His car has been deposited on the sidewalk neatly, all four gleaming wheels on the concrete, the sleek grey Mercedes he purchased only weeks ago to replace his electric blue sports car. Arrick is growing up, leaving behind that young fast life and settling down and I don’t know how to feel about it at all. He’s changing, has been for a while, and I guess it’s one of the reasons we are not as close as we once were. We move to the car, sporting a very large, black coated bouncer, leaning against it casually with a beaming smile as he sees us approach.
‘Arrick my main man!’ The bouncer grins and fist bumps him as we close the gap, still holding me firmly, heating up my body despite the chill around us and my lack of coat. I smile weakly at the man, knowing the game I have to play when with him. He is sociable with everyone, has time for most people and he likes those around him to have manners to suit. He’s fast becoming a celebrity on his own terms, not just another Prince of Carrero and following in his brother’s footsteps as the face of the company. His fight titles are making him known on his own, his skills and wins, making a name that means something more to him.
‘Thanks bro.’ Arrick smiles, handing him a hundred-dollar bill so quickly I almost miss it, a smooth operator in all things related to schmoozing and gaining associates. Pulling me forward so he can guide and ease me into the door that another bouncer had just opened for us with a half-smile, and a nod towards him. All I can feel is the heaviness of fatigue, dizzy with it and just aching to sit down and have some quiet. My head is banging now and that nausea that has been swirling around is making me feel hot. I fall into the cool seat of his car interior with sheer relief, so glad to be back on my ass and relax into the moulded curves with a sigh. The urge to slide my shoes off is insane, but I have zero energy to reach down and unbuckle them.
‘Anytime. See you on Saturdays fight’s man.’ The male ducks and dives, throwing a couple of mock air punches with a smile, trying hard to impress Arry and getting all jocular and best buddy. I resist the urge to eyeroll, now nestled in my seat from his caring hands and sliding down the leather to try and just calm the side to side waves going on around me. The first bouncer has followed us around the car.
‘My money is already on you ‘Bruv’. Tornado Carrero is a sure thing! I saw you at your last and you were on top form, that right hook is deadly.’
‘Thanks.’ Arrick smiles at him, giving the man some sort of bromance arm hug, then leans in to shoulder bump one another before heading around the car. Very street ghetto, and I supress the urge to giggle at how many layers to him there really is; business man when needs be and the company requires him, casual lad about town when he’s with me, or street thug when faced with adoring fight fans. He slides in his own side as the bouncer leans into my doorframe expectantly, waiting for Arry to get seated.
‘I’ll catch you at the gym tomorrow, Kendall.’ Arrick nods at him, leaning forward over me so his hand rests on my naked inner thigh innocently, to take his weight; he strains forward to see the towering figure whose head is still too high from his view point.
‘Looking forward to it mate, been practicing my upper cut since last time. Hope you see improvement in my form.’ The bouncer nods a goodbye and my door is shut with a wave. Arrick leans back, removing his hand, leaving me with a feeling of warm softness there. He leans in close to me and catches my seatbelt over my right shoulder, pulls it across me with eyes on the task and buckles me in. Not that I am incapable, but this is just one of the many things he has always done when looking after me. I watch his face closely, so close I can touch him; eyes downwards, watching what he is doing and still that emotionless expression. He smells like he always does, a mix of him and his favourite aftershave. I catch hints of the body spray he uses too, but it all mingles together to make one alluring scent that is only ever him. A heady mix.
He moves back into his own seat and buckles his belt, strong shoulders and arms moving under fitted tailoring alluringly, saying nothing when he gets the engine fired up and back into traffic carefully. I glance his way, more than aware that nothing about his mood has changed. He’s simmering, looks tense, and way too calm, despite how normal he had been with those security men. That can only mean he’s really angry with me, and I just don’t need this right now.
He brings out this ache inside my stomach, still that fragile emotional welling up inside and I know it won’t let up as long as he’s pissed at me. Arrick’s poker face is one of the most infuriating things about him, even when framed with that sexily cropped sandy coloured hair and those gorgeous hazel eyes. The dead pan nature of that face, when he wants to avoid drama and argument. Even knowing him like I do, it still leaves me guessing sometimes at his ability to close down communication and deliberately shut people out. Something he never used to do to me at all, but I guess things change.
He’s been getting colder over time, not just towards me, but in general, the warmth and fun of Arrick of old has been lacking more and more in the past months, even before I started partying harder and completely moved to the city. Getting more like his dad I guess, he has that same cool and distant personality and crazily aloof way of dealing with stuff from time to time. I love Giovanni like a second or third dad, I really do and he seems to have a soft spot for me, but it’s still infuriating as hell that they share this trait.
His girlfriend doesn’t exactly help curb it either. Natasha is a very serious girl, with little to no sense of humour, that same outwardly aloof way of dealing with things and always aware of how people view her. I feel like she is just rubbing off on him a little too much and making him become someone else. It’s always ‘looking to the future. Planning. Being super serious and devoid of personality’ with her and I feel like she is sapping the parts of him out that I love the most.
There has been a growing distance, I guess it’s partly why recent calls to him have been more frequent. I just feel like I’m losing him and barley holding on with my fingertips, that somehow, it’s only going to take a gentle breeze, and the connection will be severed. I know in part it’s why lately I have spent more time going out, dating and partying and trying to find another him, to fill that void. All it has made me do is cry for him, anytime reality hits me and I just want to go home. The horrible reality is that you can never replace someone you care about this much, no one ever measures up.
I feel that churning ache of sadness threaten to strangle me, tears bite in the back of my eyes and I glance his way again, filled with complete heartbreak. That slight jaw tensing catches my eye and my heart sinks.
‘You’re annoyed?’ I whisper his way, watching his perfect profile, longing to see him react in any other way, now we’re alone. I can’t help but focus on his straight short nose, it had been straightened and smoothed out since a complicated broken nose a couple of years back had resulted in surgery and taken away his father’s hook nose, and it still intrigued me that one little change could enhance a face so much. I have always thought him one of the most beautiful men I have ever laid eyes on, even before his nose job, even as a fourteen-year-old kid seeing a guy who could have been a threat. But now he is almost perfect; maybe even perfect. He has a face that is just too easy to stare at; same square masculine bone structure as his brother, yet with lighter hair and darker eyes, they look completely different in ways, yet so alike in others. Arrick has a softer look that is less bad boy and more young Romeo.
He stays silent, watching the traffic and checking his mirrors as he gets us back into lane and up to speed. He’s a confident driver, second nature, like breathing, and he’s dealt with New York traffic since he first passed his test, years ago. Like everything he does in life, it’s with ease and control and makes me just wish he still helped my life feel this way. I could sure use someone else taking control lately and just fixing this mess that I am existing within.
‘Arrick?’ I glance his way again, the silence making it unbearable to continue being so quiet, leaning out to let my fingertips trail down his arm meekly and over hi
s black jacket as the little tiny eruptions of anxiety play off inside me, like fiery tingles. Trying to attract his attention and knowing he won’t ignore physical touch.
I see that tiny tensing of his jaw deepen, muscle twitching under his cheek bone, and know for certain he is more than just a little mad with me, he’s in closed off, livid as hell, mode. My stomach sinks again, breathing slowly to push back the effects of my night drinking, and the new waves of emotion that are directly connected to him.
‘Leave it alone Soph’s, I’m not in the mood.’ He sighs, shifting in his seat to pull his arm away from me, resting his hand on top of the wheel instead, to indicate we’re not doing the touchy thing right now. He doesn’t even look my way, just that frown he does to show he wants me to leave him be and stares straight ahead. I bite on my lower lip anxiously, pushing down the knot of apprehension.
‘I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.’ I sniff back the threatening downpour, pleased to hear I have lost more of my slur and my voice sounds pretty normal. My throat starts to burn with the effort of holding back the floodgates, chewing on my lip more severely in a bid to keep it all down inside. He hates when I cry, I hate letting him see me cry.
Arrick frowns harder, even from the side I can see his brows dipping, his eyes look darker almost instantly, even in the semi dark of the car and I know from memory the green will have taken over more of the brown. The windows to his moods, sometimes they are the only tell-tale sign.
‘Then stop acting like some spoiled brat in self-destruct mode Soph’s. This….. Isn’t you.’ He gestures down my body frostily, the short denim skirt that barely covers anything much when I am sitting this way, and the low cut strappy top that is completely open at the back. I get that he doesn’t like this outfit, or any I have ever worn that is like it, but these were rare finds. I spent hours in line to get this skirt at the recent Dior release.
‘This is current trend, this top was a steal from a little unknown designer making waves in the fashion world, someone I think is going to be hot topic next season. You wait and see; and I don’t see you telling your girlfriends to cover up when they walk around half dressed.’ I snap, pushing myself lower in the seat so I can prop my knees on his dash in a stroppy pose, letting my feet dangle to ease the ache in my feet from being on them all evening. I shimmy myself so I can get my skirt lower on my hips to cover the flesh I am flashing and catch him glaring my way. That look just pushes my anger buttons; the look he loves to throw at me when he thinks I am being childish, and it’s all he seems to be offering right now.
‘You’re worth more than this.’ He says quietly, indicating to make a turning and checking his mirrors. All emotion reeled back in beneath that dead pan demeanour once more, like a well-oiled machine, sliding it back down, despite the moment of weakness in that cool armour of his. I hate that he has become this way with me, the Arry I knew and loved never had need to keep himself under that perfect check. He would yell if he needed to, smile way more than I have seen him do in a while and frown at me with every little annoying thing I did. This right here is one of the reasons I hate HER so much, she makes him this way. To me it just signals that he isn’t happy, he’s not himself anymore and that maybe she is all wrong for him. So poised and cool at all times. She calls it being mature, I call it being emotionally crippled!
‘Am I? Really?’ I burst out suddenly, emotion breaking in my throat, wriggling myself awkwardly in the smooth leather upholstery, back into an upright position as my full anger and sadness collide in the middle of my chest. Frustrated with how he’s being, bubbling emotion from the last few hours of my life, and general anger at just everything. My raging hot temper flashing up to stick its nose in whether I want it to or not.
‘Because where I am, it looks a hell of a lot like no one gives an actual shit about what I am worth anymore.’ I cross my arms churlishly, tears slipping down my cheeks and full on pity party hitting home as my voice croaks. Thinking about dickheads who cheat and so-called friends they fuck. Best friends who treat you like minor annoyances, and seem only intent on dropping you home to get away from any real conversation.
I lose control of that inner wave that I have been holding in tight and now it’s pouring down my face and hurts way more when it’s let loose. I screw my face up to try and gain control of that biting ache that has consumed my chest and throat. Feeling stupid for even getting this upset so easily.
Arrick grits his teeth, looks in his mirror and sways the car over to the side of the road, curbing a sidewalk and slamming to a halt in a rather dramatic fashion, especially for him of late. Turning to me suddenly, so angrily that it makes me jump in fright. It’s so unexpected. I scramble down in my seat, recoiling in mild shock at his sudden outburst and am winded into silent submission.
‘What the fuck Sophie? Really? No one gives a shit?’ He yells at me, eyes blazing with rage under furrowed brows and looking like he wants to choke me. It comes completely out of nowhere that I am too stunned to respond.
‘So, me, your family, Jake and Emma? None of us give a shit, right?’ He unclips his belt; I try to look away, tears back to stinging my eyes as emotion that was momentarily muted hits me even harder, my heart beating a little too painfully as atmosphere clouds the car between us.
‘If I didn’t give a shit, then tell me why I drop everything in my life, the second you need me, huh? Why your family has been trying to get you home for weeks after you walked out on them and never give up trying to contact you. Why Leila, your sister, has been crying nonstop over how wild and reckless you fucking are nowadays, despite the fact she went through a phase of being as bad? No one knows what the hell is going on with you anymore Sophie. No one can get through to you, not even me, and you have the nerve to pull this bullshit right here? Grow the fuck up!’ He barks, slumps back, one hand hitting his wheel and staying put as he stares out of the windscreen to let himself simmer, breathing hard with the exertion of shouting all that in my direction. I know he will try and reel his temper back in fast, he hates being this way with anyone, let alone me, and that in itself pisses him off, that I have pushed him to yell at me like this. To be this angry, even if I deserve it.
I don’t know how to respond, I never do when he snaps. Which is rarer than rain in the desert. It’s like that inner child in me gets scolded, and it hurts more than I can ever explain when it’s him that does it. Heart bursting with raw pain and tears again, bubbling down my face. I just feel stupid and immature, lip trembling and wanting to be anywhere but near him right now. Reeled back in as though I have been slapped and doing what I do best.
Running.
‘I need air, I’ll walk home.’ I manage to whimper out through muffled emotion, feelings well and truly hurt, not waiting for a response as I unclip my belt and slide out quickly. Arrick makes a move to catch me across the centre console, but I’m quicker. Dodging his outstretched grasp and leaving his door open, moving fast along the grassy edging to the road. I’m an expert in heels on all terrain, so don’t even blink at the soft surface, or the way it threatens to up end my stupidly high shoes; head down and determined to just walk.
Arrick catches up to me quickly, easy strides for someone with legs like his. I don’t hear him approach and inhale sharply at the sudden warmth of hands on me, catches me by the waist from behind and pulls me back to a halt. He spins me gently, so that I have no option but to turn and pulls me against him, so my crossed arms sit against his abdomen. His body a formidable wall of muscle. I try to turn my face away to hide the tears streaming down my cheeks, to hide that part of me that acts like a stupid kid who has had a telling off and doesn’t want to see him right now.
‘I’m sorry I yelled at you.’ Arrick lifts my chin with soft fingers, so that we are nose to nose as he ducks into my much shorter height and bridges the large gap as best he can. He frowns hard at me and studies my expression for a second, before that flawless face completely calms to that softer expression that I know and love. Genuine calm. H
ints of a face that is so achingly familiar and for a moment I forget why I am even crying anymore, why I was even mad at him. He sighs slowly as though to reel back and come at me with a new tactic that is less devastating to me.
‘Sophie? Talk to me.’ He whispers and it only pushes me that little bit further into remorse and hopelessness. I burst into painful heartfelt tears and bury my face in the open front of his jacket, against that expanse of hard chest; his arms come around me in a protective way, the warmth of his body heat encircling me along with the smell of him that could always soothe everything away. His chin finds the top of my head and rests gently as he tries to console me. My heart just aches at everything that is familiar in this, a million fleeting memories of this exact hold on me when consoling a thousand scars.
‘I’m sorry.’ I whisper hopelessly, clinging onto him and snuggle closer, wanting so badly to just climb inside his skin and feel more secure. Suddenly full of remorse at I don’t even know what, and wanting nothing else than this here right now, him and me, like we used to be. That cool poised version of him has drifted away and the anxiety inside of me lessens a little.
‘What am I going to do with you, Mimmo?’ Arrick has lost that edge to his tone, lost his anger when faced with me in real heartfelt tears; sobbing my broken heart out and clinging desperately to him.
‘Sophie, you can’t keep going on like this. You’re hurting yourself and everyone who loves you. This is hurting me.’ He moves his arms down to encircle my waist, so he can angle his face down to mine best he can, trapping my arms under his so I can’t manoeuvre away. Trapping me so I can’t walk off when I console myself, or storm away if I don’t like what he wants to say. He knows me too well.
‘I know.’ I sniff and try to tilt my chin lower, so he can’t get eye to eye with me. I don’t want him to see the mess I get in when I cry; I hate being vulnerable and weak and looking this terrible up this close and personal.
The Carrero Heart_Beginning_Arrick and Sophie Page 4