Delayed

by Nathan Kingsly

  “Oh, I was looking forward to the class.” Her cheeks grow pink as she pushes her curly hair behind one ear. Sheri is pretty enough, but even if I were looking to dip my stick somewhere warm, it wouldn't be with someone I work with.

  “Don’t you have another defense instructor on the roster?”

  “Not one that will be available. I’ll go ahead and get it canceled on our website then.”

  “Thanks, Sheri.”

  Pushing through the gym doors, I run back to my apartment. It’s hotter now than when I went in, and the roads jammed with people leaving work. Getting into my apartment, I head straight for the kitchen and fill a glass full of water.

  “Oh yeah, that’s good.” I groan out.

  Setting the empty glass on the counter, I head to the bathroom for a much-needed shower.

  As I clean the sweat off, my mind goes to the scene I played voyeur to at the gym.

  That blonde's cheeks flushed with color when our eyes met. My hand encircles my erection. A moan caught halfway in her throat, biting her lip to smother the rest. My head tilts back, and I bite my own lip. It’s not hard to imagine she’s in front of me; instead of the faceless guy, it’s my hand gripping her bare ass.

  Tugging, I pause to squeeze my tip before moving down again. I imagine one of her legs trapped upward by my arm and pumping myself deep inside. My hips buck forward as I slide my hand back again, imagining her tight pussy in its place. Pushing her further into the wall with every thrust.

  Hearing her moan and feeling her harsh breath feathering against my neck. Unable to help herself, she sinks her teeth in to muffle her screams.

  “Fuck.” I say through gritted teeth. My chin rests against my chest as I watch myself cum, and the evidence disappears down the drain. Heaving a sigh, I lean my shoulder against the tiled wall.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had the real thing, too long, but being without it makes my life far less complicated. Jumping out of the shower, I dry off and make my way to the bedroom. Though I don’t have work for a few more hours, I dress now for it, aside from my shoes. Making it back to the kitchen, I make myself a sandwich and walk to the couch before turning on the television.

  A knock comes through the wall the same time Brian’s voice does. “Whatcha’ watching?”

  Loosening the grip of my now flattened sandwich, I answer him. “Recaps of last night's game.”

  “Be there in a sec.”

  “No,” but before I can get my sentence off, I hear the slam of his door. Another minute, Brian has my door unlocked and shoves his way in. He’s like a cockroach I can’t get rid of. Giving him a key to my place in case I misplace mine is more of a burden than a safeguard.

  “What’s the score?”

  “They haven’t said,” I mumble before taking another bite of my sandwich.

  He plops next to me, his eyes never leaving the television, and he asks, “How was your workout? Any luck with the ladies?”

  “I don’t go there for that.”

  He gives me a brief side-eye. “No luck then? Me either.”

  “If you shaved that skid-mark on your upper lip, you’d …”

  “My facial hair has shit to do with it. Plus, what would you know? You’re not getting any action either.”

  “Who’s to say I don’t go to their place?”

  He snorts. “You’re so fucking predictable. If you deviated, I might think it’s for a piece of ass, but you haven’t since I’ve lived next door.” He settles into the cushions and looks my way as I take the last bite of my lunch. “That’s been three years ago, right?” He counts them off with his fingers.

  Shrugging, I brush it off. My demons are my own, and whatever I choose to do with them is my business. I don’t justify myself to anyone, not even to the only friend I have.

  I’m putting up another skid when my phone goes off in my pocket.

  I have been ignoring it as best I can, but the third time makes my hands grip the controls harder than necessary. Knowing it can only be a few people, I only need one guess. Sighing, I put the cherry picker down on the floor and turn it off. Pulling out my phone, Mia’s name lights up my screen with the fourth consecutive call.

  “Mia,” I say, growling her name.

  “You need to come home, now.” Her words bleed together as she continues. “Mom, she’s in a panic, and I can’t calm her down. Liam, they might commit her again with how she is carrying on.”

  “Mia, slow down.” I wait until her heavy breathing starts to slow. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s mom. She’s called me five times in the past hour in a panic. They--I mean--Liam, he’s out. He’s out of prison.”

  The mount of irritation of a second ago is doused, as the words crawl into my ear like a parasite. My body becomes a block of ice. Gooseflesh breaks out on my arms, causing the hairs to stick straight up as my mind races, not knowing where to slam the brakes.

  “Liam--Liam?” Her voice sounds far away but close enough to light a spark.

  One question echoes in my mind above the rest. “How?” That demon in a human sack should rot away in a cell for the rest of his life.

  “It’s all over the news. They are saying for good behavior and a promise of rehabilitation.”

  “Bull ...”

  “I agree, but it doesn’t make him being out any less true. I need you to come home and talk some sense into mom. She won’t listen to me, and the hospital is trying to convince me that sedating her is the best thing. They already have her in a padded cell, Liam. A padded cell!” Her tone is shrill, making me take the phone from my ear.

  Only a few hours ago, I contemplated ways out of this visit. Now that scumbag is out, waiting for his moment. Not going home would invite failure to kick down my door.

  On the other hand, what can I offer? The hospital has security, special badges, locked doors, and all other means to protect her.

  “They are asking for me to go get her, but Liam, I’m afraid she'll be too much to handle on my own. What should I do?” Mia asks, mirroring my thoughts.

  “She’s safer at the hospital for now.” I’ve started to pace.

  “Will you come home?” She sounds afraid of the answer. With the debate going on in my mind, I can’t say her doubts are unfounded. The thought of going home, the possibility of putting her or mom in danger by being there, causes me to stop mid-step. My hands curl into fists. That’s why I’ve stayed away for so long, to keep them safe. So the question is, will I go and potentially fail them again?

  “Liam?” She questions.

  “Yes, give me a few hours, and I’ll hop on the first plane I can catch.”

  She breathes out a thanks as I hang up the phone.

  When will my heart decide to stop beating itself against my chest, clogging my ears with its deafening thump? When will my lungs feel like they can breathe and stop rattling out as if I’ve run ten miles? Will my body ever feel warm again?

  “Sir?” A hand squeezes my shoulder.

  Jolting in my chair, dizzy and disoriented, it takes a second to realize where I am. On a plane, on my way to my connecting flight.

  “Shit.” Looking around, I realize I’m the only one left aboard.

  Standing up, my head crashes into the overhead. “Fuck.” I groan.

  The brunette stewardess shuffles into the opposite aisle of seats. Her perfume, an excessive sweet scent, lingers as I enter the space she vacates. She exhales a hiss of air, and her hand rests on her own head for a second as she stares at me. “Are you alright?”

  Rubbing my head at the same time I shake it, I ask my own question, “When did we land?” Ripping out my bag from the overhead, I search for my phone. “What time is it?”

  “We landed about ten minutes ago, and… .” The time it takes to check her wrist, I already know the time. If I don’t move my ass right now, I will be sliding into the next plane without the skin on my ball sack. Goddamnit, why didn't I take the offered coffee at takeoff?

 
; Zipping my bag, I skid sideways until I’m out of the aisle. Bridging the gap between the plane and the boarding bridge, I take off.

  Twenty minutes. If I can get to the gate in ten, I should make it.

  “Wait!” I call as I see a redhead about to close the door. She lets out a squeak, her face pinching as I blaze past. “Which way to the rail?” I look back in time to see her point right.

  Being in an airport, everyone in a rush to their next destination, time against you, I don't expect so much standing and staring as I rush past. There’s no way I’m the first they've seen today, but with the weight of their eyes, maybe the most interesting? Even so, a tall guy, covered in tattoos, and wearing a determined scowl, can’t be a rare breed in this age. The staring makes me wish that airports permitted firearms. It would make me feel a form of protection against this unease. I push the urge to snap somewhere near my feet, and I push myself to go quicker.

  I started going right, but I wouldn’t have been able to navigate this maze without the signs. Have airports always been this capable of mind fucking people? It’s more like a rat race to the end and more than not getting shocked for going in the wrong direction. A recipe and perfect design to increase stress.

  When I make it down the third pair of stairs, I make it to the rail, but the doors start to close. “Hold the door!” I shout as I jump past the last few steps.

  From the irritated looks, my steps slow; I’ll have to wait for the next one. So, I’m surprised when a hand grips the door, the alarm sounding so loud we all cover our ears.

  Sliding in, I watch the doors close the rest of the way. As it seals shut, I place my bag between my feet and grip the handle above me as the train picks up speed. Turning my head, I hold out a hand to the guy nearest the door.

  “Thanks, man.”

  He shakes his head, his dreadlocks still moving when he shoves his free hand farther into his shorts. “Wasn’t me.”

  “Oh.” I shrug and look around the car. It’s him and two older women on the other side paying us no mind. “Well, thanks to whoever kept it open.”

  “You’re welcome.” The voice is soft. Swearing the reply comes from the guy's direction, I glance over and raise an eyebrow. He rolls his dark eyes and shakes his head again.

  I’m about to end whatever game he’s playing. I don’t have the patience for it. I’m already on edge, and letting out some frustration would feel damn good. Then, someone steps from behind him, and my mouth shuts with a snap.

  If not for this forced and awkward introduction, I wouldn't have seen her. I would have determined she isn’t a threat, and then, not what I look for in a woman. Not even worth a second glance, and yet … .

  My eyes soak her in, and on her tiptoes, she might reach my chin. Her curvy body on display with black leggings and a shirt draped over one soft-looking shoulder. That wild hair inside the bun atop her head sparks with red alongside the brown. She shifts under my scrutiny, and I catch her pulling her plump bottom lip between her teeth for half a heartbeat, but that didn’t stop my dick from reacting. When I look up to see what color her eyes are, I realize her shifting isn’t because of my inspection; it’s due to hers.

  Her eyes dart back and forth along my exposed skin. I'm curious to know if she’s wondering how far my tattoos reach. Her cheeks pink a shade more, her lip released around a soundless gasp. I thrust my hips instinctively, and her round eyes meet mine. Blue, as blue as the sky on a clear day. Knowing I've caught her, her blush deepens, her eyes flash with defiance, and fuck if that doesn’t turn me on. The erection grows harder in my jeans.

  “Thanks for the door.” My husky tone gives me away.

  She blinks as if dazed before waving her hand in front of her face. “I’d want someone to do the same for me.”

  “So, where are you headed?”

  She laughs and shakes her head, the wild mass atop it bouncing with the movement. The abrupt change in her demeanor pushes me off-kilter, not unlike spinning off a ride before it ends. Or, I could be alone in feeling the charge in the space between us? It has been a long time, and I'm out of practice.

  “What?” I ask, her eyes watchful as I cross my arms over my chest.

  She shrugs her naked shoulder. “I thought you’d be more...original.”

  My tentative smile fades. If we weren’t in a compartment with other people, I’d show you how ‘original’ I can be.

  “This is my stop.” Giving me one last smile, her fingers brush across my arm as she passes. A shiver runs through me at the contact. No, not a shiver, a zap of electricity that tightens my abdomen and settles lower in my gut. She’s looking at her fingers as she exits, so there's hope I’m not alone. I watch her until the rail starts again and disappears.

  “Harsh.” The guy next to me says.

  Ignoring him and the feeling of opportunity lost, I check my ticket on my phone again—only two more stops on the rail. Then I have to haul ass again.

  That’s exactly what I do.

  The desk attendant’s eyes widen as I puff out my explanation. I stretch my body and press my hand against the stitch stabbing my side. That’s what I get for sleeping in an awkward position. Looking at the clock on the wall, I smile; I made it in time.

  "Sir, I'm sorry, but your flight was the last to leave in the storm. All other planes are grounded until further notice."

  "Storm?" I twist and flinch from the pain of the quick movement. It's then that I notice the sky; angry and black, as my mood is becoming, the leftover sunbeams disappearing behind the clouds. I groan, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

  "Sorry about…."

  "How long since it left?" Maybe they are still on the runway. They could give me a ride to it--wait, would they allow that?

  "Take off was about five minutes ago, but you would have needed to be here fifteen ago to make the flight."

  "Fifteen…" Looking up at the ceiling, I curse myself. If I hadn’t fallen asleep, I would have made it in time to be on that damn plane!

  "In circumstances such as this, we would offer accommodations, but with the mass delay, we have no rooms in our hotel available. Would you like me to search the local hotels?"

  "No.” Slamming a palm down on the counter causes her to jump. It takes some doing to get me to snap, but with the pressure bearing down on me, it’s a surprise I’ve kept it together this long. “What I want to know is, if there's another way. Maybe a charter boat? A car service that would drive a few states?"

  She shakes her head before I finish. This girl is what I go for. Tall, blonde, fade with the others before her, so why can’t I chase that other girl out of my head, or this feeling of high from my veins? It’s got to be all this running around, spiked adrenaline. Yes, that’s it. Shaking my head, I focus back on the conversation.

  “It’s just some rain.” I gesture outside.

  “It's not ...” She flinches as the sound of thunder shakes the glass, and I squint my eyes from the light. “It’s a hurricane; they’re saying it’s already a class two storm.”

  “Well, fuck.” I run a harsh hand through my hair. My stomach bottoms out somewhere near my feet, along with the will to persevere, while my anxiety rises back on up. “Airport bar?”

  Her disapproval is in the line of her lips, but after a moment, she relents. “Main lobby. But, please, sir, consider ...”

  “I’ll find a place to crash. Will my ticket be refundable or exchangeable?”

  “The airline is working on getting that taken care of.”

  “Alright, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  This time around, I stroll to the rail.

  Ever since I got the call from Mia, it's been non-stop rushing. As soon as I got off the phone with her, I called my boss to tell him what was going on. In ten minutes, I was in my car, heading back to my apartment. The walk from my car, with my gun that I didn’t bother concealing, had my nerves fraying at the edges. As soon as I walked in, I had my gun up. I shut the door behind me and locked i
t. If someone was in there, they weren’t going to make it out again.

  With measured steps, I walked through my mostly barren apartment, turning on every light I had as I moved. My barrel pointed down at my couch cushions. Next, I checked the gap between a wall and the refrigerator, which I couldn’t see from the living room. Switched on the light for the balcony and swung the door open only to frighten off a bird. Opening the door to the bathroom, nothing greeted me from behind the shower curtain. Lastly, in my room, I crouched and looked under the bed revealing only the dust bunnies I keep telling myself to sweep up. When I sat on my bed, it took me longer to catch my breath. I had to put my head between my legs and push back the black dots trying to eat up my vision.

  When I finally pulled myself out of my panic attack, It took me longer to pack, every sound setting me off, and then not knowing what I should bring since this trip could be longer than I had planned. Then, finding a flight to the other side of the country at midnight was more complicated than I imagined.

  The drive was brutal. Every car I saw was suspect. When I parked in the lot at the airport, leaving my gun was more like losing a limb. It pissed me off to feel exposed and out of control.

  The only sleep I’ve gotten in twenty-four hours was on the plane. Now, I’m paying the price.

  This time is different from the others. I promised to be there, even got on the damn plane, and still fucked up. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. The outcome stays the same. Why bother trying?

  Once I get on the rail, this time with no dramatics, I pull out my phone and refresh my ticket page. When it loads, there are options for my new ticket, and my thumb hovers. My shoulders tense as I stare at those fucking buttons. So instead, my thumb hits the side button, lets it go dark, and stick it back in my pocket. Exhaling, my shoulders drop. I convince myself that as soon as I get a drink in me, I’ll decide.

  The bar is quiet, with only a few patrons. A part of me realizing on my walk here there were fewer people strolling in the terminals and hall.