Obviously it’s lingering.
I don’t like Cecelia at work where I can’t protect her. Yes, I could visit her and keep tabs, but her shift starts while I’m still at my own job. And I can’t spend all my time watching for a possibility. Because then this jackoff succeeds in rattling us. Which we don’t want him to do.
So I’m pacing the carpet away, the television playing some sporting event in the background that I haven’t bothered to pay attention to since it started. I think it’s a college football game though again, I’m not paying attention to it to know for certain. It’s been a long time since I cared about sports of any kind other than my fighting.
Once upon a time, hockey was my whole life. Especially once Connie was gone. I lived it, breathed it because I had nothing else worthwhile. There was nothing in this world more important to me than playing. I was good at it. Hell, I was great at it. When you have a professional team, like the Dallas Stars scouting you, it’s pretty easy to say you’re good. And can do so without looking like you’re simply bragging.
But of course that all changed once I was tossed into rehab.
Why would any team, at any level want me now? They have stringent rules. Using drugs or being an alcoholic is not a positive for any team.
But with school, I wasn’t kicked off my high school team. They didn’t have the chance. Since I was put in rehab, my parents made an executive decision to pull me from school, severe ties with that whole part of my life, and basically made me out to look like I was some kind of felon that they needed to lock away forever.
Yeah, I found that part after speaking to Ben one night.
It was such a ridiculous conversation we’d been having about Sam, one of my nephews, when all of a sudden, he’d mentioned offhandedly seeing my old friend Nolan.
“Hey, so do you remember your friend from school, Nolan?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Have you guys kept in touch at all since high school?”
I laughed. “Hardly. I haven’t spoken to anyone from school since I was yanked out. Mr. and Mrs. Delane made sure of that.”
“Oh well, Tandy and I saw him the other day.” There was a lull as I heard Tandy in the background speaking to one of their kids, before Ben started speaking again. “We were checking out some new schools in case Levi wants to transfer for high school to up his shot for a good art school, and decided to hit up McDonald’s for a quick lunch. He was there with his family.”
“His family?” I asked on a slight cough. Growing up, I never really imagined Nolan Norton the Third with a family. He always seemed too childish, too ridiculous, really, to settle down. I’d believe he got a girl pregnant on accident, but not have a family willingly. “He has a family? You sure it wasn’t a pass off?”
“No, no, I wasn’t going to at first, but we said hi. He didn’t remember me at first, you guys being so much younger, but we had a quick conversation.” Another moment passed as Ben spoke once more to Tandy, something about taking steaks out to thaw before he came back to the line. Made me jealous to think about all those home cooked meals Connie used to make for me. Because while Celia knew how to cook, we have a meager budget. Steaks were not a part of it. “He’s been married for about five years now and they have two kids, a boy and a girl.”
“Wow. So who’d he marry?” I shouldn’t have, but I felt left out. And left behind. My best friend for so long had gotten married, had started a family. He’d grown up and I’d…well, I’d literally been fighting for my life.
It was irrational, we’d led such different lives, even during our friendship as kids, but I’d always hoped Nolan would have stuck mine out with me.
“Some girl he said you guys went to high school with, someone named Britney.”
Whatever Ben planned to say next was halted by my choking. I was almost too shocked to form words. All I could think about was the last real conversation Nolan and I’d had. It’d been a debate about girl who’d tried to hit on me, while calling Nolan the wrong name, and how there was a very valid reason for me to turn her down, the biggest being her douche of a boyfriend and her enjoyment of his jealousy issues when it came to the guys she liked to hit on.
“Wow. I…I’m sorry. I just…find that so fucking funny,” I finally spit out with a laugh. “The only Britney I remember was a bit of a…well, she was a bit of a ho who liked driving her boyfriend crazy to the point where he beat up other guys. I can’t imagine Nolan hooking up with her.”
“Well I don’t know if it’s the same girl, but he’s married now. And with kids. Guess he works as a dentist while she’s a stay-at-home mom.”
I allowed this information to sink in. I allowed it to sink in as I looked around my one-bedroom apartment in the Southside of Chicago. We’d gone on to lead such different lives.
Where I’d been a kid just seeking attention, falling down the rabbit hole because of the emptiness in my life, the path I was set on the moment my parents tossed me into rehab and walked away, it’d changed my whole life. I might have had a shot at normalcy. But they’d left me behind. They’d forgotten me; hated me. And in the end, my life became what it was.
It’s raw. It’s gritty. It was dangerous most days.
I might have drank too much and popped pills I shouldn’t have, but I never would’ve gone further than that if I’d had even just one of them in my corner. I never would have known the taste of cocaine. I’d never have scarred knuckles from the countless fights.
I’d never have known Cecelia Santos either. At least not like I do. So while my life did not travel the path I once thought it might go down, I couldn’t say I regretted her one bit.
“Did he, um, did he ask about me?” I felt like a bitch asking that question, but when you’re friends with someone for more than a decade, I figured it was okay to wonder.
There was a hesitation before Ben finally answered. “Uh, well, while we were talking, Tandy mentioned how we’d just talked to you a few weeks earlier and she was sure you’d love to hear from him. Maybe catch up.” He was silent again. I didn’t take that as a very positive sign. I wasn’t sure why the mention of me would be negative but, well, I had the feeling.
“And?”
“And he wrote down his number real quick, handed it over and said he needed to get back to his kids.”
I remember taking the number down from Ben. I remember ending the call with my brother, still wondering why my old friend had had such an adverse reaction to the mention of me. I remember thinking, it shouldn’t be that bad. True the last time he’d seen me I’d been in a bad way, passed out from too much booze and pills before I was locked away to get clean. But Nolan always knew I drank. He did too. So I didn’t know what was going on. I did know I was going to call and find out though.
The moment the phone rang, and my old friend’s voice came through the speaker, that question in his tone because he didn’t recognize the number, I wondered if this was a good idea.
“Hello?”
“Uh, hey. Nolan? It’s Chace. Chace Delane.”
“Oh. Hello.”
His voice was cold. While I knew it’d been a long time, I mean I was sixteen the last time I’d seen or spoken to Nolan, I didn’t expect him to be hostile. And other than scaring the shit out of him, I couldn’t imagine anything I’d have done that would cause his inimical reaction to me. “Hey, so my brother told me he saw you the other day. Said you have a family and are a dentist. Congrats, man!”
“Thank you.”
“So, who did you marry, and when?”
“I’ve been married five years to Britney. I’m sure you remember her,” Nolan’s voice was clipped, like he was lecturing me for something. Cleary twenty-six year old Nolan was not the same as sixteen year old Nolan when it came to women. Which was good, but still, my reasons against Britney back then weren’t unfounded. He of all people should have known that. “I have two children.”
“Wow. That’s… great, man. Congrats. Again.”
“What
do you want?”
“What?”
“What do you want, Chace? Why did you call?”
“What? My brother told me he saw you, thought I’d want to catch up with my best friend. I know it’s been quite a few years but-”
“Former.”
“What?”
“Former. Former best friend. Chace,” Nolan sighed, sounding like I was putting him out. “Looking back on our time, I can see how screwed up you were. I can see how foolish I was to spend time with you thinking you were my friend. But I’ve had some time to evaluate things. To be honest, I’m surprised to hear you’re even still alive, especially from the way your parents have spoken of your recklessness.”
“My reckless…what are you talking about?”
“Your parents, Chace. They told my parents what really happened that night. Remember the night I found you? How you tried to kill yourself for attention and pulled me into it. They told us how you skipped out of rehab with some tramp and tried hitting them and then your brother up for money to buy drugs. Really, Chace,” Nolan scolded again. He sounded like my father. He sounded stuck up and like the very people we used to despise. What the hell happened? “What is wrong with you? You had everything you ever wanted, tossed it away, and you acted like you were so much better than everyone else.”
“Nolan, no. I don’t know why my parents told you what they did, but none of it is the truth. They left me there. I got out at eighteen. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I wasn’t allowed to. I mean you remember how they were, right? Always gone, uncaring. They abandoned me there.”
“Save it. And while you’re at it, lose my number. I knew it was a mistake giving it to your brother.”
The line went dead after that and with it the completion of my friendship with Nolan Norton the Third.
It’s stupid to think that misperception, or worse, lies told by people who don’t give a damn about me could make my best friend for a decade change their opinion of me, but it happened. It happened and he apparently hadn’t even considered that the bullshit he had been told was in fact, bullshit. As though all of our time spent as friends was imaginary.
I guess in the long run, his feeling of betrayal is nothing compared to mine. He believed unequivocally. Didn’t even bother to verify. Just accepted. Wholly.
Of course I do not fail, in this horrible realization of my former best friend, to realize how that had been me, and not even that long ago.
I too had accepted as fact unverified claims. Unsubstantiated statements and lies were made real and a feeling of ultimate duplicity had washed over me. I thankfully pulled my head out of my ass. I’ve righted my wrong.
I will continue to right my wrong for the rest of my life.
It’s too bad Nolan never thought to do the same.
I hear the little bell on the door jingle.
After moving in, Celia placed a tiny bell on the front door. When I’d asked her why, she said it was two-fold. The first, in case anyone tried breaking in, we’d hear it and know. It would hopefully deter the person any further too. While we had upgraded our home, it still existed in the Southside, still existed in an area not known for fancy residents. And second, she’d heard the bell kept bad spirits out and that given our history, we needed all the help we could get.
I think she thought I’d laugh at her for her belief. But I was right there with her. Any sort of luck we could find, I was willing to run with it for as long as possible.
Heading back toward the front room, I see the door open and a tired looking Cecelia stumble in. She looks tired. Worn down but I can’t tell if it’s just from her job, or if it’s because of something more sinister.
“Hey.” My voice is rough, showing my nerves.
“Hi.”
Celia moves further into our apartment, walking past me to the bedroom, shrugging her top over her head as she goes. I watch her remove her bra, sigh in relief from having the restricting garment no longer on, before moving to strip off her pants and shoes. She’s not wearing panties, per usual, so she’s standing before me naked. As much as I always want her, something is going on, tempering my typical thirst for her. I remain quiet as she rummages through the drawers pulling out a pair of sleep shorts and tank top.
I remain silent as she goes through her nightly routine. I remain close-lipped as she works hard to keep up pretenses that everything is fine with her. Of course, what she fails to realize is since everything went down, I’ve made it my mission to make sure I know her mannerisms, her tells inside and out.
“How was your night?”
“Fine.”
I’m curious as to why she’s avoiding me. “Just fine? Nothing happened? No visitors?” She shakes her head and I frown. “Then what’s going on?”
A shrug. “Just a feeling.” I cock an eyebrow, imploring her to continue. “I didn’t see him. Like at all. I kept watch, had the bouncers watching too, not that they’d be able to tell with the crowd. But nothing.”
“Then what was the feeling?”
“Fife,” she responds and I am not prepared for this answer. “I don’t know if it was him or not, but I thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye once or twice. And I kept feeling like someone was watching me, like if was Fife watching. It freaked me out but I couldn’t prove he was there.”
“Fife?” I repeat like a dumbass.
“The bar was really crowded. Jeena and I were overrun most of the night. So I thought I was imagining things. But I swear he was there.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide and tinged with uncertainty that stems more from anxiety than me not believing her. “It was like his stare was on me all night. Felt dirty.”
I pull her to me, wrapping my body around hers as though I can protect her this way. Celia is quite a bit shorter than me, fitting perfectly under my chin. When I hold her like this, I feel like I can protect her, feel like I can keep her safe. It may not be true, but feeling like I can is helping to calm those nerves she stirs inside me.
And with uncertainty about Fife, about why he would be stalking her at work, I need this moment as much as she does. Because I have a bad feeling about all of this and there’s no way for me to shake it either.
TWENTY-ONE
Celia doesn’t have the feeling of being watched the rest of the week. By our stalker, or Fife. She goes to work, comes home, and tells me everything is fine. Everything feels normal. Honestly. She doesn’t understand it. Neither do I. What’s the game? The motive? And why, for that matter.
By the time Friday shows, there’s a false sense of calm trying to cover us. Of course given the trajectory of our lives, we know not to believe the calm. Not only is that dangerous, it’s downright foolish. It’s a trap of the worst kind.
So when we reach the fights Friday night, neither of us is surprised to see Bryant or Bryson standing amongst the group of guys looking to fight and slipping their names into the draw.
“I can scratch tonight, if you want me to.”
Eyes on Bryant or Bryson, though working to not be obvious about it, she shakes her head. “No. No, scratching would mean he’s getting to us. I don’t want him to think you’re not fighting just because he’s here.”
“What if he tries to talk to you, corner you?” I don’t want to be distracted in the middle of a fight worrying he’ll talk to her or too distracted by the fight to miss seeing him get to her. Either way, I’ll be more than useless during any match. And I hate to fight that way.
“He won’t,” she promises and I can’t help my skepticism.
“You know this how?”
“He won’t because there are too many people here. Maybe before, when there were less people around to watch he would have, especially with the way things were.” She says this with a quiet sigh and my heart clenches. “But look at how many people are here now.” I do as she says, pushing aside the anguish I feel, and see that though it’s been months since my fights with Brutal and Fife, the crowds have not waned. Even with the cooling nights. “Trust me, Chace.”
>
“You entering tonight?” Before I can respond to Cecelia, Stretch is standing beside me, hat out, waiting.
I sigh heavily. I really don’t want to. I’d rather hang back tonight, see if the asshole is selected and then if he is, watch him. Instead of doing that though, I grab a scrap of paper, scribble my name and throw it the hat. “Yeah. I’m entering.”
In the end, I’m not selected. Neither is our nemesis. But he still hangs out. Still hangs out and keeps a lecherous gaze on us.
It’s infuriating as fuck.
This deranged act continues for two more weeks.
Bryant or Bryson shows to the fights. Puts his name in to be called and in the end, isn’t selected. Given the amount of people clamoring for a shot, I’m not surprised. I mean I’m not selected either. And that’s fine. I’m good with it. Means I can keep an eye on Celia, keep an eye on the crowd and specifically keep an eye on Bryant or Bryson or whatever the fuck his name is. And with what I’ve won, I’m not in need of a match. Apparently, the asshole is though.
“I think you’re rigging this,” he shouts at Stretch after names have been called and fights decided. I’d been in the process of telling Celia we should head home instead of sticking around this time when he explodes. “You got something against me or something? Huh? You stupid cripple. How’d you get the bum leg, huh? Get involved with someone you shouldn’t have? Try moving in on someone else’s property? Someone teach you a lesson, huh?”
“You need to back off,” Toby tells him though the jackass ignores him with a shove, as he continues to press in on Stretch.
“Come on, I want to fight. When am I gonna get a shot.”
“You get a shot like everyone else. You put your name in, slips are drawn at random. You haven’t been random enough to be picked,” I hear Stretch tell Bryant or Bryson, irritation thick in his tone. “You keep this up, you won’t ever get picked. Mark my words.”
And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2) Page 18