by Xyla Turner
“Bronx? That you?” Razor called as I walked into his outer office.
“Yeah, got the mail.”
“Why the fuck do you get the mail when one of the prospects can do that shit?” Razor asked. He asked me this at least once a week.
“Fuck if I know. I like to go downtown and feel a part of the small town life,” I replied sarcastically like I did when he asked me this every week.
Razor knew I was originally from Harrisburg, a much bigger city than Manor. I just got used to the silence but everybody knowing everything about everyone in the small town, was annoying. I lived quiet and private. Razor was the only one that knew shit about me and besides my cousin, Trey, who still lived in Pennsylvania’s capital, that’s the way it would remain.
Razor shook his head and then he stopped. His sharp, serious eyes were on me again. This caused me to cease my movements to the chair and ask, “What?”
“Motherfucker!” Razor shook his head. “It's you, isn't it?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
He threw a tennis ball at me and said, “Fuck me, it is you.”
I caught the tennis ball near my knees with one hand and threw it back.
“I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.”
Which I really didn’t.
“Son of a bitch!” He stood up. “Brother, look me in my eye and tell me you’re not fucking Shay?”
The fuck?
I blinked.
“Come again?” I asked slowly.
Razor’s eyes squinted at me, then he shook his head and whispered, “Fuck me.”
“Brother.” I took a step towards him. “Do you want to tell me what the Sam Hill you're talking about?”
We were toe-to-toe.
Razor looked at me square in the eye and said, “Shay’s, uh, seeing someone. Kylie said it was just sex, but it's been going on for a while now. I thought maybe since you made it a point to go downtown where she works, y'all were hooking up.”
He stopped talking, but those Razor eyes were assessing me. When it came to Shay, he did that. We didn't discuss feelings or shit like that, but he knew I was all about her even after our situation. She had stopped fucking with me and I let it be. Razor kept telling me to talk to her and make shit right, but I figured she was better off without me. I wasn't better without her, but I was prepared to carry that cross.
My nostrils slowly inhaled the sudden stifling air and a pang to my heart almost caused me to choke. Then I released it and said, “Nope, it ain't me.”
I dropped the mail on his desk and left my friend’s office.
“Brother,” Razor called after me. “Bronx!”
I had no words left to share so I kept going.
I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN my ass home but my bike ended up at Peppers. Should have gone someplace that didn’t remind me of Shay. She and Razor’s fiancée, Kylie, were the best of friends and for the most part inseparable. Half of me knew the chances of Kylie coming there tonight were in the eighties, and the chances of Shay joining her was in the nineties. So why I brought my sorry ass there was beyond me and not wise.
I didn't sit with the guys because I didn't feel like being bothered five beers ago and after that, I was just in a piss poor mood.
My percentages were correct. Because right after Kylie came through the door, so did her fucking friend.
Deep down, I knew she wasn't mine even when I spread it far and wide that no Guardian was to touch her. I laid claim, but I no longer had intentions to take her for myself. I wanted to.
God, I wanted to.
But I couldn't do that to her. Not another one.
Kylie went to the back of the bar, where the offices were located and left Shay alone. There was my chance to confront her alone, but I stayed in my seat.
She wasn't mine.
Two minutes later, a tall guy approached her, but they looked like they were having a disagreement. Anybody who was in their right mind and was from this town would not approach Shay like that, so he had to be from somewhere else. It was not because she could spit fire, but she grew up in this town. Shay, Kylie and the other woman, Lori, were the sweethearts of the area.
Nobody fucked with them. Even before Kylie and Razor hooked up, nobody messed with them, ever. And they damn sure weren't about to start in front of me.
My legs were moving as fast as my inebriated state would allow me. When the guy saw me approaching, he looked ready to leave, then he stopped and stood there.
“You lost?” I growled.
Shay turned around and exhaled loudly, “I'm fine.”
I ignored her and asked the man again.
“Are you lost?”
When I looked down, I saw he had his hand wrapped around Shay's upper forearm. It was a possessive grip like he knew her.
Intimately.
Holy fuck.
This was the guy, and I had had one too many drinks.
My glare turned from him and landed on her face.
“So, this is the guy you're fucking?”
Her neck snapped up, and those angry eyes hit mine.
“Are you drunk?” she hissed.
My body bent down as I moved into her space.
“Fuck you care? You're fucking this guy and bring it in my face. Take your drama out of here.”
I wasn't sure if I was making sense, but all I saw was red.
“Blair?” a man called.
My head whipped up to see how that fucker knew my real name.
“I don't believe this shit,” the man muttered. “It is you.”
I blinked, then looked at him closely.
Fuck me.
“Greg,” I called as recognition hit me.
“Yup.” He looked up to the ceiling and huffed.
“You two know each other?” Shay looked between the two of us.
“Yeah,” Greg answered. “We do.”
“How?” Shay asked.
I quickly intervened and said, “It doesn't fucking matter. Now take your drama out of here.”
Shay turned all the way around to face me and said, “There is no drama, now get the fuck outta my face. Both of you.”
However, her eyes were solely on me.
“You’re in here fussing and shit. Nobody wants to see that. Go and fuck like you normally do. You're good at that. Fucking ‘em and getting rid of ‘em. Just do that shit off Guardian territ...”
I could have blamed it on the alcohol, but I meant every goddamn word. My heart was torn and I wanted hers to bleed too. It didn't matter that she was doing what I had driven her to do. I wouldn't cash in on my prize, but I didn't want anyone else to have it either. It wasn't fair to her, but I did not give one fuck.
I should have also known, even in my inebriated state, Shay also had zero fucks to give.
She smacked me, hard as shit, right across the left side of my face. It jerked slightly and then she was in my space.
“Anything else you got to say to me, Bronx? Huh?” Her caramel colored skin was mixed with a shade of red hot anger. “You want to do this right now? Want to have this dance?”
“Shay, come on,” Greg called.
“I already told you what to do, Greg. Now get the fuck outta here.” Her angry eyes remained on mine. “Now you, Bronx.”
She said my name with pure venom. I was too dumb to realize how far I'd gone.
“Go with Greg,” I taunted. “I'm sure he’ll do what you need since he has been. You haven't kicked him outta bed and refused to talk to him. Wait, is that what you're doing now?”
She went to push me, but I quickly grabbed both of her arms and pulled her to me.
I whispered in her ear, “Always knew you had claws, sure you want to scratch me? Cause if you keep laying your hands on me like that, I'll be forced to tie you up and spank that ass.”
“Fuck you, Bronx,” she hissed as she struggled against me.
“You already did. Remember? Now you fuck Greg.”
I was so fucking dumb.
“Brother?”
That was Razor’s voice. I let her go as Greg stood there and Shay looked ready to spit fire.
“Get Kylie,” Razor ordered somebody.
She and I just glared at each other.
“Shay,” Kylie called and sidled up next to her, putting her arm around her waist. “Come with me.”
My fucking girl was ready to pounce on me and not in a good way. I fucking loved that about her. She had balls of steel and fearless as a lioness. But she had broken my heart that day, and she wasn't finished.
“Come on,” Kylie coaxed but Shay didn't move and neither did I.
“Brother,” Razor called me again.
There were many brothers in the room, but he was calling me to stand down. Not as a President but as a friend. He also knew this shit had to happen.
“Come on, Shay.” Kylie forced her to turn around and at first she did, then she did a goddamn basketball move and pivoted on one foot, out of Kylie’s reach and stepped to me again, but her hands weren't up, so I didn't restrain her. This time, she got close to my ear and hissed, “I hate you.”
Then she walked away with Kylie in tow.
It wasn't a whisper because both Razor and Apollo muttered, “Damn.”
I turned to them and said, “It’s better that way.”
I went towards the door.
This time, Razor jogged after me and said, “I got you.”
“Naw, I'm good.” I walked toward my bike.
“I ain't asking.” He stood in front of me and pointed towards his truck.
I was drunk and had just put the nail in the coffin with Shay. But I knew, even being a former boxer, Razor would fight me to the death before he'd let me ride away.
So, I turned on my heel and walked toward his truck.
We rode on the dirt-covered back roads in silence until he neared my condo.
“You fucked up.” Razor’s gravelly voice cut through the silence.
“Not now.”
“I'm telling you brother, ‘cause I did the same shit with Kylie. Fucked up, bad. Been telling you man, and I know you shared that shit about before, but can’t let that fuck you up and her for the rest of your life. You'll suffer and so will she. Neither of ya deserve that.”
He pulled up to my place and came to a stop.
I adjusted my cut and pulled on the handle so I could be free of more shit I already knew.
“Bronx.” Razor called.
“Not now.”
I hopped out and only staggered a little to my door. Standing in the foyer, I leaned against my closed door for support as the events of today passed through my mind like a movie. Instead of the credits rolling at the end, all I heard was ‘I hate you’.
Before I could stop myself, a roar erupted from me as I tossed everything; tables, mail, coat rack and chairs over.
When I finished, I heard footsteps on my porch.
“It's me, brother. I'm here.” Razor called as the swing started squeaking, reminding me to oil it.
Fucking Razor.
After destroying some more shit until I was too tired to throw anything else. I slid down the wall and stared off into space.
This was what I wanted, right?
To pay for my sins. To deny myself the chance of happiness or the threat that I'd do it again.
My last thought before I passed out was that I didn't want this. The pain that came with another man taking her as his, when she wasn't.
I didn't want that.
3 - Let it Go
SHAY:
For the next two days, I was in a permanent bad mood. Greg kept trying to talk to me, and Kylie kept trying to analyze ‘B’.
Yup, I was back to not using his damn name.
Ever.
I was still fuming to the point where Tabasco sauce from Lousisaina had nothing on me. My face said it all and my body language stayed in fight mode.
Pissed was an understatement.
“Let it go,” Kylie kept saying. “I know you, you're concentrating about how to pay his ass back. Let it go.”
“It's gone,” I replied a little too quickly.
It wasn't and it wouldn't.
That man would pay. I mean, the fucking nerve to insult me. To my face! In front of the guy I used to fuck!
Oh, his ass would pay.
“You're not letting it go. Should I get the bail bond money ready?”
Normally, I would laugh but she just might need to start saving.
“He's going to pay, Kylie,” I admitted. “His ass is going to pay.”
“Girl, I know you don't want to hear this, but I think he is paying already. Razor was at ...”
As she was talking, I happened to look out the cloudy window and saw my nemesis. That son of a bitch was walking down my street in broad daylight.
“I got to go. Speak of the goddamn devil and he shall come.” I started hanging up the office phone when I heard, “Shay, don't do anything crazy.”
Too goddamn late.
I looked out the window of the second floor, and the man whose name began with a B was strolling down the street like he owned the town. This was my street, my town and he didn't own shit.
My feet raced down the stairs as I yelled to Charlie that I was going on a smoke break.
It was three o’clock on a Thursday afternoon and the few stragglers around were not paying any attention to me as I raced down the street after him.
When I got closer, I yelled, “Bronx, you son of a bitch.”
He stopped and slowly turned around to face me, which was great because I was approximately five feet away when I lunged at him.
Well, I thought I did, but when I opened my eyes the front of my body was pressed against a brick wall as a scorching heat sizzled my back.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch,” I screamed.
The heat rose up my back and reached my face when I felt the rough three-day-old beard against my cheek with his lips to my ear.
“Told you, you keep laying your hands on me, I would tie you up and spank your ass. You want that?”
“Get your fucking hands off of me!” I screamed.
He exhaled, then Bronx said with his lips still at my ear. “Shay, I was wrong, and I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have taken that out on you.”
Whoa!
Now, that was not something I expected from him.
At all.
I actually didn't know what to say, but when my mouth said, “Why?” I let it hang out there.
Bronx exhaled again but this time, I could feel his chest rise and fall against my back.
“Shay, you broke my heart, and I was hurt. Plain and simple.”
I could feel his hot breath on my face as his words hit their target.
My broken heart.
As I processed and attempted to gather my thoughts so I could respond, Bronx did just like he used to do in his boxing days. Delivered the blow and was off.
I broke his heart.
What in the fuck?
“WAIT, HE SAID WHAT?” Kylie asked.
“You heard me right.” My chest felt like it was on fire as I raced to figure out what to wear.
That's not why my chest hurt, but if we were late for dinner, my parents would kill both of us.
“Well, that's what I was trying to tell you earlier. I think he is suffering too. Razor said he was outside his condo most of the night because he was tearing everything apart after you guys got into it at Peppers. You guys should talk.”
“Kylie. Love you like my own sister, but I swear to God, don’t say I need to talk to him again.” I exhaled. “We talked and he made it clear how he felt.”
“No, Shay. Don't you dare turn this around. What he said was you broke his heart.”
“Nooo,” I corrected. “What he said before that is I was good at fucking people, kicking them out of my bed and never talking to them again.” I was done with this conversation. “Look, are you on your way? My clothes are dirty and I can't fin
d shit to wear.”
Silence met me over the phone.
“Kylie?” I called.
“I'm here.”
“Did you hear my question?”
“Yeah, I heard you change the subject and yes, I'm fifteen minutes out from your parents, so hurry the hell up.”
The line went dead.
Such a bitch.
DINNER WAS JUST AS expected, except for my parent’s reaction to Kylie’s clothes. This woman walked in my childhood house with a yellow, flare sundress, a white sweater, and white sandals with straps that went to her ankles. The dress came to her knees, and her blond hair was twisted up in the front and hung low in the back.
“Well, good night,” my mom howled.
“Ah, my man Razor is domesticating you.” My dad hit the table. “I'm going to have to buy him a drink.”
Kylie and I laughed so hard that tears were rolling down our faces.
My dad stood and pulled her in for a hug. “Girl, you look good.”
My mom started wiping her eyes, then looked to the both of us. “Oh God. My babies are growing up.”
My eyes rolled.
“Mom, we are in our thirties.”
“Oh, hush,” she sniffled and pulled Kylie in for an embrace. “I can have my moment.”
Kylie mumbled against her shoulder, “It's just a dress.”
I hugged my mom and we sat down for dinner.
My parents were not strict, but they were fair. My dad was an OB/GYN, and everybody went to him except Kylie and me. He was a big burly man, grew up in Lancaster County and loved the state of Pennsylvania. My mom was a paralegal, who worked out of Harrisburg, but had to help out with an investigation for a case at the hospital. She kept getting derailed by a medical student at the time, which turned out to be my dad. They had a head to head moment or as they called it ‘a heated discussion’ and the rest was history. Enemies became friends, fell in love and had their beautiful daughter, Sharon Russell, according to my parents.
When dinner was over, the house phone rang, causing my mom to flee to the kitchen. She still used the house phone as the primary source of communication. My mom’s flip phone only came out when she ‘travelled’. Once she returned, she looked at me and asked, “Have you heard from Dessy?”