Lovestrong

by Nikki Groom

  “What are you doing?” Torran asks, coming back in to the room.

  “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make any trouble for you,” I stutter, stepping forward to leave.

  “What?” He frowns then looks between me and the closed door. “Oh. You mean Meg?”

  “Yeah. I don’t want her thinking I came here to−”

  “To what?” He steps closer to me, there’s a body’s width between us and due to his height and my lack of it, my eyes are at his chest level, watching its rise and fall quickening. I slide my gaze up to his, and I’m caught in his amused glare.

  “Uh, I should go.” But my feet won’t move.

  He lets his shoulders relax and smiles gently at me, breaking the tension a little. “Meg isn’t my girlfriend. She’s a friend, and my receptionist. And if she was my girlfriend, she would be fine with you being here and having coffee with me because we’re friends, right?”

  “Friends,” I muse.

  “Yes. Friends. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?” he smirks and I narrow my eyes at him.

  “You’re a fucking asshole, do you know that?” I stomp my foot and scowl at him, but he takes no notice of me whatsoever.

  “Yep.” He barks out a laugh. “Firebird, I thought you were badass, but you’re so easy to wind up!”

  “Shouldn’t you check to see if your friend Meg is okay?” I grumble, feeling a little embarrassed, but also trying to hide the smile that forces its way from my lips.

  “She does this twenty times a day at the moment. It’s a waste of time her being here.”

  “Then why don’t you be a good boss and send her home on paid sick leave?” I prop my suitcase back up and push a hand in to my cocked hip.

  “Well, smartarse, I would do that but I know she won’t go unless I have a replacement and I don’t have one.” He turns to finish making the coffee.

  “I’ll do it,” I blurt out before my brain has even processed what I’m saying.

  “You?” he laughs dropping the teaspoon on the worktop.

  “Uh. Ummm. Yeah, I”

  “Well, I suppose it would be great for business to have a new face behind the desk. And you’re pretty cute.”

  “Cute?” I snap, my voice raising an octave.

  “Yeah,” he laughs raising his brows in jest. “Cute.”

  “You can wipe that smirk off your face. I am not cute.” I point my index finger at him, trying to sound as stern as possible, but it’s not working. Not with him at least. In fact, he takes no notice of me whatsoever, again.

  “You really wanna work here?” he asks seriously. “I mean, it makes sense to let Meg have some time off.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt for a few weeks. Just until she starts to feel better. How hard can it be?”

  Torran extends his hand out to me and I hesitate before slowly placing mine in his, and we shake on it.

  A fresh start. A different direction. New friends.

  Chapter 11

  “Spike?” I hear Denham’s heavy footsteps come through the apartment as he calls. “Spike?”

  “Jeez. Where’s the fire?” I mutter under my breath. “I’m in here,” I call from my bathroom.

  “Hey, uh, what’s going on?” He takes in my smartly dressed appearance and looks at me with a tightly scrunched brow. “No joggers. No scrappy old tee-shirt. Who are you and what did you do with my brother?” He chuckles at his lame attempt at a joke and leans against the door frame.

  “FYI, joggers and a tee are probably the most comfortable clothes I could wear when I’m stuck in this chair for at least twelve hours a day, but I decided I could put up with these pants for a couple of hours.”

  “The chair isn’t comfortable?” He steps forward, worry crossing his features.

  “D,” I sigh, “This chair is the best that your money could buy. Don’t read too much into what I’m saying. It’s as comfortable as it can be. But when you sit for hours on end with very little movement, you could be sitting on a fucking Lay-Z-Boy and your body would still hurt.”

  “I hear ya.” He nods curtly, his lips pulled thin. “So, you just decided to smarten up?”

  “Yep. That’s what usually happens when you’re going out for the night.” I throw the comment out there, trying not to make a big deal out of nothing. Well, what should feel like nothing, anyway.

  “You’re going out?” His voice raises with surprise.

  “Yeah.” I push my chair forward and grab my watch from the dresser before fastening it on my wrist. “Why?”

  “Nothing, I just … I mean …”

  “Lost your words, D?” I question with a smirk on my face. I knew this would surprise him. In fact, I surprised myself when I decided it was time to take my life by the horns and try to live at least some of it.

  “Well, you gotta admit, it’s not like you’ve been partying every Saturday since it all happened, is it?”

  “No, and I decided that’s going to change.” I sit up straight in my chair, looking directly up to Denham. He looks at me with a mixture of worry and admiration. “I’m sick of hearing myself moaning. I hate the fact that I mope around in this apartment day in, day out, and although nothing has changed, and I still hate my life and the whole unfair, fucked up situation, I might as well be fucked up in the bar with a Jack and coke in my hand.”

  “Wow.” He raises his brows then blinks. “Not sure where that all came from, but I agree.”

  “Well, it came from Tara. She’s pretty clued up, even if she acts like a fucking teenager sometimes.” Thinking of Tara and her simplistic outlook on life make me smile one of the most genuine smiles I have done in a long time.

  “Tara?”

  “Yes. You know we went out for lunch last week? She kinda gave me a good talking to.”

  “Oh, I can imagine,” he laughs, rolling his eyes.

  “And I know it might have taken a while to sink in, but I think it worked.”

  “Good. Here …” He picks up my cell from the top of the chest of drawers next to him and tosses it to me. “You’re going to need that then. So where are you going? Who are you meeting up with?”

  “I’m going to Hell,” I joke, playing on the name of the bar downstairs. Heaven and Hell. “I thought I’d see if there were any familiar faces down there. Can’t face going out on the strip at night just yet.” My breaths shorten at the thought of being exposed to the world like that. It’s too soon for me. I know this fear should be loosening by now, but I can’t pry its claws from my chest.

  “Hey, a week ago you wouldn’t have left this apartment, so downstairs is a huge step, man. One at a time.”

  I grab my aftershave from the counter and spray some on. Good to go. “All set.” I take a deep breath, tamp down the nerves that are starting to make me twitchy and push the electric wheels forward. Denham moves aside to let me pass and follows me through to the lounge.

  “I’ve got a few things to do, then I’m supposed to be picking Ari up from a dinner meeting she has with Beth and some suppliers. But I can cancel if you want me to?”

  I frown at him and tilt my head, wondering if he’s talking to me or himself. “What? Why would you need to cancel?”

  “I thought maybe you’d want me to come with you.”

  “Nah, man. This is something I have to do and I think I can be stronger if I’m forced to just deal with it, ya know? Besides, if it gets to be too much, I’ll just come back up here. Easy as that.” I make light of it, pretending that it really isn’t a big deal, the smart clothes and expensive cologne masks the smell of fear, but the reality is, I’m fucking terrified.

  I hate it. The noise, the smell, the people. I knew it would be hard, but why does it slam against every sense until I feel like I’m at the breaking point? I need a drink.

  When I push forward through the doorway, which now seems narrower than it used to, and follow the path to the bar, surprisingly no one takes any notice of me. I mean, they see me, they move out of the way for me,
but no one looks at me as if I’m any different to them. I’m not, I guess. It’s just that I’m surrounded by a huge hunk of metal and wheels, and if I didn’t have it, I really would be fucked. Gino, the head barman, recognizes me instantly and motions for me to come to the side of the bar. “My man!” He flips open the bar hatch so there’s nothing between us. “Good to see you, Spike.” The smile on his face is genuine as he takes my hand, giving it a firm shake. “What can I get ya’?”

  “Sambuca,” I shout over the music.

  “Startin’ on the hard stuff?” he asks, and that instantly pisses me off. Isn’t he supposed to serve the drinks without question?

  “Why wait?” I smile back at him, through gritted teeth. Trying to stay as polite as I can just to get the damn drink that I want.

  “I got a new cocktail I’d like to try on ya’, you willing? I’ll follow it up with Sambuca chasers,” he says with a wink, and this takes my rising anger down a notch or two.

  “Sure. Why not? What have I got to lose?” Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

  Ten minutes later, I have a cocktail in my hand. I don’t know if Gino knew about my drunken episode in the casino bar the other week, but I’m sure the cocktail he’s made me is a fucking virgin, or close to, anyway. And conveniently, he’s super busy when I want serving and it takes ages to get a shot to follow. None of the other servers in their shiny, PVC, Heaven and Hell uniforms even look in my direction and I’m starting to think it’s a fucking conspiracy.

  “Well, hello there, sexy.” A tall blonde steps to my side and places her fingers softly on my shoulder.

  “Hi,” I grumble and nod curtly, not inviting any conversation.

  “You’re one of the King brothers, right? Spike, isn’t it?” I don’t like the sound of my name on her lips. It just feels all kinds of wrong.

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap harshly. “I’m Preston. Okay?”

  “Sweetheart, I’ll call you whatever you want to be called,” she replies confidently, my tone and remark not affecting that leathery exterior of hers. Ugh, one of those kinds. She’s painted her makeup on in layers and is wearing next to nothing. I rake my eyes up and down her body, taking in the bright white mini dress with the waist cut away, showing as much of her tanned skin as she can. “How about you call me over a bartender and get me a drink, yeah?” I suggest, putting her to good use. If she wants to hang off of me all night, that’s fine as long as she can keep the drinks coming.

  “You got the cash, I got the time,” she drawls. I roll my neck back in a slow circle, feeling tension building and out of nowhere a pair of hands clamp firmly down on my shoulders and start to rub in slow massaging rotations. I spin my head around to see another blonde, dressed almost identically to the one at the bar who’s waiting patiently to get me a drink. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that they’re here together. I quickly scan around for a third blonde, expecting one to appear from my other side like a trio of velociraptors.

  “Just relax, I can make you feel amazing, handsome,” she breathes suggestively in my ear. Can she even see that I’m in this fucking heap of metal? Does it not cross her mind that I have limited to virtually no sensation below my waist? Maybe that turns her on. Perhaps she sees it as a challenge, or an easy target. Or maybe she’s just out for her own gratification and doesn’t give a shit about anyone else. It seems like such a long time since I’ve been touched by anyone other than a doctor, nurse or family member. Being poked, prodded and moved around is no fun at all. Sexual feelings have been shoved to the back of my mind and although the doctor said I will probably never maintain a sexual relationship as I did once before, I haven’t even been tempted to explore if this is the case. Barbie standing to my side might be a good way to test the waters, so to speak. Could I even get a hard-on with a girl like her? I turn to glance at her, and I’m met with her fake tits right at my eye level. Some guys would say that’s a bonus. But I hate fake tits. Lottie wasn’t … There’s no comparison. This woman is nothing like Lottie. I’m sure she’s a nice woman and all that, but Lottie, well, she’s irreplaceable. Just thinking about her while I have another woman’s hand squeezing my shoulder then running down under the collar of my shirt to stroke my chest, makes me feel guilty as fuck. My stomach feels hollow, like I’m cheating on her. I picture her face if she could see me now and it’s enough to make me throw my shoulder back, suggesting to her to move her hands off me, and I nudge my chair forward so I’m out of her reach. I push ahead, the sea of people in front of me parting politely, and wheel back up to my apartment. What the fuck did I think I was doing coming down here? Oh yeah. Moving on. But instead, I’m falling backwards.

  Chapter 12

  I wake up with a jump at the sound of my cell buzzing across the nightstand. I have no idea what time it is, but the sun looks like it’s just starting to peek through the curtains, that dusky kind of first morning light. Torran managed to get me a room in his friend’s apartment for a couple of weeks at a really great rate, and the bonus is that it overlooks the whole of Brighton Bay. It’s a five-minute walk from the studio and although it’s only been a week, working with Torran has been a lot of fun. My initial feelings on him were correct. He’s a good guy.

  I grab for my cell but it’s just out of reach and it falls to the carpet. I jump out of bed after it and snatch it up, answering the call without seeing who is calling.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing. The line is silent but I know someone is there.

  “Hellooooooo?” I huff. Not only has the caller woken me up, when I glance at the screen, it’s an international call with no number shown. “Who is this?” I ask nervously. If it were Arianna or Denham, they would have spoken by now. I’m just about to end the call when someone speaks quietly and I put the phone back to my ear.

  “Lottie,” he breathes out. My heart pounds and swells instantly before feeling a familiar ache.

  “Spike.” Tears sting my eyes and I fight to keep myself together. It’s been so long since I heard his voice. My initial thought is relief, then I panic that he’s calling me because something is wrong. “Are you okay?”

  “Lottie,” he whispers before swallowing noisily. “I …”

  “Yes,” I whisper back. I hate that there’s thousands of miles between us. My fingers itch to reach out and touch his warm skin, to wrap my arms around him and not let go. We listen to each other breathing as if it’s all we need, that familiarity, that feeling of recognition that soothes us both. But it only lasts a few seconds before the reality of us halts the silence. “I don’t know why I called,” he says and I visualize him shrugging his broad shoulders, his head dropped low between them, defeated, broken.

  “What time is it there?” I ask him, trying to make conversation. Why does it seem like the silence stretches for hours? I used to love sitting in silence with Spike, we didn’t need words.

  “It’s ten.”

  “Oh, I forget with the time difference,” I huff out a laugh awkwardly, highlighting the distance between us in more ways than one.

  “I guess it’s early morning there. I’m sorry I woke you. I didn’t think –”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I interrupt.

  “I am sorry, Lottie.” And suddenly I don’t think we’re talking about interrupting my sleep anymore.

  “I know. Me too.” Neither of us knows what to say next. I want to speak with him for hours. I want to tell him all about the places I’ve visited in London and keep him on the phone until he falls asleep. I’m hanging on to him like a lifeline, one that I thought I was managing without.

  “I shouldn’t have called,” he sighs. “I’ve gotta go, Lottie. Sorry. I … See ya.”

  “Spike, no, wait Sp−” I call desperately, wanting so badly for him to stay on the line.

  He hangs up on me. Fuck. I contemplate calling him back, but what would I say? I don’t even know where he called me from as it didn’t come up with a number. Double fuck.

  I hate that the l
ast time I saw him, he had tears in his eyes. I hate that the last time I touched him, it was a silent goodbye. I hate that the last time we kissed, was just before the accident and I never knew it would be the last time. If I’d known it would be the last time …

  The phone call from Spike this morning threw me off course and derailed the progress that I thought I’d made since I’ve been here. Why did he feel the need to call me? Was he drunk? Does he still love me? Was he just lonely?

  “You up to the job today, firebird?” Torran asks gently, coming to my side at the desk and crouching to search my eyes for my answer.

  “Yeah,” I answer uncertainly, and he frowns at my sorrowful expression.

  “Wanna talk about it?” he offers, and I contemplate telling him everything, but I’m not sure I would be able to stop once I started.

  I shrug. “No.”

  “Okay.” He gently places his hand on my upper arm and rubs his thumb soothingly across my skin. “Wanna see something I sketched up for you last night?”

  “For me? A tattoo?” This perks me up a little. There’s nothing like the prospect of a needle pounding in to your skin to distract your thoughts.

  “Yep. Just for you.”

  “I’d love to see it! But really, I didn’t expect you to do it in your spare time.” We have gone back and forth with ideas for my tattoo over the last week that I’ve worked here, and after seeing loads of tattoos being inked, I’m not as scared as I was before. In fact, I’m really excited.

  “I wanted to. I was inspired and when I team inspiration with quite a fair amount of Jack, apparently I can draw pretty awesome shit.” He pulls a sketch pad out from under the desk and slaps it down on the top. “Now, I want you to know that you can say that you don’t like it. You aren’t obliged to have this permanently marked on your body at all. I was just doodling and thought you might like to see, that’s all. No pressure.” His voice is firm, but I sense a little nervousness.