Lovestrong

by Nikki Groom

  “He told me about you, the accident, his brother and Arianna. He’s broken, Lottie. He’s trying his hardest to work with what he’s been dealt, but he doesn’t know how to right now. He’ll come around. Just give him time.”

  “He pushed me away,” I whisper.

  “I know,” he answers in a soft voice.

  “I sat there for six weeks. Day in, day out. And every day he drifted further from me until he couldn’t even bear to have me there at all. I gave him time and he didn’t want it. He doesn’t want me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he offers, tilting his head in sympathy.

  “Me too.” I close down the blank message and slide my cell back into my pocket with a sigh. Today has been a long emotional day for no reason other than I’ve been wallowing in not just my own self pity, but Spike’s too. “I have to find myself all over again and I thought I could do it here. I wanted a fresh start. But I can’t do it with him lingering in the shadows. He doesn’t get to be part of my destiny anymore. I need to move on.”

  He nods. “How will you do that?”

  I contemplate his question for a couple of seconds. The truth is, I don’t know if there’s a right way or a wrong way to try and put your life back together after such an unexpected turn of events. But I guess I have to discover things about myself that I never knew and learn all over again what makes me happy, without Spike.

  Chapter 9

  “Hey bro,” Tara calls as she enters my apartment. Her voice makes my head thump as if I was curled up in the bottom of a bass drum and I reluctantly turn my wheelchair slowly in her direction. “Whoa,” she giggles. “You look like shit. Ari said you had gotten good and drunk yesterday. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to see it.”

  “What the fuck do you want, Tara?” I grumble, and even my own voice bounces off the walls of my head.

  “Charming. I came to see how my big bro is doing.” She stands in front of me with her hand on her hip, and a fake smile wiped across her face.

  “Well, now you’ve seen how I am, you can fuck off.” I know it’s blunt. But I really don’t care right now.

  She replaces the smile with a scowl and stands straighter with a huff. “Has anyone told you that you were a nicer person when Lottie was around?”

  “I thought I told you to fuck off.” I’m not in the mood for this today. I just want to be left alone.

  “Well, you’re shit out of luck because I came to spend the day with you.” She plops her ass down on the couch, flicks her sandals off and props her feet up on the coffee table.

  “Tara,” I huff. “I said−”

  “I know what you said. I have got ears, you know.” Her narrowing eyes make her look like an errant teenager, all she needs now is some gum and it would be stereotype complete. “Don’t bother telling me to get out, fuck off, or any other inventive way of trying to get me to go away. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Great. Not only do I have the world’s worst hangover, but I get to experience it with Tara. The world definitely hates me. I spin my wheelchair around and make for the direction of my room. “I miss you, okay?” she calls out softly from behind me. “I miss my brother. I want to spend some time with you. Is that so wrong?” She looks at me with a challenge in her eyes. Tara has the stubborn ‘King’ gene. Denham is stubborn too and can be pigheaded to go with it. Growing up I thought I was the one that took after my mom, chilled out, so relaxed I was horizontal. But I guess, these last few weeks, I’ve discovered that my dad’s ‘King’ stubbornness is in all three of us.

  “I’m sorry,” I sigh.

  “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

  “Yeah, I guess I have.” I give a half hearted shrug.

  “Is that because you’ve been a giant asshole?” she questions, raising her brows unnecessarily high at me.

  “Tara!”

  “It’s true!” she squeals, but she manages to say it in a way that I don’t take offense. It is true. I have been an asshole.

  “I’m trying,” I mumble, looking into my lap.

  She smirks. “You’re trying to be an asshole?”

  “Oh my god.” I roll my eyes and look to the ceiling for some kind of divine intervention. I’m not sure I can cope with her smart mouth today.

  “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.” She perches on the edge of the couch, resting her elbows on her knees and looking at me with those deep brown eyes of hers. “I know it’s hard for you. But you can’t wallow forever. I won’t let you. I know everyone is letting you deal with it all in your own way, but it’s not working. I know why you sent Lottie away. I understand. I really do. But you’re wrong.”

  “I’m not even going there, Tara,” I warn through clenched teeth. “If you want to spend time with me, any talk about Lottie is forbidden, okay?”

  “Are you trying to forget her altogether?” she asks gently.

  “I could never forget her,” I whisper. She’s all I see when I close my eyes and my heart shatters every time I open them and she’s not there. “I just need time to get over her, that’s all. It hurts. It all fucking hurts.”

  Tara stands up and comes behind my chair before sliding her arms around me and resting her chin on my shoulder. “I love you, bro.”

  “I love you too, sis.”

  “Can we spend the day together?”

  “Sure,” I reply, tilting my head to rest on hers.

  After a little convincing, and a lot of deep breaths and internal pep talks, I agreed to go out with Tara. It’s been an eternity since I spent any time with her and despite her loud mouth and bravado earlier, I can see the little girl lost beneath the façade. It’s not until I stop and look in to her eyes that I realize she’s hurting too. It’s hard for all of us.

  “Are you okay?” Tara asks, popping the last bite of a sushi roll in her mouth.

  “Um, yeah, kinda,” I shrug dismissively.

  “Is it really that hard being out of the apartment?”

  “Yeah. No.” I shake my head and sigh. “I can’t really explain it, T. It actually feels good to be out, those four walls were getting kinda boring, but then I look around at all the people here and my heart starts to race. I don’t know them. I don’t know if one of these people might be carrying a gun, loaded with a bullet with my name on it, or if someone’s about to pull a knife on us. I can’t guarantee that the minute we set foot out of here, a car won’t mount the curb and−”

  “Stop it. You’re crazy, do you know that?” she replies louder than I would like. I immediately feel like a scolded child. “How many times did you walk freely outside before your accident?” She points a hard stare at me and I shrug. “I’ll tell you how many, thousands. Thousands and thousands, Spike. It was a freak accident. It was a sick son of a bitch with a score to settle, but it’s over and done with. You wanna spend the rest of your life in the apartment, breathing in re-circulated air and watching the world go by from your high rise window? Shit happens. I know it’s easy for me to say because I can still use my legs, but shall I tell you something?” she asks, but continues before I can answer. “There’s not a day that goes by that I wouldn’t trade places with you, do you know that? There’s not a minute that goes by that I don’t think about you, and Lottie and … Jack,” she swallows hard and takes a deep breath.

  I lower my gaze to the table, pushing back at the sting of tears in my eyes at the sorrow in her voice. I know I’m wallowing. I know I’m not the only one that was affected, but sometimes, my head is so far up my own ass that I don’t actually see the effect that the repercussion ripples are having. “That fucking asshole that did this to you, to us, might be dead and buried, but he’s still winning. Every second of every day that you don’t fight, he wins. Jack is dead, and you’re not, but you’re acting like you are.” She looks at me through pained, glassy eyes and the silence spreads between us, until a sob breaks free from her throat. “I just want you back. I want my brother back.” She cries loudly, fumbling with her napkin and burying her face in it. I whee
l my chair around to her side of the table, feeling grateful that the waiter moved the seating around for us when we arrived.

  “Come here,” I whisper, opening my arms to her.

  She leans in to my chest, sobbing loudly. “I miss you all. I miss how it was. I just want our lives back.”

  “I know,” I say quietly, stroking her hair. “I’m trying.”

  “No, you’re not.” She sniffles in to my t-shirt before wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She pulls back and searches my eyes. “You’re not trying, you’re giving up. You’re letting that night ruin your life. You need to fight, Spike. You need to fight for you, and Lottie, and our family.”

  “I don’t know how,” I admit. I thought I could just muddle through and it would all work out the way it’s supposed to. But she’s right. I’m falling deeper into a black hole.

  “Yes, you do. Remember what Mom always told us?” She straightens in her chair. “If you want something badly enough, you’ll find a way to make it happen. You just have to pull your head out of your ass to see the way forward first.”

  I laugh out loud. “Did mom really say that?”

  “Well, not word for word. I may have embellished it a little.” She bumps her shoulder with mine before resting her head softly against my cheek. “But do you see where I’m coming from?”

  “Yeah, T. I see,” I murmur softly, kissing her hair.

  “I love you, Spike.” She wraps her arms around my waist, just like she used to when she was little and was scared of the thunderstorms, searching for reassurance that everything will be okay.

  “I love you, too, T.” I tighten my hold on her. It’s the best I can do right now.

  Chapter 10

  I stand out on the balcony and watch London wake up. It’s the last time I’ll see this view, or London for that matter. I’m leaving. I did a lot of thinking last night after talking with Luke. For the few days I’ve been here, I was hoping for something miraculous to happen. I was waiting for Spike to call me up and tell me he loves me and to come home. I was waiting for my life to figure out the pieces and slot them smoothly into the correct order. Sitting on the rooftop, watching the stars and thinking of Spike, I realized that I would have been waiting a long time. Miracles don’t exist. My destiny is made by me and me alone.

  I tap the number from the business card in my hand into my cell and hit call.

  “Yup …” the deep voice answers and I chuckle at his greeting.

  “Did no one teach you polite telephone manners?”

  “Firebird?” he asks, and I laugh at the surprise in his voice. “Well, well¸ well.”

  “Hi,” I chirp.

  “Hi, yourself. Thought I’d never hear from you again.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises. Actually, I have a favor to ask.” I chew on my lip.

  “Rescuing you from being mugged wasn’t enough?” he chuckles.

  “I never asked you to rescue me.” I lean on the balcony railing with a smirk on my face. This is easy, talking with Torran is easy, he reminds me a little of … “Anyway, this is a different kind of favor.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t do those kind of favors on a Thursday. I’m strictly a Friday and Saturday kinda guy.”

  “Torran!” I squeal. Did he really just say that? I blush furiously before trying to change the direction of the conversation. “I … I, uh, I want a tattoo.”

  He coughs, then splutters and I can only guess he’s drinking his morning coffee. “You want a tattoo? Am I talking to the same girl I met the other day that, and I quote, ‘has no desire to inflict pain on herself and walk around with a half-finished mistake on her body’.”

  “Yup. The very same,” I say proudly.

  “What changed?”

  I shrug even though I know he can’t see me. “I did, I guess.”

  “When are you free? I’m guessing you want to strike while the idea is hot?”

  “Today?” I ask, sounding more confident than I’m feeling. My stomach is doing flips at a hundred rotations a second.

  “Ah, no can do, firebird,” he sighs. “I have a full client list and can’t do anything for at least a week unless someone cancels. Do you even know what you want?”

  “Uh, no …”

  He chuckles, a deep sound that makes me smile. “Then I think you need to take time to decide.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I do want one though,” I insist.

  “You trying to convince me or you?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “Look, why don’t you come and see me in the studio and have a look through the design books. I can customize anything for you in my spare time but it would help to have you in front of me rather than on the end of the phone. Fancy a visit to the seaside?” he asks, and I don’t miss the hopefulness in his voice.

  “You know what? I’m actually leaving London today. Had enough of the big smoke. Thought I’d come and spend some time at the coast. Can you recommend somewhere for me to stay?”

  “In Brighton?”

  “Yes. If Brighton will have me?”

  He chuckles, “I’m pretty sure Brighton can handle you. You know how to get here?”

  “No,” I shrug. “But how hard can it be?”

  The train ride to Brighton didn’t take very long. The concrete city passed quickly and turned to green rolling hills and countryside. I felt a strange relief to be out of the hustle and bustle of London. I was sure the anonymity of a big city was going to help me heal and move forward, but all it did was make me feel alone and insignificant in this huge, busy world.

  The map function on my cell helped me find Torran’s tattoo studio, and I stand outside for a second to take in the appearance before going in. I’m surprised, and I don’t know why. It’s clean and light. The huge open window at the front is gleaming and shows a modern, inviting place to be rather than the stereotypical dark and dingy tattooist I was expecting.

  The only familiar face that I know in this country appears from a back room and swaggers to the front door, opening it wide to greet me.

  “You made it.” He smiles warmly at me.

  “Yup. Not too shabby, eh?”

  He leans lazily against the door frame, propping the door open with his foot. “You wanna come in, or you gonna stand outside and admire the building?”

  I roll my eyes at his dry humor. “You’re not busy right now?”

  “I have half an hour before the next customer. Come in, I’ll make you a coffee,”

  He grabs my suitcase without asking and I let him. It’s not like he’s going to run away with it. Just like when we met in London, he still has the same soothing demeanor. He might look tough and scary with his tattoos, piercings and tight buzz cut, but he has kind eyes, and you know what they say about eyes being the windows to the soul. I’m usually a good judge of character and I hope I’m right about him. I need a friend right now, it’s actually scarier than I thought, or than I would admit out loud, being in a new country not knowing anyone at all.

  I follow him through the studio to the back room. It’s not as stark white as the public part of the studio. It’s a pretty cool staff room with graffiti on the walls and a denim couch along one wall.

  “You like it?” He nods toward the wall that I’m currently staring at, trying to decipher what it says.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “You don’t like it,” he states, blowing out a laugh. “It’s fine. I know it’s not to everyone’s taste.”

  “I never said that!”

  “You didn’t have to,” he jokes, raising one of his brows at me.

  “It’s not that I don’t like it. Not at all. I just, I’ve never seen anything like this so close up. It’s cool, I think. What does it say?” I wrinkle my nose, trying to work out what the letters are.

  “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

  “In that case, I’m happy not knowing,” I comment, perching on the arm of the couch.

  “Coffee?” he offers, fli
cking the switch on the kettle.

  “Yes, please,” I answer, still continuing my perusal of his little room.

  “Sugar?”

  “Yes, please. Two.”

  “So,” he leans back on the counter top while the kettle boils, “You really want a tattoo, huh?”

  “Yup.” My lips turn up, matching his infectious grin.

  “What changed your mind?” He watches me curiously and I wonder if this is some kind of test that I have to pass before he agrees to do it.

  “I’m starting over. I feel like I need to step out of my comfort zone a little, and after I met you the other day I realized that I’m pretty damn boring.”

  “I’d say you’re anything but boring.”

  “Well, that’s because you don’t know me. I’ve never had anything pierced, not even my ears. I don’t have any tattoos, I’ve never bungee jumped or swam with dolphins.”

  “That’s your bucket list?” he frowns.

  “No,” I laugh. “Just the tattoo part of it.”

  “Well, that I can do. I have a couple of hours free next week, so I can pencil you in if you like. But we need to get an idea of what you would like so I know exactly how much time it will take.”

  “Will it hurt?” I ask nervously.

  “Yes,” he answers simply.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath and he smirks.

  “It won’t be excruciatingly painful, but it is uncomfortable. Anyway, a badass like you should be able to handle it.” Humor dances in his eyes and he winks at me before a voice calls from the hallway.

  “Torran!”

  In a blink, a whirl of dark hair rounds the corner and dives into the room next to us, slamming the door behind her. “Is everything okay?” I ask him.

  “Yeah,” he chuckles. “She will be. In about six months or so.” I frown at his answer. “She’s pregnant.”

  “Oh,” I whisper.

  He casually paces to the door and knocks gently. “You okay, babe?”

  “No,” the girl answers with a groan from behind the door.

  Shit. I hope she doesn’t think I’m treading on her toes. I never came here for a man, let alone someone else’s, but I know how women work and I don’t want her thinking that’s my motive. He could at least have told me before I came here. I sling my bag over my shoulder and pick up the handle of my suitcase.