She looks so fucking sick. Cooler than most of the tramps loitering in here, hanging off biker dudes’ arms.
“Yeah.” I nod at her, setting the glass down. I rub my face as flashes of Liv’s kind of scared face an hour ago crosses my mind. “Fuck,” I groan. I fucking hate that guilty, sad, frowny face thing she did.
“Girl trouble?” she asks, and I remove my hands, nodding slightly. She holds up a hand when I open my mouth to lightly cuss to her that I won’t be talking about it, but she cuts me off too smoothly, like I would. “Don’t wanna hear about it. Asking shit like that is just in the job description.” She sighs and begins wiping down the bar, smirking slightly.
I laugh and down a bit of the whiskey. “Wasn’t going to say anything ‘bout it.”
“Good. Don’t have time or the desire to hear about it,” she says.
“Yo, blondie, let me get some more,” a man grumbles out, raising his glass.
“Asshole,” she and I both utter.
We share a look, both hiding a smirk.
She waltzes over to the bearded man with wandering eyes and fills his glass. I watch with curiosity as she does little smooth tricks behind the bar, like she was made for it. I tilt my head as she slides him the drink, and he makes a comment on her tits. I raise a brow and sip my drink, nearly choking in laughter when she says something rude back and making a show of almost hitting his fingers with a knife she stabs between two of them. He jumps, scared like he’s shit himself, and she just rolls her eyes and mutters a curse before walking back over to me.
Oh, she is so bad-ass…I like it.
“You wanna sport the four fingers trend I almost gave that prick?” she growls at me, catching me staring at her.
“Fuck no, but I want to admire you for that.” I nod my head blindly to the guy who’s acting like a little bitch, muttering under his breath. She follows my gaze and narrows her eyes, tapping her dull nails against the wood. “That was pretty bad-ass. You been bartending long?”
She clicks her tongue. “Not long. Two years, now.”
I nod and take a sip of my drink. “You’ve got a talent for it. Scaring off fuckers like that without much trouble.”
She slowly smirks, like I am the first person to entertain her without pissing her off. “I like you. You know good shit when you see it.” I laugh at the fact that she called herself good shit, but she isn’t wrong. She nods at me, furrowing her dark brows. “What’s your name?”
“Grey,” I say, and her eyes spark. “What?” I feel instantly annoyed, ready to defend my odd but unique name. I swear to God, if she bashes my fucking name but hers is some whack shit like Heather or Ashley, I will burn this place to the ground.
“Nothing, it’s just…” She laughs.
“What?” I down the last of my drink and slap the glass down. “Something wrong with my name? Let me hear yours then.”
She doesn’t flinch, just holds eye contact with me before smirking.
“Red,” she drawls. “The name’s…Red.”
Chapter Twenty
Liv
I never thought it was possible to feel so incredibly guilty in my life. I hate what I did to Grey today. I admit, I have been pulling away a little because of my resumed sickness. I know I should tell him and let the doctors fix me because I am obviously still broken, but I can’t. I can’t admit that I am not fine. And if I’m too close to Grey, he will notice. He will find out, and I will be stuck in the hospital, labeled as the girl who was tragically shot and had her incredible opportunities taken away from her. I want to be the girl labeled as strong enough to pull through a horrifying experience as if it never happened to her.
Do you think I’ll be able to take that job in New York if a tube is hooked up in my chest? I mean, I’m not saying I will take the job. I’m still thinking about it. But still. I have the chance, the open opportunity waiting for me. I also know that I should have told Grey about it, no matter his opinions, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s a huge opportunity I can’t just ignore. Garrett said I was the first of a very few to be presented the chance and that I have until the end of the year to decide. If I do take it, I’d have to transfer and apply to NYU, which isn’t all that easy to get into. However, with my impressive grades and the program I am in, I don’t think it’ll be much of a problem.
Although it’d be a dream to transfer and actually work for a big company like TPC…I still have to think about Grey. I know him like the back of my hand, like how he won’t want to move with me. Even though he’s out of school and can still find fights and be in UFC, he won’t want to uproot a good chunk of his life here in Pennsylvania and live in New York. He may love me, but he’s still the most selfish, hot-headed, and stubborn person I know. And I just know for a fact that he won’t change his scenery and come with me.
I shouldn’t be thinking like this, a big part of me points out. I am a strong adult being offered an amazing opportunity…yet I am hesitant and not jumping after it because of a man. But he isn’t just a man, I fight with my subconscious. He is Grey, my boyfriend, the only man I ever see myself with. The man who makes me feel alive and loved and beautiful and like me. I can’t just leave him. I went six months with him out of my life, and I barely survived. I know I don’t have the heart to break it off for a job, however terrific it is.
But can I learn to move on from him if it is for what’s best for me? Can I really step away from him, lose the love of my life, and do this for myself?
I rub my head and take a giant sip of my lavender tea. I stop all train of thought. My brain is beginning to hurt, and it’s already being deprived of sleep. Speaking of which, I haven’t been able to sleep because I’m worried about Grey. He hasn’t come home yet, and it’s already half past midnight. I have tried calling and texting him, but he didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. My worry increases every minute he doesn’t barge through the door.
I feel awful and am ready to apologize for acting horrible to him earlier. I shouldn’t have sent him away so dismissively. I just didn’t want him to catch me coughing blood in a napkin. I barely made it out of the lunch with everyone. Lily eyed my reddish lips after I’d rushed to the bathroom. I had thrown up with a little blood as well. I just blamed it on the red fruity drink I had, which I had gotten in case I needed something to blame. Smart, but incredibly sad and alarming, I know.
A loud crash in what sounded like the foyer nearly makes me choke on my tea.
I push the loose papers and textbooks away—nothing like doing schoolwork when you can’t sleep—and cautiously leave the bedroom. My heart is thumping in my chest, and I’m scared as I realize it could be a burglar. Though you do need a key to get into the loft, someone could be smart enough to get the shaft up here. And the only thing I have to protect myself with is my favorite purple coffee mug…and my wit?
I scream as I exit the hallway and see a large black form hunched over. I quickly hit the lights and sigh in relief, my pulse riveting in quick throbs. It’s just Grey hunched over, untying his huge boots. But he’s shaky and is now hissing at the light pouring into the small entrance way like he’s a vampire being introduced to the sun. And not those sparkly boys in Twilight, either.
“Jesus, Grey—you scared me!” I accuse him, and he laughs.
Why is he laughing?
“Oh, did I? D-did I scare the life out of you…Liv?” He chuckles, making absolutely no sense.
“Yes, I just said that. Why are you being so—” I begin, confused.
“I scared the life out of Liv,” he barks in laughter, then proceeds to stumble to his knees, clutching his stomach. “I am a freaking comedic g-genius!” He raises his hands to the ceiling in triumph. That’s when I notice them—the small cut on his right cheek and the red rings and veins colored around his black eyes.
“You’re drunk,” I state with a huff, crossing my arms. I am a little disappointed, but I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. He tends to drink when he’s upset, a habit I hope will be
broken. Soon. I walk over to him and cup his cheeks, and he winces as I shift his head to the left and examine the—thankfully—shallow cut. “How’d this happen?” I ask.
“I tripped,” he slurs, eyes rolling back.
“Stay with me,” I coo softly, tapping his left cheek so I won’t hurt his right.
His eyes instantly snap open, and he smiles at me, lazily. “You’re very pretty. Has anyone ever told you that? Like…ever?” he drawls slowly, words thick with molasses. I am unable to speak for a second because of how undeniably sexy he looks, mouth quirked up into a smirk, dark, slightly curly hair falling past his forehead. But then I remember he’s drunk. Those red eyes are screaming at me to help treat him.
“Yes, by you, multiple times. Now, we should get you to bed.” I wrap one of his arms around my shoulder, then round one of mine around his waist. “Lift on the count of—or now is okay.” He helps tremendously by pushing to his feet, me following after, tightening my grip around his waist.
“You are so…a-amazing, you know? Your lips are like, mmmm, girl. Sugary pillows of perfection.” He yanks my bottom lip, and I groan, shaking my head so his fingers drop. He laughs and swaggers until I hit one of the walls in the hallway.
“Grey,” I groan and push myself off the wall. My hip stings with pain. There will surely be a bruise tomorrow.
“Whoopsie baby.” He kisses my forehead, and even though he is totally drunk out of his mind, I blush.
“How did you even get home? You’re so drunk, you can barely walk,” I question him.
He shrugs. “Friend dropped me off.”
I tilt my head up at him. “What friend?”
He doesn’t answer me, just chuckles.
We finally get inside the bedroom, but I stop at the foot of the bed as I realize the bed is covered with my schoolwork things. I sigh and gently place him on the little bench that holds pillows in front of the bed. Another item I pleaded for him to get, to spice up the room a bit. Thank God he has it now for this reason, to hold his drunk-self while I clear our bed. Just amazing how it is fully functional.
“Why do you hate me?” he whines as I stack the papers in my hands.
I frown and glance over at him; he has a hand covering his eyes and legs spread apart. “I don’t hate you. Where would you get that ridiculous idea?”
“You don’t spend time with me anymore,” he mumbles, and my heart aches at the sadness in his voice.
“I’m just busy with stuff, Grey. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” I sigh, hating myself, hating that I am causing this solemn doubt and fear in him. I want him to know that I love him, truly and whole-heartedly.
“You sure?” he asks softly, almost child-like.
“Yes, I am sure,” I assure him.
I snort and place everything underneath the bed, then hover over him. I remove his large hand from his face, uncovering a deep frown and untrusting eyes. I smile even wider and cup his cheeks gently, cautious of the cut.
“Do you want to fuck me then? Been a while.” He runs a finger up and down my stomach, and I laugh at the drunken smile on his puckered lips.
“Not now, babe. Maybe another time.”
His smile drops, and he rolls his eyes. “Always saying that. Just leave.”
“Grey!” I gasp, surprised by his quick mood change.
“I said go, meanie!” he shouts, crossing his arms.
“Grey, I didn’t mean it like that…” I say softly and reach for his hands, but he huffs out and squirms back onto the bed.
“Don’t,” he mumbles, face buried in the sheets.
I rub my chest, hurt. “Grey,” I whimper.
“Leave,” he grumbles, kicking his legs. One of his shoes is still on his feet.
I sigh and take a step back. Hurt, I decide I should give him and his little tantrum some time. I walk into the bathroom with a hung head. I can’t be entirely mad, though. Even drunk, he knows that I have been avoiding him, not showing him affection, or being with him in general. But it is not intentional. I love him, more than myself sometimes. And I know that isn’t healthy…but it’s true. I don’t ever want him to think I hate him.
I swipe away stray tears and grab an alcohol pad and a bandage. I also wet part of a hand towel with soap on it to clean the wound and leave a piece to dry it. The cut isn’t deep enough that it’d need stitches, thank God.
“Who’s ready to be nursed?” I joke lightly with a grin as I step into the room.
Deep snores are my response.
I sigh. “Guess not you.”
Still, I walk over to him and set the items to the side. I push his heavy shoulders until he is on his back. His pink lips are ajar, and his shirt is riding up his toned stomach. I sigh again as I climb onto his torso. Looks like I’m going to do this while he’s unconscious. This should be fun.
I clean the wound, reducing the chance of infection. After I am satisfied with that, I tear open the alcohol pad and gently dab it on his face. I am careful and cautious, pausing for a painful response from Grey, but he’s unresponsive and doesn’t even fidget. I am thorough with cleaning the rather small wound before I place a bandage.
“There you go, all better,” I say to myself with a proud grin.
He snores in reply.
I sigh but decide to get him in bed correctly. I shimmy off of him and stand at the foot of the bed. I untie and take off his remaining boot. I place it beside the bed, then take off his shirt and jacket. I hang it up on the hook on the back of the door. It’s where he’s supposed to put his jacket, but it always ends up on the floor. I can’t even with this man sometimes. I take off his pants and place them in the hamper before bringing the comforter over his lean body. I push him up the bed with all my might and pant, cursing his peaceful, sleeping body.
“Bastard,” I huff, swiping my hair behind my ears.
I take off my shirt but keep on my shorts. I set my reading glasses on the table next to my side of the bed and pull his shirt over my head. I deserve a little treat for doing all of…that. I sigh in relief as I finally pull the comforter over my body and place my head on his warm, broad chest. I kiss it and smell his homely scent.
“Night, Grey,” I whisper to him, darkness lulling my eyes closed.
I swear I hear him grumble, “Night, princesa,” but sleep takes me under before I can decipher any further.
Chapter Twenty-One
I wake up to my deafening alarm at eight in the morning. I groan and shift around, feeling cold without Grey’s arms wrapped around me. I rub my heavy, tired eyes before letting my conscience warm up to being awake. Finally, I find the energy to hit the snooze on my phone’s alarm, mildly fearing it’d wake Grey. Luckily, one glance at his screwed-closed eyes and his heavy snores tells me he won’t be up for a very long while. He may be the heaviest sleeper on the planet. I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept through a nuclear bomb. If my alarm didn’t wake him up, then I don’t think anything can.
Out of habit, I brush the hair out of his face and smile as I drink in his beautiful, relaxed face. I have the strongest desire to just get back under the sheets and spend the day in bed with Grey, but sadly, I can’t. I don’t want to miss a day, and Grey has training anyway. Though, as images of last night flood behind my eyes, I doubt that he’ll be able to train. He was barely able to string sentences together. What makes him think he’ll be able to move around on his feet, hitting people? There isn’t an image of him training where he isn’t hunched over in the corner, puking his stomach out. The thought alone makes me nauseous.
Nevertheless, with a longing sigh, I slip out of bed and into the kitchen. I have a little while to make him breakfast and an elixir for his hangover. He was pretty drunk last night, so there is no doubt he will need a little taking care of. A natural instinct to be by his side burns deep in my stomach, churning like a machine’s gear. The need to protect him surges through me like it is my duty. Plus, it’d be nice to be trapped in his arms, rubbing his aching stomach while he watches h
is stupid fighting show. Which makes the strong pull to stay today that much stronger. But I cannot skip out on a day when there is nothing wrong with me. Well, technically there is, but I’d never tell Grey.
You are being stupid, Olivia, a voice that sounds too much like my mother scolds. You should tell your boyfriend that you aren’t well, not push yourself to the grave.
“I am fine,” I tell myself sternly, willing the voice to leave me alone.
“You okay over there?” Grey’s thick morning voice makes me jump in surprise. I briefly look at his basketball shorts and tank top. He must have just put those on since he was only in his boxers last night. But where is he going? He’s hungover.
I swivel around, cup and plate in hand. “Y-yes.” I clear my throat and look away from his intense, narrowed eyes. I set his breakfast down on the island counter while he shuffles over to the counter. “Here’s your breakfast. You can’t have anything too heavy or greasy, or you’ll just throw up. Queasy stomach and all,” I inform him, but his blank expression tells me he doesn’t give a damn.
“Bullshit. You were just talking to yourself,” he points out, shoving an edge of a buttered toast into his mouth.
“Yeah.” I follow his mouth movements as he chews, eyes unrelenting and hard. I have to look down at the counter beneath me and twirl with his charm nervously. “I was just…nothing. Just a little stressed is all.”
“So slow down,” he suggests in a duh tone.
“I can’t just do that, Grey.” I sigh.
“Why the hell not?” he snaps.
I sigh again. I don’t like it when he gets angry. “I have to go get ready. Matthew will pick me up.” I push from the counter and begin to leave when he grabs my hand, pulling me back to stand in front of him. His hand grips a little harder, and he frowns, hard.
“Why the fuck would he pick you up?” he snaps, accusation swirling in his words.
“Because you can’t drop me off,” I say, and he looks so confused. “Someone dropped you off, remember? I’m pretty sure your car is at the bar you were at last night. At least, I hope.”
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