Promise Not To Fall

by Shey Stahl

  I’m such an idiot. I’m a goddamn fucking idiot who just basically left myself at the mercy of these two. How could I have been so dumb? I glance at my phone and the time. There’s no way I’m staying, so I pay for my drinks and walk outside right after Liam leaves.

  I wait outside for a cab with Messer, and that’s when I know I’m in grave danger. It’s drastic to say, sure, but I totally am in grave danger. Another group of men approach, same dark skin and dark eyes. They appear to be locals and friends with Messer, since he’s talking to them and gesturing to me where I stand five feet away near a white pillar outside the bar.

  “Thas a pretty lady, man.”

  This moment right here is what Jake had warned me about, and I’ve willingly put myself in it. I’m such a naïve asshole. Nausea rolls through me at the thought of how this might end and what their intentions are. With shaking hands, I text Jake right away. All my text says is: Help. I’m at The Green Parrot.

  To my surprises, he replies instantly. Which one?

  Thank you, Jesus!

  Downtown.

  He replies with: Be there in two minutes.

  Messer notices my phone in my hand and reaches for it, removing it, his smile menacing. Two minutes will be a lifetime. I just know they’re going to stuff me inside a van and I’ll never be seen again.

  The guys with Messer walk away and around the corner, as if they all have a plan. Hide in the alley and then murder me is their plan.

  “Give me my phone back.” I reach for my phone, but he holds it at bay over his head.

  “Na na, pretty lady.”

  Shit. I’m so fucking stupid. Mother shit fucking… just fuck!

  “Come wit me,” Messer demands, trying to pull me with him behind the building where the other guys had disappeared in the shadows of the city. I know if I go back there it’s over.

  Messer’s hands wrap around my wrists and tug me toward his tall skinny body. “Now.”

  I tug back, glaring at him in the darkness. “No. Fuck you. I’m not going with you.”

  “Ya are.” His black eyes bore into mine, harsh and calculating, his grip tightening so hard my hand goes numb.

  That’s when I hear the scream of Jake’s bike as it redlines in front of the bar and comes to a quick stop between two cars, his back tire skidding and then smashing against the curb. He jumps off immediately and is rushing toward me. I see it in his eyes, mirroring my own, he knows immediately I’m in trouble and reaches for me.

  “She’s with me,” he says, not bothering to look at Messer, his hands curling around mine.

  Messer grabs my hand and yanks me right back to him, wrapping his heavy arm around me. He’s drunk, maybe even too drunk to understand how upset Jake is, and he smells absolutely horrible. “Dat may be tru, Jay.” They know each other. “She leavin’ wit me.”

  Jake isn’t in the mood, his voice sharp. “No. Fuck you. She’s not leaving with you.” He gets in Messer’s face and towers over him. He never touches him, but he’s certainly close enough. “You got a problem with that, Messer?”

  “Ya, ya I do.” Messer lets go of me and steps toward Jake, motioning behind him to his buddies in the alley. I’m guessing there’s a history between these two.

  I knew early on when I met Jake he had a temper and if pushed enough, it would come out in all his raging glory. That time is now, and I’m glad that it isn’t me who’s on the receiving end of his anger.

  Jake turns his head to Messer, glaring. “Not so much of a badass without your gun, huh, Messer?” Jake asks, taking another step in his direction, his shoulders rigid, ready for a fight. “What’s the matter, nothing to fucking say now?”

  I move behind Jake, my back pressing against the building as he shields me, but I can see his face in the glimmer of the street light. A few people on the street notice the altercation and stop to watch, pointing and talking amongst themselves. This is an everyday occurrence in downtown Nassau—ignorance is bliss to the local yokels here, I suppose.

  “Come on, man.” Jake smiles, taunting, reaching for Messer, but he takes a step back. “You’re gonna have to kill me before I let you leave with her.”

  Messer’s jaw tightens. “You messin’ wit me Jay? Ya sure?”

  Jake raises his hands, letting go of me and gives Messer one hard shove. “Fine, I’ll fucking prove it!”

  Messer bows up at Jake and gives him what he’s looking for, a fight. Jake gets the first swing in, a heavy blow connecting with Messer’s jaw and then another. He certainly isn’t wasting any time and goddamn, who knew Island Boy could throw such a mean punch.

  The intensity of the next few moments is fucking breathtaking. I actually watch with my mouth gaped open and strangely, turned on by Jake’s display of dominance. They collide and fall to the pavement, wrestling around taking swings. Jake’s swings come quick and with force I never imagined him being capable of. I’d been on the receiving end of his passionate strength, but never the angry strength fueled by rage and pent-up emotion he’s buried deep within.

  There’s something more here than him protecting me. Each blow confirms this is something else entirely. He’s taking back the control Messer had over him during their first encounter. I know this is the guy who’d robbed Jake at gunpoint, who’d taken something from him that hadn’t been materialistic. His pride.

  To outsiders, this altercation appears to be total chaos of men battling for dominance when, in reality, Jake has total control over every mind-numbing blow. He isn’t going to let Messer walk away without getting the vengeance that’s rightfully his to recover. There’s so much anger and pain behind his fists. I stare in disbelief at what I’m seeing.

  I can hear the sirens of the cops and know, if caught, we’ll be in trouble.

  “Jake, stop!” I shout, but between the rush of my blood and my pounding heart, it sounds like a whisper.

  His head turns when he hears me scream, the back of his hand sweeping over his busted mouth. Jake reaches up and easily pulls away from Messer who has gotten a hold of his shirt.

  They exchange a look. I can’t see Jake’s eyes in the darkness of the street, but I can see Messer’s, and he’s backing down, spitting blood and in obvious pain. Messer smiles, holding up his palms to Jake.

  Standing up, Jake turns around to face me, his face red, his mouth and hands bleeding, eyes swollen, and a busted lip. Blood drenches the front of his shirt, but his eyes, oh God, those eyes. They wreck me.

  It’s time for us to leave. I’d been arrested in Mexico and I certainly don’t want to add to my dossier of delinquencies by adding the Bahamas on my passport of prison time.

  I scream at Jake, “We have to go… NOW!”

  With a renewed sense of urgency, and a feeling of testosterone-laden accomplishment, Jake turns to Messer and gruffly says, “You mess with me or someone I love again, and you won’t have to worry about watching your back because your body won’t easily be found! This will be our last encounter. If I ever see you even near my bar, walking away isn’t going to be an option.”

  Jake reaches for me, his hands on my waist pushing me forward, leaving Messer to nurse his wounds and explain to the Bahamian authorities what happened. Jake doesn’t seem too concerned the police will question him, the laid-back island life definitely has its advantages.

  2½ parts Hendrick’s® Gin

  ¾ part fresh lime juice

  ¾ part coconut water

  ½ part Coco Lopez® cream of coconut

  ¾ part grenadine

  Combine gin, lime juice, coconut water, and cream of coconut in a mixing glass

  Shake until blended and strain over fresh ice

  Top with grenadine

  If desired, garnish with two pineapple fronds and a cherry formed to look like a bird with feathers.

  Jake wastes no time in getting me back to his house, which is only four blocks up and around the corner. Nobody appears to be there as I take a closer look at the small structure. Tucked away in a tiny neighborh
ood of twenty homes, just minutes from the port and nightlife, it doesn’t exactly seem like the sort of place Jake would live in.

  When I think about Jake, I think of that bar and him living right on the beach in some surfer hut. Not a rundown house in the city.

  We shuffle inside, his hand still on mine, until we get to the door and he finally lets go. I feel the loss immediately. Reaching for a towel on the kitchen counter, he wets it and then presses it to his face, watching me, and it makes me nervous. I have no idea what to make of everything that just happened, so I remain quiet, waiting for him to speak first. My body is running on pure adrenaline, and it’s taking all I have to stop myself from shaking.

  Sitting down on a dark brown couch, he looks up at me, drops the bloody rag on the floor, and then drags his shaking hands through hair, yanking at the ends. “Why couldn’t you fucking listen to me? I told you not to go alone to Nassau.” He shakes his head, the look he gives me silences my thoughts, making me think maybe I shouldn’t have come here. “That fucking guy you were with is a drug lord. He robbed me at gunpoint two years ago! Goddamn it!”

  He’s still angry and has every right to be.

  My mouth opens, wanting to say something, but I can’t. I’m all out of words. My eyes scan his face, bloody and red, his left eye swelling. I want to go to him, to take care of his wounds, but I doubt he’d welcome my help.

  I watch him for a few seconds and then say, “I wasn’t alone.”

  His tone is sharp, no-nonsense. “So you went with him?” He stares at me incredulously, his eyes bloodshot and bleary, his lips pressing into a frown, blood caked to them. “You went with Liam, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh, my body shaking with the pent-up release of my breath. “Clearly, I make great choices.”

  His eyes are so cold. “For someone who’s in control of everything in her life, yeah, you do.”

  Some fucking vacation. I don’t need this shit. “Fuck you,” I yell, feeling the need to let my own anger for this situation be known.

  He shrugs, pursing his lips and cocking an eyebrow at me. “Did you fuck him?”

  Swallowing, I push back the swell of anxiety. I didn’t sleep with Liam, but why should I have to justify this to Jake?

  “Forget it,” he says, his expression unreadable.

  He says nothing for a moment. I know what’s coming. The asshole side. The side every man displays from time to time. Jake’s good at this side. He’s the motherfucking quarterback, remember? His eyes sweep down my body and then, as I expect, they find mine again, and he smiles. “I wanna say something to you.”

  “Just leave me alone.” I stand, intending to walk back to my hotel. I don’t care what kind of trouble I encounter now.

  He sighs and stands. “I wish I could.” He steps forward, his voice low and husky. “Believe me, I fucking wish I could. You make me crazy. I’ve known you a week and yet you make me totally fucking insane!”

  “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, Jake.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.” His voice fades, mumbling the last few words. His bloody hands are restless, and he shoves them in the pockets of his shorts. “Goddamn it, this is bullshit!” His anger gets the best of him, and he walks out to the backyard, the sliding glass door slamming behind him.

  I follow, the smothering humidity attacking me the moment I step outside.

  Jake leans against the side of the stucco house, his hand cupping around the flame as he lights a cigarette. He only smokes when he’s nervous. I know that because he told me.

  My attention shifts to the bright orange glint at the end of the cigarette and the way his chest pulls in as he inhales. Smoke filters from his nose when he finally looks up at me.

  He doesn’t look at me directly, and my eyes close, my chest heaving as tears slip down my flushed cheeks. What surprises me is when his right hand moves from the pocket of his shorts and touches my cheek. I feel exposed being this near him, and I’ve missed him these last two days. And despite the confusion, there’s an aching void only he can fill. I want what we had two days ago before things got complicated.

  Tossing his cigarette to the ground, Jake steps toward me. He places his hands on my hips and draws me into his chest. My pulse and mind race at my thoughts.

  “I need to go, Jake. I can’t do this,” I lie. I actually do want to do this, but he scares the shit out of me.

  Jake is the complete opposite from me. He’s impulsive and committed, unpredictable and vulnerable. Everything I strive so hard not to be.

  “So you don’t feel anything for me?” he asks, watching me.

  “No.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it. I gave you what you wanted. I gave you love, unpredictable crazy love, and you’re letting it go.”

  I’m shocked at his words. “Jake, you don’t love me.” Disappointment settles over me, lying to both myself and him. “You’ve known me for, what, seven days?”

  “I gave you what you asked of me, and now you’re mad because you couldn’t control it. You loved me too. You left. You did that, and now you’re back, thinkin’ I’m just gonna… what? What are you here for? To fuck with me? To treat me like the island boy you wanted?”

  Adrenaline rushes through me knowing he’s right. “Take your drinks and shove them up your ass, Island Boy,” I snap, anger shakes my body.

  Jake grabs my arm rougher than I would have liked, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t excite me a little. “I could show you what girls are looking for when they come into my bar. Is that what you want?” He scratches his jaw and sends me a condescending smile while still keeping one hand on me. “Fuck you in an alley or on the back of my bike… or against the side of my house.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Isn’t that what all you city girls are lookin’ for from me?” And then he repeats his words from the first night. “I’ll be whatever you need… City Girl.”

  I can’t even accurately describe the expression on his face. It’s so much, too much, and I blink, closing it off. His fingers on my hip work lower, up the front of my dress and between my legs. He lifts his eyes to mine, staring at me intently. “Is that what you want?”

  He’s giving me an out, a chance to tell him no, to push him away. I don’t want to push him away. I want him like this, so angry, so hellbent on showing me how it should have been in the beginning, and though I know we shouldn’t, I’m not stopping him. I desperately want this.

  “Show me how it’s supposed to be then,” I taunt, blinking slowly.

  Jake’s lips part, his breath washing over me, and then he’s kissing the side of my mouth, working his lips to mine, his chest pressing me against the side of the house.

  I lean in, wrapping my arms around him and give him what we’re both so desperately needing, tasting the salty iron from bloodstained lips. I pour my appreciation for all he’d done to protect me into those kisses, my hands inching to the waistband of his shorts and then dipping inside, palming his hardness. Fuck, he’s so hard and ready. I stroke him once.

  Groaning, his body slumps at the contact, his hips twitching, and he backs me against the wall, his finger pushing inside me, one at first, then another.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I lift my leg and allow him better access, giving him what we both want. A public display of what this is, convenient, dirty, maybe nothing more than that. Lies. It’s all lies. We’re simply playing a part now and avoiding what this really is.

  He takes my leg higher, curling it around his arm and pressing me further into the wall. My head snaps back against the house when his jaw scrapes mine and forces it back. He now has access to my neck, his tongue lapping, teeth scraping the sensitive damp skin.

  Next thing I know, he’s between my legs, forcing them apart, pushing inside me roughly. He doesn’t undress, merely unbuckles his belt, frees himself while still holding me against the wall of his house, and slides my panties to the side.

  He fucks me harder and faster than he ever has before, givin
g me his anger and despair. I take it. I take all of it.

  I cry out as he fills me over and over again. It’s what I need in so many ways. I need to be saved.

  “I’m a lucky son of a bitch,” Jake groans into the curve of my neck, gasping and yanking me into his every thrust, his arms and body shaking. “So fucking lucky.” Every time we’re together he gives a little more of himself, and finally, this time, he’s giving me everything.

  He lasts another few minutes, and then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over, and emptiness washes over me. For a moment, neither of us move. He stares at me, watching my reaction, our chests heaving.

  “Was that what you wanted?” he asks, licking his lips and righting his shorts.

  I could have answered him. I could have. But I don’t. His expression tears at my chest. There’s no apology in it, but there’s still a desire I can’t touch, even though I can feel it. I wonder if he feels as vulnerable as his eyes say he is.

  Avoiding eye contact, he stares straight ahead, nodding, distancing himself. He steps past me without another word, walking inside the house as he fastens his shorts.

  Straightening out my dress, I ask him where the bathroom is and excuse myself. Once I’m cleaned up, I sit on the edge of the tub, crying for a few minutes and then return to the living room, where Jake’s pacing.

  He spots me and stops. “You want to know why I don’t like Liam?” he asks, the look in his eyes somber.

  “Why?”

  “You remember Amara, right?” I nod, and he continues, “I dated her from the time I was seventeen to twenty-two. Spring break two years ago while she was tending bar with me, she left with Liam one night. I gave her everything I had to give, and she just threw it away.”

  Chills run through my body. Amara had been right, and now I’m seeing the other side of that boy who she said suffocated her. But I had no idea that guy was Liam. And that I’d basically replayed that whole scene for him in the bar the other night.