He ignores them as he puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me eye-to-eye.
“What’s going on with you? Something’s up, I can see it all over your ugly face.”
“It’s nothing, man. Nothing to worry about. I’m good.”
Drake continues to stare, unflinching and silent.
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I can’t be around all that right now. It’s just too much.”
“Too much?”
“Yeah. Too much love, too much family, too many relationships. Fiancées, girlfriends, kids, sisters. It’s more than I can stand. I need some breathing room.”
He looks like he might protest, which is exactly what I’d expect from the Drake I used to know. That Drake would call me a pussy and give me shit for having a whiny moment. Then he’d drag me back in there with everyone else and make sure I had a good time.
This new Drake, though, says, “I totally get it, man.”
Then he puts a hand behind my neck and pulls me toward him as he simultaneously leans forward, meeting me half way and actually planting a kiss on my motherfucking cheek.
“You’ll have your moment, too, my brother,” he says into my ear. “It’s coming. Just a matter of time.” He squeezes the back of my neck with his hand and adds, “Love you, bro.” Then he heads off into the lounge.
When he’s gone, some of the people who have been gawking at him actually seem to recognize me. I quickly make my way to the door and into the night air.
Between the arena door and the parking garage, I keep my head down. I don’t want to be recognized, stopped, talked to, asked for a selfie, nothing. I just want to be alone.
I get my wish, but then something utterly bizarre happens.
As I’m on the freeway just north of downtown, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness. It’s a desperate, hopeless sensation that closes around me like a cold, clammy fist.
I haven’t cried since my mother’s funeral, but when I get that despondent feeling tonight behind the wheel of my Escalade as it barrels down the Ventura Highway toward Studio City, I come very, very close.
22
Raven
I’m sitting in my apartment late Sunday afternoon, cats on my lap, watching some stupid reality show to distract me from my disastrous date with Zach Halley. I’ve been here since I woke up, going over what happened, and I can’t really fault Zach. He was just doing what women everywhere insist they want men to do, erring on the side of caution when it comes to sex and alcohol, especially when you don’t really know the buzzed person you’re about to have sex with. And God knows I gave him ample reason to question my state of mind, asking him to fuck me in his car in a parking lot.
Like I told him, though, I’d made the decision about having sex with him long before I had my first drink. I couldn’t have consented any harder, to be honest. I came on to him in a big way, and likely scared the poor guy. Props to Zach for being one of the good ones and looking out for me, even if it wasn’t necessary in this case. Maybe I should reconsider whether to see him again, although right now I’m simply not feeling it anymore. I decide to remain open-minded about him. You never know, and he is a fun, sweet guy.
My phone dings on the coffee table. I finally got around to replacing the cat screech with something less annoying. I hope that doesn’t mean I’m growing up.
When I look at the screen, I’m shocked to see a text from Link. My heart stops as I grab the phone off the table and read it.
i could use a friend. wanna get a drink?
Fuck, what do I do? This is one of those confusing situations. I’m thrilled at the idea of seeing Link again, even if it’s just to begin a friendship. Then again, the guy dumped me. This is the perfect opportunity for revenge. I quickly respond.
Friends are people you get a drink with after some asshole dumps you.
I stare at the phone until it dings again.
fair enough. remembered how easy it was talking to you. sorry to bother.
Double fuck. I’ve been hoping this man would get in touch with me for the last three months. Now that he finally does, I chase him off.
I tell myself I need to figure out what I really want. Fast.
Going through both scenarios in my mind might help. I imagine never talking to Link again, and feel an overwhelming sadness. Then I imagine having a drink with him, both of us being careful to keep it at friendship-level, and that makes me happy. Okay, maybe a little sad that the sexual relationship we once had is gone forever, but both times Link and I went out for drinks, I had fun. Then again, both of those times I was anxious and excited about the sex we’d be having immediately afterward.
This is not easy. Dammit, Raven, what do you want? Think!
I think once more about not seeing Link again, and that sadness pervades my entire being. Agreeing to see him as friends has to be better than not seeing him at all.
I stare at his texts on my phone. If I’m going to do this, I should do it now. If I wait, he might decide I’m right, that it’s for the best that we stay apart.
Actually, I could use a friend, too. Firewater?
I wait impatiently. Ding!
sounds good. pick u up @ 6?
I don’t want him coming here.
No, I’ll meet you there.
I wait a second, then send one last text.
You’re still an asshole, though.
It’s four-thirty. I’ve got enough time to eat something before I get ready. I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach, especially after what happened with Zach.
My phone dings again.
i know
Rummaging through my fridge, I find some leftover pasta. Better than nothing. As I’m heating it up, I think about that last reply. Does he mean that he knows he treated me badly by cutting off all contact? Or that he’s just an asshole in general? Maybe it was expressed with a knowing wink, like, “We both know I’m not really an asshole, Raven, because you were totally falling for me just a few months back.”
I eat a bit, then head for the shower. Again I catch myself feeling relief that I waxed before the date with Zach, then realizing it shouldn’t matter at all tonight. I towel off and decide to purposely dress down: blue jeans with ripped knees, light gray Social Distortion T-shirt, and red Converse sneaks. No bra.
I consider driving my Bug to Firewater, trying to convince myself I can keep to a limit of two drinks. Then again, I don’t know how long Link is going to want to talk and drink. Eventually I decide to Uber it.
I’m very self-conscious as I open the door and walk into the little dive. It’s almost empty. There are two guys shooting pool, and a couple at a table in the corner. Sitting alone at the bar is Link, and I swear to God he smiles when he sees me. Is he glad to see me, or merely relieved to have someone to talk to about whatever it is that’s bugging him?
He stands as I approach, starts to hug me, then instead kisses me on the cheek. His day-old razor stubble feels rough against my skin, but I’ve always liked that feeling. On the bar next to him is his motorcycle helmet.
“Hey. You look great.”
Jesus, that voice seems to vibrate through my entire body.
“You look tired,” I reply. He does. But he smells really good. Of course, I don’t tell him that.
“Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
For the first time, it occurs to me that he might have brought me here to talk about another woman. What if he just got dumped and wants to use me as a confidant — or even worse, as a rebound? I bristle at the thought.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask, trying to seem like I’m over him, when inside I know the opposite is true.
“First things first. Jimmy, the lady needs a drink.”
Jimmy smiles at me. “Heya, Raven. Vodka tonic?”
“Sure, but go easy on the vodka, please.”
As soon as I have my drink, I take a sip then look at Link. His eyes are a bit bloodshot.
“What’s up with you, L
ink?”
“Everything is changing.”
That’s pretty damned cryptic, dude. You might have to elaborate a bit.
“How do you mean? What exactly is changing?”
“My friends. All changing, all at once. And them changing is changing my life, too.”
“And you don’t want that?” I ask, relieved that maybe this isn’t about another woman after all.
“I liked it the way it was a few years ago.”
I can hear the pain in his voice.
“Is this about your Bad Boys Club thing? Those friends?”
He nods. I remember two of them were Drake Manning and Marcus Jennings. Marcus is suddenly the toast of the town, with the Lakers playing for the NBA championship and all. I can’t remember who the third guy was. Some agent, I think. I’m guessing this has to do with Manning and Jennings both becoming so high-profile famous over the last few years. It must be hard for guys like that to maintain friendships with people who don’t share that same level of success.
“First it was Drake, meeting a writer and falling in love. Allie moved in with him within months. Then Mason met someone and they merged their agencies and their lives. And then Marcus, the youngest of us, fell for a single mother. Rashida’s great, but still.”
Looks like I was wrong, but now I’m starting to get it. His little pussy club is settling down, and Link is the odd man out. Forgive me for not feeling all that bad for him.
“And now there’s nobody left to share your vagina stories with?”
I’ll admit there’s more than a little snark in my question. Link looks at me like I don’t understand.
“It’s not that. They just all seem so…”
“Settled? Mature?”
“Happy.”
I’m surprised.
“They’re all so goddamn happy.”
“And you’re not, I take it?”
Link’s reluctance to reply confirms it.
“I remember a time not too long ago when you seemed pretty fucking happy, Link.”
Okay, so I’m still hurting at having been dumped. This kind of sarcasm is the price he’s going to have to pay for getting me to listen to his sob story.
I expect a glare, but I get a wistful smile in return.
“You’re a great chick, Raven. But you know I’m allergic to long-term.”
The ever-attentive Jimmy asks if we’re ready for another round. Link nods, but I shake my head, still working on my first.
“Yeah, why is that, Link? Why does the idea of a relationship scare a big strong guy like you?”
Tone down the snark, Raven. It might make you feel better, but it’s mean and unattractive.
He ignores the barb and tries to answer my question. “Probably my childhood.”
I recall what he told me at this very bar months ago, that his father left when he was very young, and his mother died when he was still in elementary school.
“Lots of kids lose their parents at a young age. It’s sad, but it happens.”
“Losing them was the easy part.”
That’s the second time he’s alluded to things being difficult before his mother died.
He sighs. “But I don’t want—”
“…to talk about it. I know. What do you want to talk about, then?”
He thinks for a moment. “We need an agreement for tonight.”
“An agreement,” I repeat.
“Yeah, here’s the thing. I’m still very attracted to you, Raven. And we’re sitting here drinking just two or three feet apart. We both need to promise we’re going to resist that attraction so we don’t end up doing something stupid.”
I start to ask him exactly what “something stupid” might be, but I realize he’s right. I know I’m sexually excited just by being next to him. Hearing that voice and smelling his scent has me on edge.
“Okay, I agree,” I say. I lift my tumbler toward him. “I, Raven, do solemnly swear not to fuck Link tonight. Or blow him. Not even a handjob.”
He actually laughs, then clinks his glass against mine.
“And I promise not to try to get Raven naked again. Now that we’ve settled that little issue, we can keep drinking and talking.”
I wait until Link is on his third beer to broach the subject of his childhood again.
Placing my hand on his forearm, I look into his eyes.
“What?”
“Link, you know you can trust me, right?”
“Sure.”
“No, I mean it. You know you can trust me with anything.”
Our eyes are locked as he considers the question.
“Yeah, I think I can.”
“Tell me what happened to you as a kid.”
“I’ve already—”
“Look, you’re the one who asked me to meet you here because you needed a friend. And I agreed, despite how things ended between us, because I honestly care for you as a person. If I’m going to be your friend, then goddamn it, you’re going to have to open up just a little fucking bit.”
Uh-oh. That sounded bolder than I intended. Let’s see how he reacts.
Link turns away, facing the bar. I say nothing, it’s his move now.
Seconds tick by and the pause becomes awkward. Just as I’m about to speak up, he swivels his barstool and faces me again.
“My mom had a drug problem.”
That’s how the story begins. Little by little it unfolds, and I learn that his father likely left because of his mother’s cocaine habit. So, Link is already abandoned once at the age of three. Over the next few years, that coke habit grows until it starts affecting her ability to hold a job, and to put food on the table. Boyfriends start to come and go, some better than others. The coke addiction becomes a crack addiction, and eventually, a heroin addiction.
Just when I think his tale can’t get any worse, I learn that his mom started turning tricks, not for money, but for crack and heroin. She regularly brought men into the house and told Link to watch TV, then disappeared into the bedroom for a while. She always had bruises, cuts, scrapes. Child services stopped by occasionally, but she became an expert at making things appear normal just long enough for the visit.
“The worst part…” he begins, then pauses to steel himself for the rest. My god, this gets even bleaker? “The worst part was when she was so out of it she would have sex with guys right there on the couch, while her son was ten feet away watching TV. She was so far gone she just didn’t give a shit about anything other than getting another score. Fucking, blowjobs—you name it and I witnessed my mom doing it. Often more than one guy in a single night. Once it was two guys at the same time. I had to watch my mom do all that stuff when I was just seven or eight years old. I was too terrified to say anything.”
Stunned by his confession, I can’t imagine what to say to him about all this. There’s not a tear anywhere to be seen on Link, I guess because he’s emotionally vacant at this point. What a horror story.
“Fuck me, I need another beer,” he says. “Jimmy, two more.”
I’m light-headed from what I’ve just heard and welcome another vodka. Now I understand what he meant when he said things got better when he entered foster care. But he already told me that even then, he got passed from one family to another. He was abandoned over and over again, throughout his entire childhood. No wonder he’s skittish about the idea of relationships, and why he’s so freaked out about his friends settling down and starting families.
I gently rest my hands on his thighs, just above both knees. “Link, I’m so sorry,” is all I can manage.
Our drinks arrive and I take a sip. I want to know the rest, while he’s still open to talking about it.
“So, your mom died when you were nine. I’m guessing an overdose?”
He sighs heavily. “No, she was murdered.”
Holy fuck!
I wait and let him continue when he’s ready.
“She and her boyfriend at the time, a tweaker named Benjy, were high as all fuck. I wa
s in the living room and they had gone into the bedroom. At some point, all hell broke loose and they stumbled out into the living room. He was calling her all sorts of vile stuff and saying he was going to move out, and she was begging him not to go. He started for the door and she threw a ceramic ashtray and hit him in the back of the head. Benjy blew up and started hitting her, punching her.”
Link stops and drinks half his beer.
“You don’t have to continue,” I say softly.
“He picked up my big Tonka truck and held it in both hands as he beat her over the head with it. She was bleeding and they were both yelling, and I was petrified by all the commotion. She fell on the floor and I thought he’d stop, but he just kept going. I ran out of the apartment screaming my head off, banging on doors to try to get someone to help. Eventually a neighbor opened his door, then grabbed his gun and told me to show him which apartment. We ran back to find the door open and Benjy long gone. The ambulance came quickly, but the EMTs took one look and didn’t even attempt to revive her.”
Link gulps audibly and his eyes close.
“I only saw my mother lying there on the couch for a second, then the neighbor led me into the outer hallway and told me to wait there. She was unrecognizable.”
I take his hand in mind. It’s cold and sweaty as I squeeze it. When he opens his eyes I see tears, but he quickly blinks them back.
“I always thought I could have saved her. If I had just run for help earlier, or been brave enough to get between them.”
“Link, you were just a little boy,” I say emphatically. “There was nothing you could have done.”
He shrugs.
“Well, now you know,” he says, hesitating before he adds, “I’ve never told anyone about the murder before. After the police questioned me, I decided I didn’t ever want to relive those moments.”
I squeeze his hand tighter. “You can trust me with your secret.”
“I know I can. I wouldn’t have told you otherwise.”
I’m suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. The fact that this man opened up to me, sharing something he’d kept secret all these years, melts all the ill feelings I’ve been harboring about him dumping me.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club, Book 4: Link Page 16