Chaos (Havoc Series Book Two)

by Xavier Neal

  “And sometimes they don't.”

  “What's with the third degree, Michele?” Mandy pipes in her voice breaking my concentration on restraining myself. “Why do I suddenly feel like he's doing an interview with Dateline?”

  Her joke forces a giggle out of Haven and a small chuckle out of me, relieving the pressure building up. I swear she's like a female version of Glove at times. Her mannerism. Her jokes. Hell even the way she seems to check out every guy within a two mile radius with a pulse.

  “Just making conversation.”

  “Yeah like a reporter wearing a wire. How about you give that shit a break?” Mandy licks the mustard that dripped from her burger off her finger.

  Reluctant but not willing to push it he stabs his salad. “I was just trying to get to know the guy, but fine.”

  “Yeah like he's in a damn interrogation room.” she snaps at him again. I like her. I like her even more than I did when she bruised Glove's ego. “Let's change the conversation to something more livelily, shall we?”

  “Like what?” Haven chimes in like she's oblivious to what her so called friend just tried to do.

  “How about we talk about that movie we saw earlier this week! Brain Lovers 2... Can. Not. Wait. For. The. Sequel!” Her excitement over a c class horror movie in a way reminds me again of Glove. He has a similar obsession with poorly acted over gory movies. They could be fucking twins.

  “Oh yeah!” Haven squeaks. I didn't even know she liked scary movies. In fact when I left, she wasn't big into movies at all. She was always emerged in a book. “Brain Lovers 2, definitely up there on my all-time favorites list of scary movies!” How many has she seen?

  “Oh! And the part with the scarecrow.” Michele tosses in.

  “I was so scared!” Haven giggles before taking another bite of her burger.

  “I remember. That's the part where you had to bury your head on my shoulder.” Hearing that forces me to push my plate away. She did what? She touched this slimy bastard? He was protecting my girlfriend? Touching her? Seeing that he successful rattled me once more he picks up his martini glass and looks at me. “You've seen it right, Kurt?”

  “Clint,” I correct him sternly. I know what the bastard is up to. He's misspeaking my name on purpose. Pretending he doesn't know what I do. Making it so I am on the outside. The stranger. The unwanted guest. Making me look like some raging psychopath who doesn't have his shit together. Who doesn't belong with civilians? Who can't go a meal without trying to destroy something .Making it so I don't belong. Fuck him because it's working. “And no.”

  “How could you have not—oh—I guess being out in the field has many drawbacks, huh?”

  Stay calm, Marine. Do not hit him. Do. Not. Hit. Him. “Some.”

  His eyes focus back on Haven who is dusting crumbs off the top of her chest, “Some...in...deed...”

  This asshole is completely in love with my girlfriend! Every chance he gets, he's doing everything he can to prove that I'm not worthy. That I'm old news. That the better man is at the fucking table. There's an unfamiliar stabbing at my chest. My stomach knots harshly. My ribs seems to feel like they are breaking, destroying my last breath in the process. I've felt jealousy. I've dealt with unwanted scum hitting on my girlfriend. But this? This is an obvious enemy masquerading behind the home front. This is keep your friends close and your enemies closer. This is my new terrorist.

  The ride home I don't say much. The amount of anger inside me in unreal. All I can picture is that French Frat Fuckers pretty boy face. His smug smirk. His snarky laugh. The way he leans his face forward every time he says something to Haven. My hands grip the wheel tighter. I need to hit something.

  “You alright?” Haven sweetly asks prying her eyes up from her cell phone.

  When did she become addicted to texting?

  “Fine.”

  “You don't seem fine,” she hums out, putting her phone down in her lap.

  No shit. Of course I don't seem fine. I just spent the last hour and half listening to one of your new 'friends' throw himself at you and is a dick to me. I grip the wheel until my knuckles turn white. Why won't this fucking light change?

  “Fine, Haven.”

  The light becomes green and I press my foot on the gas thankful we aren't far from home. It's probably not safe with me on the road feeling this way. Within the next five minutes, I'm pulling into the driveway and unbuckling thankful to be somewhere I can get a minute to think. To breathe. To be alone. I just need space away from Haven. Not something I honestly thought I'd ever want.

  Before I get out of the car she grabs my arm. “Baby, talk to me...”

  I clutch the door handle and put on my steel face. No emotions to be read. “I'm fine.”

  “You're not fine, Clint.”

  “I'm fine, Haven. Can you please just drop it?”

  “No. Talk to me.”

  “I told you. I'm fine.”

  “You're not fine, Clint.”

  “I won't be if you don't let it go.” My tone is sharp. Immediately she lets go of my arm like I burned her. Damn it. This wasn't my intention. I don't wanna fight with her. I just...I just can't handle the chaos that my life is quickly creating. Not now. I just need a damn minute.

  “Fine,” she sighs and climbs out of the car.

  I open the front door for the two of us and as soon as it shuts she starts up again.

  “I'm gonna start dinner. When you're ready to stop pouting like a small child and talk to me, I'll be in the kitchen.” And just like that she leaves my sight.

  Fuck! I need to go for a run. Or hit something. I can't go to the gym. I barely made it home. I was so pissed off I couldn't see straight. Rushing up the stairs I change into a pair of sweats and drop to the floor in hopes of relieving some pressure. I start with crunches for a burn. Then sit ups. And when that burn is not enough I flip over and start with the pushups. Then one handed. The entire time I can hear Haven's voice ringing in my ears. When you're ready to stop pouting like a small child. Since when does she talk to me like that? Where's my sweet angel who was frightened if she looked at me the wrong way it was the end of the world? I didn't really like her scared. But I don't really like her treating me like this either. Fuck. My body stops mid motion. I need something else.

  I go to grab my running shoes when I remember that I got a new gift in the garage. Perfect. I can hit something and not spend the night in jail with dad looking at me with an 'I told you so' face. He already bailed me out of one mess; I won't put him in another. My feet hit the stairs so quickly it barely registers when I hit the bottom. I hook a hard right and head for my present. I look around on the work out shed where I see exactly what I need. Tape for my knuckles. I quickly wrap them and place myself in front of the punching bag.

  With a heavy hit, an immediate sting pours through my knuckles and cuts right into the center of me. It feels fantastic. I hit again. The release I was looking for breaking through. Thank God. Being wound up so fucking tight was going to cause me to pop. The problems from the day start flooding back at me as I start weaving around the swinging bag. Why didn't I know Haven couldn't wear her tags all the time? Why didn't I know she liked fried pickles? Or the fact she needed a graduation dress? Or that she's having trouble in class? Why don't I feel like I'm part of her life anymore? Yeah, most of that shits trivial, but trivial shit matters. When it comes to her, everything matters. And when did she start talking to me like that? Like I'm some sort of an asshole? Hit. Hit. Jab. Hard hit. And how the fuck doesn't she realize that the little French Mistake is actually a huge problem? Hit. How often has he made a pass at her? Jab. Right hook. Left hook. And how often hasn't she noticed? Or what if she has? Hard hit. What if she likes it? My fists start wailing into the bag, bruising on the knuckles most likely in the near future.

  The door that leads to the garage opens and I stop, out of breath to view my intruder.

  “You alright, son?” He shuts the door behind him.

  Not in the moo
d to throw out anything my brain just threw up I sigh, “Fine, Dad.”

  He nods knowing a lie when it comes out of my mouth. He should. It's not something I've done very often. Never a reason too. “I see you've taken a liking to your bag.”

  “It does a Marine good, sir.”

  I turn back to the bag and return to hitting it. Not so hard. But with as much energy nonetheless.

  “I can assume by the way Haven's chopping vegetables and you're punching this thing that you met Michele today.”

  My hand strikes the bag hard with two quick punches before turning to face him, “You've met him?”

  “A couple times.”

  “So you knew all along that some other guy was trying to fill my space while I was away?” the accusation takes him back for a moment.

  “Tone.” he points to me putting me back in my place. “I've met the guy. Assessed him. He seemed of no harm. No threat. Always a gentleman. Always respectful.” Of course he would be. In front of Haven, he's down right Mr. Fucking Perfect. I resist the urge to take another swing at the bag. “Otherwise, I wouldn't have let him come over.”

  “He was here?!” my voice rises and I watch as dad's eyes widen. “Why the hell did you let him in this house?”

  “Haven needed help with something--”

  “Mindy is a goddamn chef for crying out loud!”

  Dad approaches me with a stern finger pointed at me again. “That's twice you've lost your tone with me. Do. Not. Make. It. A. Third.” My lips press together shut. “I'm well aware of what Mindy is. And what she's capable of. But Haven invited him. She lives here. Her guests are welcomed here--” I open my mouth to object when his eyes cut into me, forcing it shut, “whether you like it or not. Now I tried to warn you things have changed. And I meant it, Slugger. You're gonna be using this bag a lot more especially if you choose not to deal with your issues.” My body leans against the bench. Arms folded across my chest. “You want this to work with Haven? You're gonna have to learn to communicate. That's what adults do.” The previous conversation floods back at me from the last time Haven and I had a large disagreement. What do you know? It was over another rich brat trying to have his way with her. She told me to trust her and I do. It's them I don't fucking trust. “Now wash up. Dinner's almost ready.”

  He leaves me alone to undress my hands from the tape. Slowly I unwrap them the pain throbbing in a relieving way. It feels good to have relief. Even if it's only temporary.

  I toss the tape, wash my hands, and meet dad at the bar table for dinner. Haven places a container full of fresh spring salad mix in front of us both, then some sort of sautéed chicken with rice and a cream sauce, along with a bowl of fresh fruit.

  Passing the plates as she sits dad smiles. “Looks wonderful.”

  “Thank you.” she smiles back at him taking a plate.

  “Looks great, angel.”

  “Hm,” her hum at me is followed by her shoving the plate at me.

  She's pissed. Great. Just add that to the list of things that have made today the worst fucking Friday ever. Everyone silently adds a little to their plates and dad tries to lighten the conversation, asking Haven about school, avoiding anything to do with Michele, and she asks about some woman he's seeing named Martha. I merely listen on like a stranger at the table. Almost like I don't exist. Almost like I'm merely watching them in their happy home.

  Haven asks, “And she just lets her son talk to her like that?”

  “That's what I wanted to say.” Sir agrees chewing on some chicken. “But it's not my place.”

  “But if you two are serious--”

  “Which I don't think we are.” Sir corrects her.

  The conversation continues but returns to non-existent for me. I have no idea what they're talking about. I have no idea if it fucking matters or not. I've been home a few days and this is the first I am hearing about this woman. Hell. This is the first I am hearing about a lot things today. The realization I don't even belong at my own dinner table sinks my appetite harshly. Fuck. I need a shower.

  “If you two will excuse me.” I stand plate still covered with more than a sufficient amount of food.

  “You're not gonna eat?” Haven asks in a shocked gentle voice.

  “Not hungry,” I place the plate on the stove.

  “Clint,” His voice sternly pops up.

  “I need a shower.”

  “Clint--”

  “I need a shower, sir,” My eyes directly meet his. I just can't fucking do this right now. I'm still fucking new at this dealing with emotions thing. And right now the world feels like it's caving in on me. Crushing the life force out of me. Just being in the same room with the two people I care about the most and not belonging is something I can't fucking deal with. Not right now.

  “Alright,” he picks up his fork like he gets it. I doubt that he does.

  Quickly, I rush up the stairs and lock myself in the bathroom. Cutting on the hot water, I strip out of my clothes, and slide in, burying my face under the scolding hot water. The heat is so intense is makes my skin sting. The peace makes me shut my eyes briefly released.

  “Slugger!!” my mom's voice calls from the porch. “Dinner!”

  One more hit. I just need to make one more hit. I'll do better than that kid David Jenkins at practice! I will! I just have too! I'm always the best on the team. Mom needs me to be the best.

  “Come on, Slugger,” she calls to me again.

  “One sec!”

  “Now, young man!”

  Oh no. She young manned me. The only thing worse would have been is she called me by first name. Dropping the bat I rush into the kitchen just past her and to the sink to wash my hands. She locks the door behind me and impatiently taps her foot as I try to get some of the dirt off my hands.

  I glance over at her. “What?”

  “Don't you what me,” she says as I come to the bar table, plopping in the seat beside her.

  She would always rather eat next to me. She likes to be able to put her arm around my shoulder and randomly squeeze it. I think she does that when she misses dad. She says I look like him. I think I look like me.

  “What's going on with you? I never have to call you to come to dinner that many times.”

  I shrug. I stick a fork full of spaghetti in my mouth.

  She doesn't accept this answer, “Slugger...talk to me. What's on your mind? Do you miss your dad?”

  “No.” Her eyes lower down at me. I quickly say, “I mean no more than normal.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I can't tell her how David was mean to me at school. Lying and telling everyone he was better at baseball than me. I can't tell her that he got everyone to believe that I made up how great I was. I just can't tell her that. I'm supposed to be strong. And cool.

  “Slugger, how can I help if I don't know what's wrong?”

  “Maybe you can't help, mom,” I mumble before realizing it.

  “I can always help.” she picks up her wine glass. “Even if I can't physically help I can probably give you advice. So why don't you try to tell me what's wrong and let me decide if I can't indeed help.” When I don't say anything she sighs, “Look, the only way you get through hard times you're having is by talking them out. Working through them. You can't hide from your problems Slugger...”

  Her voice feels like its reverberating off the tile in my shower. Fuck. She's right. I can't hide from my problems. Not by doing sit ups, pushups, and not by punching a bag. Or even washing off in the shower. I'm gonna have to admit to Haven that I have a problem with the French Fruit Cake. The question is how do I do it without coming off like a jealous raging asshole.

  Outside of the shower, I dry off and slip a towel around my waist. I head to my bedroom and flop on the bed the cool air from the air conditioner striking me. To my surprise Haven rounds the corner and shuts the door, a very firm, very unhappy look on her face. Great. Another first. This look.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” she snaps l
oudly. I don't think I've ever heard her curse. I'm not sure I like it.

  With a deep breathe, I sigh, “Could you please not cuss at me?”

  Surprised by my calmness, she raises her eyebrows. Maybe she's in disbelief she cussed at me. Maybe she wasn't expecting too. “Sorry.” She pauses. “I just...I don't know what to say to get you to talk to me. You've never had trouble before.”

  “Haven, I've always had trouble.” my eyes finally lift to hers. “I'm not good at talking. You just...you have a way of bringing it out of me. The same way my mom did.” At the words her body relaxes slightly. “So talk to me, Clint. I can't stand you so cold.”

  With a long exhale I respond, “I know. And I'm sorry being so cold, angel. I just...it's hard to sort out everything in my head. Plus I don't want to say the wrong thing and have you even more pissed off.”

  “I would rather you say the wrong thing and talk to me then say nothing at all.”

  Fine. Have it her way. “I don't like your friend, Michele.”

  She looks actually surprised. “Why not?”

  “I don't trust the guy. I don't like the things he says. I don't like the way he looks at you. Hell I hate the way the guy breathes.” The comment causes her to snicker. “But he's your friend. And I would never forbid you to be friends with anyone. You make your own choices. It's your life. I get that. I respect that. But I also feel...like he wants you. And when I'm not around...”

  “You think I'm cheating on you?”

  “Of course not. I would never say that. I would never even think that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I feel replaced.” Just hearing the words out loud make me feel weak as fuck. When the hell have I ever been so...vulnerable? Fuck. I hate this shit.

  Haven's face softens and she approaches me slowly. She suddenly straddles herself in my lap, puts her arms around my neck, and smiles lightly. “Clint...no one in the world could ever replace you.” My face threatens to smile. “You have no reason to feel threatened by my friendship with Michele. That's all he is. A friend. That's all he'll ever be.”

  And with that her supple lips fall onto mine. An immediate hum leaves my body. I moan behind her lips. Just the feeling of her body against mine forces peace throughout it. Floods it with tranquility for the ages. My arms fold around her waist cradling her to me, her own body melting against mine. Flesh heating my own. I want this girl. I never wanna share her. And while I believe she believes every word that she just said, I can't help but hear the tiny voice in the back of my head I'm still trying to drown out. You. Can't. Save. Her. Maybe it wasn't just Old Man Banks I was gonna need to rescue her from.