision made. “You’ve got to move on and see if he’ll get better. And then you’ll see if the timing works. Right now, he doesn’t deserve you.”
I start to cry again. Is he all alone? A dark thought crosses my mind. “Vincent should find him.”
“Don’t worry. He’s already on his way. Slade called us in a panic when he couldn’t find you. Vincent got on his bike at the same time I came over.”
“Can you text him? Vincent, I mean. I want to make sure Slade’s okay.” My eyes move above her shoulder, remembering his agony.
“Just relax. Vincent has it under control. And, anyway, I don’t think you should hear about Slade. Your feelings are on high. I think, in a few weeks, when the dust has settled, you’ll be able to come to terms with what went on this week. If Slade wants you, he has to get better for you. Otherwise? No dice.”
I chuckle at her word choice, hiccuping from my cry. “No dice?”
She shrugs, a small smile on her lips. “Let him get better, okay? Then, you can try again.”
Everything about this is so fucked up. “Maybe you’re right. I’m not feeling so well.”
My head swims as Eve makes her way to the minibar, pulling out the wine opener. She uncorks the bottle and pours two glasses.