by C. M. Owens
It bounces back too fast for me to catch it, and I run a hand through my hair before dropping back on the couch. I don’t even glance back to see where the ball went.
“He’s going to squeeze us in when and where he can,” Sticks grinds out. “Despite the fact you dumped his sister on a night when—”
There’s a loud banging at the door, and Sticks jogs over to swing it open. Boxes shove through, and I spot a flash of Krysta’s short hair before she drops them to the ground and gives me an unimpressed look.
“Hey, nice to fucking see you too. Won’t you come in?” Sticks asks dryly from behind her.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she says with a fuck-off smile before she looks over at me. “I’m not carrying in all your boxes by myself. A little help?”
My brow furrows as she turns and walks back outside, and Sticks shoots me a quizzical look as I push up from the couch.
“What are you talking about?” I ask as I step outside to see her car wide open with the doors wide as well.
Taylor weirdly has Harley’s car in our driveway, and he’s cleaning furiously, wiping sweat off his brow.
“You’re seriously pissed at me because the club had bad crowd control? Will you just fucking talk to me?” Sticks asks Krysta.
She ignores him as she goes to her car again and pulls out another box.
“Where’s that shit I used to get that grease out of your floor?” Taylor asks me, as Stick snatches the box out of Krysta’s hands.
She gives him a dry look before grabbing another.
“I don’t know. Why the hell have you got Harley’s car here?” I ask him instead as Sticks demands Krysta say something in her defense for putting him on block.
“Cake and champagne, man. It’s a mushy, smeared nightmare, but Harley pays accordingly for her ride to look nice.”
“Rich people,” Randy snorts as he goes to grab some of my boxes like all this is just a normal morning. “I bet Harley and Dale got nasty with that cake and champagne.”
“Seriously, dude?” I ask, willing him to shut the hell up.
He shrugs a shoulder. “What? I heard they’re kinky.”
“Why did Britt send you over here with my damn boxes?” I ask Krysta, who breaks the staring contest with Sticks to look over at me.
“For the same reason you intended to send him,” she says, hiking her thumb at Sticks. “She’s avoiding you.”
She grabs out another box, stacking it onto the one she had, and starts carrying it toward the house again.
I snort derisively, shaking my head.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” Sticks calls to her back.
She drops my boxes on the porch and turns to cut her gaze at all of us.
“I don’t blame any of you for not considering crowd control as being an issue. It seriously doesn’t sound like a threatening situation. I get it.”
She starts walking back to the car, pulling on her sunglasses as she goes.
“But I realized something while you all sang and I was being trampled, and that’s that I was with a bunch of people I barely knew. I was worried no one at all would care enough to look for me or even realize I was missing, and crawled my way to Britt, because I knew someone would come for her. She makes damn good life decisions and shows gratitude to people when they’re thoughtful and caring.”
She tosses out another one of my boxes into the yard.
“I, however, am a fucking flighty mess that just gets forgotten, and it’s my own damn fault. Despite what you think, the Sterlings aren’t assholes for not including me; I’m the asshole for never showing up. Britt isn’t some little shiny trophy they wave around and program; she’s a girl boss in charge of her own life.”
She tosses another box a little harder.
“She’s fucked up and deals with her shit the best she can, which is more than I can say for any of you. When you fuck a girl and ask for another’s number the very next day, you’re not entitled to a call back. You’re entitled to being fucking ignored,” she says, apparently no longer yelling at me as she cuts her gaze toward Sticks.
His rigid stance relaxes just a little, and his lips thin like he’s finally catching on.
“That was just a random girl, and I asked for her number so she wouldn’t realize I was blowing her off by walking away in the middle of her pick-up routine,” he says like he finds Krysta cute for being jealous. “Girls can be overly dramatic when rejection is involved.”
She rolls her eyes and tosses out another box.
“Doesn’t even matter. No offense, but the bad boy rocker type who pockets a girl’s numbers to prevent the hassle of turning her down is no longer my type. I want the type of guy who drives for hours to be there because he’s worried about things like crowd control and he cares so much he acts a little crazy,” she says to him, and then looks around at all of us again.
She tosses out my last box, and starts shutting all her doors.
“More importantly, I want to be the kind of girl who deserves a guy like that, so I’m concentrating on fixing my mess instead of expecting someone to swoop in and fix it for me.”
She gets in, cranks her car, and rolls down her driver’s side window.
“Have fun being so much better than everyone,” she adds before spinning out in reverse and driving off in what must be a brand new Mercedes.
“I never realized she could be such a bitch,” Randy says as he stares after her, then whistles as he looks down at all the boxes haphazardly lying around the small patch of yard we have.
“Fuck this,” I say before going to my truck and driving toward Britt’s.
The drive over is a blur of me processing Krysta’s crazy ass rant.
Britt’s walking out when I pull up, and her eyes widen in subtle surprise before she directs her focus toward her car and starts walking faster than she was.
I hop out of my truck and block her path just before she reaches the door.
When she releases a long breath and swings her gaze up at me, there’s just deadness in her eyes. Like I’m already taking up too much of her time.
“Did I forget something or not pack it to your satisfaction?” she asks with a chillier tone than she’s ever used with me.
It’s not cold or cruel; it’s just a pleasant, fake tone used for strangers. Even when she just knew me by reputation she didn’t treat me like a stranger. I’ve taken that for granted until this moment.
“I have no idea how you packed it. I don’t deserve this shit, Britt. I asked you to fucking date me, and you needed a side-panel with the Sterlings before committing to an answer. I’m not the bad guy,” I remind her very seriously.
“I’m not assigning blame, and I’m sorry if it seems that way. Only four boxes have fragile items,” she says as she tries to reach around me to open her door.
I step into her arm, and she jerks back like she’s been burned before clearing her throat and staring directly at the ground.
“So just like that? I still don’t know why you’re doing this, and you’re really going to keep acting like I’m the asshole for wanting to be with you. That’s all I did, Britt.”
She nods. “I know that’s what you think. It’s one of our many consequential differences. We see things from vastly different perspectives.”
A humorless laugh comes out of me, because I seriously can’t believe she’s acting like this.
“Is it really that fucking terrible to consider an actual relationship with me, Britt?” I ask her seriously, feeling sick at my stomach for even being made to feel like I’m somehow less than—
“No,” she says evenly.
Her eyes come up to meet mine.
“Then what’s really the fucking problem?!” I ask loud enough to cause her to wince and step back.
She exhales, and I can see she’s about to deliver some practiced fucking line.
“You celebrate how differently my mind works when you find it quirky and unimposing,” she says very calmly, which…isn’t
what I was expecting. “Harley is grooming me to be her partner, because she sees the potential and admits I’m going to make her a lot more money. One day. But I’m not ready yet, so I’m paying my dues and working my way up. We’ll be excellent partners, eventually—”
“Why the fuck are you talking about Harley right now?” I interrupt, for once finding myself unamused with a Britt Sterling tangent.
Her lips tighten, and she takes what appears to be a fortifying breath before continuing.
“I’m still working on my issues that you claim need no work. You tell me to embrace my weirdness, yet you expect me to be normal when it’s inconvenient to you for me to be anything else,” she says so seriously that I take a few steps to the side.
“Britt, that’s not at all what I was saying. I just think you rely too much on the Sterlings and that entire group to tell you what to do.”
She nods like she understands that. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I don’t rely on their advice enough. Regardless, I still reserve the right to stay inside my comfort zone sometimes too. You won’t even put on a suit for a fundraising event that I helped coordinate, yet expect me to change things I’m incapable of changing. Attending to conflict takes preparation. Like I’ve now had. You’re too impassioned and strong-minded for me to contend with in an ill-prepared argument during an emotionally charged moment.”
“Again, you make me sound like a dick, Britt. I’ve never been anything but good to you. What makes you think I won’t work shit out? I just need you to talk to me about us instead of talking to everyone else first. It’s not so much to ask.”
“Statistically speaking, if there’s this large of a communication barrier between us so early on, the probability of us having any sort of healthy relationship is substantially low. I think, under the circumstances, this should be our last exchange so that things don’t escalate. It can only get worse from here.”
She jerks open her door and climbs inside. She’s the pinnacle of hot and cold.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t ready for a relationship yet. But it was almost great. You were right about that,” she says as she shuts the door and starts pulling out, never glancing at me again.
I watch her car until she takes the turn at the end of the road, and slowly walk back to my truck. Holy fucking hell.
Now I don’t even know if I’m right or wrong, and I knew one thousand percent that I was right until this second.
I slap a hand to the door, staring down for a second as I shake my head.
My phone rings, and I answer as I climb inside.
“What?” I grind out, not even glancing to see who’s calling.
“Hello to you too,” Tag states dryly.
I groan as I crank my truck that makes a few ominous noises before it’ll go into gear. If my damn engine explodes today, I wouldn’t even be surprised.
“Really bad time, man,” I say tightly as I finally get backed out of the driveway.
“I just got off the phone with your pathetic excuse for a manager, who called me to beg me to call Vince Jaggons before the band broke up.”
“Tray hasn’t been our manager for over a year,” I state dismissively.
“How bad did you piss off everyone you shouldn’t be pissing off?” he asks.
I punch the steering wheel at the stoplight and pull the phone away from my face as I take a few calming breaths.
“That bad, huh?” I hear him ask.
Lifting the phone back to my ear, I turn onto the next road before answering.
I can’t bring myself to tell him that we made ourselves look like hot-tempered kids.
“I said some shit they probably didn’t like very much, and was eventually escorted out by security. They may or may not be pressing charges for the glass door Sticks broke on his way out.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Tag says under his breath.
He doesn’t even know it was Vince Jaggons who took our spot. Well, not personally, but still…it feels personal.
“Since Dane can’t give us our spot at Silk back, we’re probably going to have to start over somewhere else with a new set of players. There’s not much left here for us now,” I state a little bitterly.
“Don’t be extreme, Base. I can make some calls for you. Money makes bad memories go away really quickly for most of these guys, and—”
“I don’t want you paying my way into a spot I earned, Tag. I appreciate the offer and all, but that’s not how we’re doing this, or we’ll never feel like we earned it.”
I hear the groan he tries to suppress, like he just can’t understand why in the world I’d want to work for something he could freely give me.
“You get what you pay for, Tag. They’ll pay it back in spades, and I’ll—”
“Lose your soul and shit. I know the song and dance. Call me before you run off to find a new spot to start all over.”
As soon as his call ends, Randy’s ringing in. I press ignore and keep driving, clearing my head as much as possible before I pull up at my house.
My mom’s car is in the driveway when I warily put on the brake, and my eyebrows hit my hairline as I push open the door. Mom’s laughter inside the house confirms that this is really happening at the worst possible time.
Clearing my throat, I plaster on a smile and step inside. Her laughter dies the second she sees me, and pity wells up in her expression.
“Sorry, sweetie. I just heard about Britt. I know you were falling hard for—”
“I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” I cut in.
“But I do, so we should,” she argues, causing me to quirk my eyebrow. “What? Did I raise you to think it’s okay to tell people when they can and can’t talk about things?”
The lightbulb goes on quickly.
“I see what you’re doing,” I tell her, pointing a finger as I back toward the door. Sticks makes an uncomfortable wiggle off the couch before stiffly walking out like he’s trying to avoid getting in trouble too. “This is a little different than that situation. Which one of you dicks told her?”
“Not me,” Sticks says as he shuts the door to his room.
Randy and Taylor both shake their heads before Taylor awkwardly exits like he can’t get out fast enough.
Randy just grins as he pops a piece of candy into his mouth.
“How’s it different?” Mom asks me.
“For one, it’s actually none of your business,” I remind her in the most respectful fucking tone I can muster, and she gives me the I’m-about-to-ground-your-ass-for-a-year look. “Tag called you, didn’t he?”
“No. His wife did, because she’s a damn fine woman who’s worried about you. And I don’t blame her for being worried after what I heard you idiots did after losing your spot on the—”
I don’t hear what else she says, because I walk out and slam the door. I’m too pissed to talk to my mother right now, and I can’t risk saying the wrong shit.
“You don’t even see your hypocrisy, Base. It’s growing by the day, because you just think you’re being—”
I shut out her voice again as I start my loud truck. Ash called my fucking mother? This day needs to stop being this day.
I haul ass to Tag’s house, and I don’t even waste time shutting the door to my truck when I park. Without even thinking about it, I jab the doorbell over and over. My fists clench and unclench, and I try to keep my temper in check, even as my jaw tics and my foot taps.
Ash is the one to open the door, and her eyes widen in surprise when she sees me.
“Base, what’s—”
“You called my fucking mother because I broke up with Britt? You have no right,” I tell her incredulously. “Do you see what you’re all fucking doing to her?” I ask a little louder.
Her lips thin and she steps forward, causing me to step back as she shuts the door behind her and pulls out her phone. I’m almost worried she’s calling the cops just because I’m pissed.
She holds up her phone, and my face slowly falls as I see a vid
eo of us inside that fashion place’s office where we met with that stupid douche last night.
“My friend Bo owns that place,” she goes on, fast forwarding the video to where I really lost my temper and acted like a pathetic kid throwing a tantrum, raking office shit off some woman’s desk who doesn’t even bat an eye in the video.
“She’s not scared because she’s seen Vince have a tantrum or two, in case you’re wondering. I noticed you didn’t seem to care if you scared her or not. You never even glanced at her,” she carries on as my jaw tightens more.
“Three hours of intense arguing and him belittling us every single second of it was—”
“Something he was entitled to do, because he’s paid his dues and deals with a man like Vince Jaggons day in and day out. You’re nobody to him. Just like this woman here is nobody to you.”
She fast forwards again, and it stops at the front desk when security is wrangling me out the door. Then you see Sticks kick the damn glass, sending huge cracks all over it before he kicks it again and again.
I bristle, looking away as I slowly nod, getting the point.
“You’re only not in handcuffs because Bo knows you’re not usually violent guys. She knows you wouldn’t hurt any of her staff, just as her staff also fortunately knew. She’s lived her life around passionate, intense, temperamental artists, and compared to some of the tantrums she’s seen, this was just sad and laughable to her. You can pay me back for the damages whenever you can,” she continues.
I clear my throat as I take another step back, and another.
“Yeah,” I say a little quieter. “Sorry.”
“I thought Honey Bee could help out. Yes, I brought up the split-decision breakup with Britt, since you went to see her directly after this…while you were still so worked up and defensive and ready to take it out on anyone close by. Not Britt, but possibly her family—the ones you actively avoid and publicly talk shit about. Those good people who never say anything negative about you and ignore what they hear, passing it off as possible bullshit. Bullshit rolls right off them, because they deal with it day in and day out from plenty of other people already. They’ve taught Britt the tools of dealing with the same bullshit, in case you’re wondering. Dane started the ‘favor’ system to teach her how to ask for help, for fuck’s sake, Base. She needs a minute sometimes, because she’s different.”