by Danae Ayusso
I looked over at him.
How in the fuck did he know what our problem was?
I don’t know.
“William… Billy,” Price said, not turning to look at me, “he’s seen things in his line of work. That’s how he met his wife and stepdaughters. It isn’t my place to say, but we’ve seen the signs firsthand. You wonder why we give you your space and don’t invade it or question you, or question your strange behavior and means of therapy,” he turned to regard me. “We don’t have to ask to know enough and understand it. I’ll never forgive myself for not protecting you, for not being there to save you from everything that happened to you…” his words trailed off and he looked away from me.
Don’t you dare throw up. Deep breaths and chill. This is a good thing. It means less questions and accusatory looks.
But they know enough…
They know what you’ve unwittingly showed them. Man up and let your missing balls drop! You are better and stronger than this. We are stronger than this. Got it?
I nodded.
Price looked over at me. “Why are you nodding?”
“Trying to let my missing balls drop because we’re stronger than this,” I said.
You cannot be this blonde.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that aloud,” I said, cringing.
He chuckled. “It’s okay. I’m getting accustomed to you talking to yourself, and I rather enjoy it when your guard is down when you do. You never have to apologize to me for anything, Mikhail, and you never have to thank me. The clothing for you and De’Von, it isn’t a big deal. You deserve to have comfortable clothes that are yours and that no one has worn before you. You deserve clothes and items that weren’t issued by the State or had to fight others for. De’Von deserves to have clothing as well, especially since he’s working his butt off in summer school all in order to make you proud. Accept that those that love you will go out of their way to move Heaven and brave Hell for you, regardless of how insignificant the deed might be in the eyes of others.”
Are you seriously crying again?
I quickly nodded. “Forgive me if I puke on you,” I whispered then leaned my head against Price’s shoulder and looped my arm through his.
Holy shit. You’re touching him and it isn’t entirely repulsive.
“If you do it isn’t a problem, Mikhail,” Price whispered against my hair and I could feel him smile before kissing my head.
Chapter Twelve
One on One
When we returned from Missoula four days ago, I went straight to my room and passed out. It was emotionally draining in many ways, and it caused many questions to plague me. Those questions, however, I didn’t want to ask aloud. Price asked Kieran to take care the rest of the shopping for me and make sure I didn’t see the packing slips or receipts. As annoyed by it as I should have been, I wasn’t and completely understood; Price was trying to prevent another meltdown.
The other day I broke down and confessed to Price that it was an imaginary friend I was talking to every morning in the woods. To my bewilderment, Price wasn’t surprised in the least. He was even less surprised when I complained that the Frenchman was seemingly a goddamn blanky for my mental well-being that I didn’t know I needed until he came around. I expected the straightjacket to be fitted, therapist called, prescriptions for anti-psychotics to be called in, but he surprised me by saying I know.
How did he know?
Why was he so accepting of that and complacent that his only child was bat shit crazy?!
I don’t know, but I was grateful for it.
Price gave me space so I could do my needed morning walks, but Shep wasn’t. I started finding him waiting for me on the porch and it was annoying the shit out of me. When I walked, he followed and talked. His company I normally didn’t mind, but not when I was trying to talk to my delusion.
It wouldn’t stop my Frenchman from making his presence known.
He ducked around trees and disappeared and reappeared, playing in the woods while I tried to pay attention to whatever it was Shep was saying, effectively stealing my attention from the rambling blond. More than once, I laughed or giggled over the faces my smug Frenchman was making, and when he started dry humping a tree, I completely lost it and started crying I was laughing so hard, and ended up falling in the creek.
Of course, Shep thought I had lost my damn mind.
Amusingly enough, I felt strangely sane for the first time in years.
Ellie made Price tell Shep to leave me alone in the morning. Sometimes that old hippie can read my mind and doesn’t have a problem being mean when I’m trying to be nice and spare someone’s feelings…
Even Justice rather enjoys being a bitch to the blond that follows me around like a puppy at times.
Yesterday De’Von called after getting his packages and tripped out for over an hour, accusing me of trying to get him killed. I knew he wouldn’t wear any of his new clothing out of the house or around the neighborhood and would most likely bring his shoes to school in his bag before changing into them. School is safer than the streets, but I wouldn’t put it past him to never let his Air Jordan’s touch the ground. After accusing me of trying to get him killed, De’Von thanked me and said to thank my pimp before he hung up.
Mama Jones called back and was laughing because of her grandson. She thanked us for the clothing; Price sent her some clothing as well. Mama was telling me about the extreme means that Price had gone through to get them smuggled into the residence so no one in the neighborhood knew they had gotten new stuff. I hadn’t thought of that, and I should have! The last time UPS showed up at someone’s door in the hood with boxes, that night the door was kicked in and everything was stolen at gunpoint.
It was something I hadn’t stopped thanking Price for yet.
Yesterday after lunch, I had fallen asleep watching a Jeopardy marathon on the Gameshow Network, and woke up at three and couldn’t go back to sleep. I checked in with Price before heading out to shoot some hoops, his request if I got up before sunrise.
The front of the center garage bay had a retractable basketball hoop. I had never seen anything like it, and from what Simian had said, Price helped design it. It was a solution for CC&Rs that prohibit basketball hoops in private communities.
First world white people problems at its finest.
Playing one on one basketball with Price was interesting. Basketball wasn’t his game, but he kicked my ass in soccer. Never had I seen anyone’s feet move like that. The way he dribbled the ball around me and through my legs, how he flicked the ball up in the air with his toe before doing some aerial shit I didn’t know was possible before putting the ball through the net was beyond impressive.
Oh how I envied his athletic ability.
“Still at it?” Price asked when he joined me after showering.
I nodded, sinking the ball for three.
“Nick, Shep and I are going to head to Missoula,” he said, looking from me to the mountains. “We’ll be gone all morning, returning before dinner. Did you want me to take the twins with us?”
Absently I dribbled the basketball between my legs.
“Don’t make them do something or go anywhere they don’t want to go,” I said. “I’m just going to shoot hoops for a bit and hangout. Maybe take a nap… And don’t worry, I won’t cross the fencing,” I promised him.
Price nodded. “I’ll leave the twins with you and Ellie. If you need anything, just holler. They’ll be around… Enjoy your morning self-therapy,” he said.
Weird thing to say.
Not really.
Uh huh.
Once Price’s truck had turned onto the main road in front of the estate, I returned to shooting hoops. It was one of the few things that helped to exercise the demons when on the streets and I was surprisingly good at it.
When I hooked the ball left handed, it hit the rim and the ball went the opposite direction.
“Damn it,” I grumbled; the left-handed hook was something
I was still working on.
“That needs work.”
I looked to the right, following the sound of a bouncing basketball, to my Frenchman.
“Yes, I know,” I said, watching him.
How is he doing it? Somehow, he’s dribbling the ball.
“Are we playing basketball this morning?” he asked before sinking a basket.
“Exercising demons, but not the same as those in Philly,” I admitted, dribbling the ball. I watched him pull his hoodie over his head before tossing it on top of mine by the garage.
Instead of jeans, he wore black Jordan Ultimate Flight Men’s Basketball Pants like the gray ones I had on, only his muscular calves looked amazing in the three-quarter length pants compared to my skinny stick legs. In a way, I suppose it shouldn’t have been a surprise that we were both wearing the sleeveless Nike compression shirts—mine was dark red and black and his was the opposite of black and dark red—but how damn good he looked in it was.
Calling the smug French delusion hot was an understatement. He was built like a professional baller with thick, heavy defined muscle, and skin was smooth ivory that made his black hair and eyes stand out.
“You’re staring,” he commented, holding his hands out and I passed him the ball.
“You’re on my side of the fence,” I blurted out, admiring the way each muscle grouping contracted and hardened as he moved.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” he agreed, dribbling around me before doing a layup. “I got tired of waiting for you so I went in search of you since you’re practically home alone.”
I nodded. “You fill those out nicely,” I commented to myself, eying his legs.
He chuckled. “The extra-extra-large are too loose in the waist yet fit comfortably in the ass and legs. The extra-large fits my waist, but are tighter on my muscular ass and thighs. You are more than appreciating the view so the extra-large was the right choice,” he teased with a wink.
Again, my delusion flirting with me is really starting to creep me out.
“I was lucky they had some extra-smalls,” I said, tugging on the string on the waistband. “They are still a little loose, but they are long enough and comfortable. I miss my big, baggy sweats I used to have in Philly and my kicks without laces… Never mind. Game?” I asked, stealing the ball from him.
“I’ll attempt not to cheat,” he said before moving in a blur, stealing the ball then did a layup.
“Hey!” I complained, jumping on his back and was surprised to not pass through him. “Try harder.”
He chuckled and looked over his shoulder at me. “That goes both ways.”
I smirked. “Yes, I suppose it does,” I agreed, sliding off his back, stealing the ball from him then dribbled away from him before doing a layup.
“Game on?” he asked.
“Game on,” I agreed, passing him the ball.
It should have been something I was questioning, but I wasn’t. After the first time I felt his warm, muscular body against mine, I stopped trying to figure out how it was possible that I was playing one-on-one with a figment of my imagination and started trying to figure out how the jerk was beating me!
Basketball was my game, not his!
How many stupid Fresh Prince jokes had I heard because of it?
Too many to remember.
And yet he’s better than I am…
It shouldn’t be possible, but it is, and it is irritating me more than him cheating.
“Goddamn it,” I complained, climbing up on his back, practically sitting on his shoulders, so I could get the ball he was holding over my head, out of my reach.
He laughed and everything went black.
What is happening? Why is everything dark and I feel…
At home?
That can’t be right.
“Breathe,” he whispered in my ear.
I choked and gasped, struggling to open my eyes.
“It’s disorientating at first,” he said.
Eventually my eyes opened and I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the bright flashes of light from my vision.
We were standing on the bank of the pond that acted as the punchbowl for the fountain.
“How did…” my words trailed off.
He shrugged then caressed his hands down my arms, his fingers running the length of mine before he lowered them then walked over to the fountain and stuck his head in the water.
The breath I was holding rushed out of me and I shivered from the contact.
Now I know he was a demon because nothing should feel that good!
“A shrug is oh so helpful,” I informed him, causing him to chuckle.
When he bent over, my head tilted to the side and I smirked; he has a nice muscular ass.
I have no idea how in the hell I got by the fountain, but the view is most agreeable.
Cujo appeared at my side and I jumped, startled, when she started growling.
Nakeva appeared on the other side of me, causing me to stumble backwards, and she growled at Cujo in return.
“Shit,” I groaned; that’s a dogfight I’ll get hurt trying to stop.
Cujo snarled, eying the fountain.
Again, Nakeva got in front of her, between the large, growling dog and the fountain, and growled in her face.
“Price isn’t here to keep you two apart,” I reminded them.
Nakeva pushed against Cujo in warning, causing her to step back some.
Cujo continued to growl before she turned and headed back to the kennels or house, or possibly my bed. The bitch rather enjoys the high thread count sheets and goose down pillows.
Nakeva snorted then headed over to the pond and laid down and looked towards my delusion.
Certain that she couldn’t see him since he was in my head, and most likely she was looking where I was, I joined her.
“I’m her favorite,” the Frenchman informed me, pushing his hands through his wet hair, slicking it back. “The other one is a real bitch that doesn’t like anyone.”
Absently, I nodded.
I heard what he said, but I was too busy admiring the way each bead of water rolled down his muscular body. His sweat saturated workout shirt clung to his body like a second skin and expertly presented each honed and defined muscle.
He appeared on the other side of Nakeva then stretched out in the grass, keeping the dog between us. “Did you want to freshen up?” he asked, motioning towards the fountain.
I sniffed my armpits, causing him to chuckle.
“I’ll take a shower later,” I said, sitting on the ground and absently pulled blades of grass out one by one.
“Hmm,” he said, giving me a look. “Why the sudden trepidation when I mention freshening up in the fountain?” he asked.
“You know why,” I grumbled, making a face.
“Do I?” he argued. “Why don’t you tell me again?”
Nakeva rested her head on my knee and looked up at me.
“See, she doesn’t know,” he said. “Tell her.”
Instead of morning therapy, he’s turning it into afternoon therapy with a dog. That’s just lovely.
Intently I watched the spinning blade of grass I was rolling between my fingers, trying to keep it together. Even if he’s just in my head, he is the last person I ever wanted to see me cry.
I licked my lips, but the words refused to dance on my tongue.
He disappeared then reappeared on the other side of me, sitting up in the grass as I was. “You do not have to tell me if you do not want,” he said, his French accent flaring. “It is not easy to open ourselves up to others, especially if what we share can be used against us.”
I nodded my agreement.
“This fountain is beautiful, calming, and made purely from the heart,” he said, looking out over the babbling brooks that lead from the second level of the fountain before rolling into the pond. “Price is a man of few words when it comes to what is in his heart, and very rarely does he open it to others. To find yourself there, to have somehow b
roken through the ice encasing it,” he paused and shook his head. “It is not something to be taken lightly. As irritating as it is, you are in his heart. How that happened? I do not know,” he admitted and I looked at him.
What in the hell does that mean?
“I do not like you because of it,” he continued.
Uh, what?
“But I do not dislike you enough to not allow you to use me for your own selfish reasons, cheating at basketball and all,” he said.
I gave him a look. “You are the one that cheats at basketball, not me,” I reminded him.
He smiled wide.
What in the hell is he going on about? Is he not in my head and instead is a ghost from the woods and is forced to walk the earth for all eternity giving free therapeutic support?
“You are a balls out cheater,” I informed him and he merely smirked. “And what does Price and your disliking of me because I’m in Price’s heart… Were you once there?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Maybe,” he teasingly sang, looking out over the pond. “La parole a été donnée à l'homme pour déguiser sa pensée,” he smugly informed me.
“Men talk only to conceal the mind,” I translated and his smirk fell.
Maybe I’m getting better at French than I thought.
“Fine,” he huffed. “I have never told anyone that in regards to Price. If they knew, they would use it against me, thus whatever you tell me will not be used against you. I swear it.”
“You promise rather freely,” I pointed out.
“Not at all,” he retorted. “I promise nothing to anyone, ever-”
“Except to me,” I interrupted, pointing out the obvious.
He nodded. “With the exception of you,” he agreed.
Strangely enough, it was rather flattering in a weird way.
Softly he caressed the backs of his fingers up and down the length of my arm.
I feel that.
It feels…
Damn, that feels nice.