As I throw punch after punch, I imagine it’s Noah’s face. The image of him in bed with Liv sears through my mind, and I punch even harder, if that’s possible. His arm wrapped around her, legs tangled together. The color red consumes me, and I lose it. He praises me and my footwork, but I don’t give a shit about that. I just want to fucking strangle him—Noah, I mean. That fucker…who does he think he is, showing up at our place and drinking wine with her and shit? Talking and acting like he’s finally grown balls all of a sudden. It’s disgusting, and I had never wanted to kill someone so much in my life.
So you can be mad at him being with your girl when you were with his for days? the fucking nagging voice in my head says.
“Shut the fuck up!” I yell at the low cackling in my head. I take a staggering step back, rubbing my pulsating temples, massaging the dark voice away.
“I didn’t say anything,” Steve says, panting heavily as he hunches over to catch his breath. His curly dark blond hair shakes as he runs his bloody hands through his hair, matting his long locks with it. “You wanna take a break? Meet back in twenty or something?” he asks with a hint of concern lacing his faint Scottish accent. His translucent green-blue eyes stare at me, scanning for the unknown.
“Nah, I’m good,” I huff out and crack my knuckles. I hold my fists up to my face, taking slow, controlled breaths to keep from passing out from exhaustion. I haven’t been able to sleep since she left. “Come on, let’s go.”
He looks at me suspiciously but lets out a gruff breath as if to say, “Your funeral,” and we get back to knocking our gloves around. This is helping a bit. I’m not throwing vases on the ground or smashing my fists into walls like I did back at the apartment. Oh, fuck. The mess I made. Like a child throwing a goddamn tantrum, but I can’t help it. Not really. I like to punch shit when I’m mad. Sue me.
I’m mostly mad at myself, though. I want nothing more than to punch myself in the fucking face. I mean, fuck! I left her like she meant nothing to me when, in reality, she means the fucking world to me. No, she means much more than this shitty planet. How much she means to be is indescribable, unable to measure in words, kisses, and the effect she has on my heart every time she is around—hell—every time I think of her. The girl has me by the fucking balls.
That’s why I had to do what I did. To protect her. All I have ever wanted was to protect her…has been since the moment I met her. I remember the first time I met her. I was a rude asshole. Still am today, but that girl sparked something in me. Brought me to life. I fell in love with her soft neck that was always red, either from screaming at me when I frustrated her or upset her or flushed because I aroused her with my words or hands, sometimes both.
She should have never ended up with me, but I was greedy enough for her light and pure smiles to consume me. My fucking darkness. I didn’t mean to drag her into trials of agony and agitation that comes with being with me. I never meant to smother her light. I craved it more than you could possibly imagine. But I…I couldn’t stop myself until I had her, all of her.
But I’ve gone too far. She was fucking shot, for God’s sake. Do you think she would have went through that traumatic event if she were with a clean-cut boy named Henry or some shit? No. I just had to pull her into my crazy, fucked-up life again, and now she’s suffering the consequences. I tried to make up for it by capturing the asshole who did that to her. I used my contacts of bad people for her, risked getting too friendly with them, and tortured the fucker, bruising my humanity with each knife slash and punch I vented on him. All for her. Because all I want, all I need, is to have her be safe.
Now even her safety is in shambles, even after all I’ve done for her. If I went that far for vengeance, for her, does that make me a hero or a fucked-up villain who wants revenge?
My head hurts, and I can’t breathe.
“Hey, man. Sit down. You look like you’re gonna pass out.” Steve takes off his gloves and walks over to my staggering body.
“I’m good. I’m good. Come on.” I shake my gloved hands, voice guttural and breathing heavy.
“No, you’re not good, dumbass. Sit down.” He pushes me to the barstool behind me. I roll my eyes, mouth open with the intention of telling him to screw off, that I’m fine and want to continue fighting, but he throws a wet rag from a bucket next to me at my face. “Wipe your snotty face and talk it out.”
“Fuck you,” I snap at him but wipe my face. The white rag’s soaked with blood.
“No thanks, that’s your girl’s job.” He pauses. “There a problem between y’all? That’s why you’re fighting like someone hung up your panty set?” he teases.
I whip his chest with the bloody rag, letting a smile crack my lips. A little bit. “I just…I fucked up pretty bad.”
“How so?” He rakes his fingers through his ginger beard.
I’m hesitant to tell him the fucked-up things I’ve done, but who is he to judge? He’s fucked around with more girls than I have, and that’s really saying something, never able to hold down one. “I…I left her without much of a notice and drove around with another girl before having my past gang leader captured and torturing him for days on end.”
His mixed eyes are wide, jaw kind of slack. “Oh…that doesn’t sound too bad.” He cracks a smile and I do too, just because his smiles and comic take on things is too contagious to pass up.
“Yeah, right. But she doesn’t even know that.” I sigh, falling back down to the harsh reality.
“Then tell her.”
“And make her see me as some sort of monster?” I scoff. Twisting the charm she gave me, I hide behind my shirts. Not like I’m hiding them, though. Whenever she gets a glimpse of it, she always makes this really cute smile.
“Something tells me she wouldn’t see you as such.” His voice is soft, and I meet his eyes and small but knowing smile. Cheeks jaded by heat, I look away and shrug, tucking the small heart charm beneath my soaked muscle tank top.
“Whatever. This isn’t share your feelings over crumpets, is it?” I smirk and stand up, feeling much steadier. “Let’s get back to it.”
He seems hesitant, but I assure him, and we get back to sparring. We spar for another hour before his chick for the day calls him over for some cookies. Apparently, she made too much and needs him to—good God, can I please stop talking about this? He and I and the whole fucking world knows what she really means and imagining it—just—yuck times a billion-trillion.
Anyway, I go back to the apartment and clean up. Liv’s clean-freak lecture motivates me to sweep up glass shards and throw my clothes in the hamper. Usually, I don’t clean up after myself, especially before I met her. But I end up cleaning the entire apartment by the time it’s dark out. The floors shine from the mop, the air smells fresh of Febreze, and dishes are squeaky clean. Exhausted, I shower and sit on the couch.
It’s quiet without her appraisal for cleaning up after myself. I miss the crisp sound when she turns a page in one of her many books while the sounds of spectators on the UFC channel shout their opinions. I’d always sneak glances at her and smile like the biggest fool because I had everything I ever wanted and felt content. Like the universe finally stopped being a bitch to me and granted me my wish of happiness. Happiness came in the form of Liv. My princess who curled her little toes when she didn’t like a part in her books, bit her tongue when she wanted to keep from laughing at one of my crude jokes or remarks. The girl of my fucking dreams and reality.
That is until I fucked up, like I always do.
“I can’t do this.” I let go of my lower lip and walk to the elevator. I have to get out of here or I will drown in my sad-as-fuck thoughts.
I drive to the bar downtown and stroll in, finding Red exiting the bar.
“Yo, Red! Wait up!” I run up to her, and she whips around, tugging her leather jacket tighter against the cool October breeze.
“Obsessed with me, G?” she asks playfully, raising a pierced eyebrow.
“As if, R.” She can b
e so fucking cocky.
She makes a sound of disapproval. “Don’t do that. G’s better.”
I roll my eyes and nod to the bar. “Shift over?”
“Yeah…why? Needed a drink?”
“Nah, I just like driving all the way out here to stand around like a dumbass.”
“You didn’t have to waste gas to do that,” she sasses.
I growl at her, and she laughs. “Know of any parties happening tonight? I do in fact need a drink…many.”
She furrows her brows in thought, then sighs with a nod. “Yeah, one’s happening close by. Wanna come?”
“That’s why I asked.” I wink as I walk backward, watching as she shows me her tatted middle finger. That wasn’t there before…
I follow her to a noisy neighborhood of half-houses with graffiti decorating brick walls and guys playing music from their muscle cars. She parks her kick-ass motorcycle in front of a house overflowing with girls in short dress and high heels, cups littering the concrete, and guys showing off their motorcycles by driving up and down the road. My kind of party.
“Who’s throwing the party?” I ask her as we walk past the gate, gazing up at the two-story house. The white panels are more brown than white, there’s a broken window fixed with duct tape, and the steps leading up to the screen door are cracked, ready to break apart completely. Wouldn’t be surprised if a stoner lived here.
“A guy I know named Connor. Bit of a stoner and dealer. He has decent products, enough to keep the crackheads around here satisfied,” she informs me casually as we step into the party. Red Solo cups, loud talking, blasting music—a classic run-down party. “You down for some herbs or something?” She glances over at me, guiding me to the living room full of grinding bodies.
“Nah. Just a few drinks will do me good.” I force a smile. Old me would have jumped at the chance to do blow or smoke a joint, but the new me wants to be better for a girl that deserves only the best.
“Okay, just let him know if you do, though. I’ll tell him to hook you up, if you want.” She winks at me.
“Red, you made it!” A lanky boy with a dark goatee, dark beady eyes, and a navy windbreaker stands up from the couch and half-hugs Red.
She pushes him back. “Not that close, Connor.”
He laughs, obviously high out of his mind. “I thought you’d be out with your boy-toy.”
Red gives him a menacing scowl that makes even me a little apprehensive. “If you ever bring him up again…I will slice your rat-looking fucking face off with my pocket knife,” she threatens slowly, patting her jacket pocket.
The guy pales, and I clear my throat.
“Where are the drinks?” I ask to diffuse the tension. It’s weird. She and Noah really are a thing. Never thought that preppy fuck and a bad-ass chick like her would be a thing.
“Kitchen,” Connor mumbles before falling back on the couch. His frown turns into a giddy smile as he brings a bong to his cracked lips and begins smoking.
“Come with me.” I tug on Red’s jacket. She was still scowling at Connor, but her expression held a hint of sadness. Whatever she and Noah are going through looks to be taking a toll on her. I noticed how down she was during the drive, but she never told me about them. Only that he was a preppy douche, but she said it with a lot of hidden love and affection in her voice.
She just mumbles a reply and leads me to the kitchen. I can’t help but smirk. A bad girl like her is experiencing love, or whatever the hell it is, with that preppy douche. I would laugh, but the same happened to me with Liv. She’s basically just the female version of me. Sad. The both of us are dealing with issues with our nerdy partners.
“Scotch?” I scoff in disgust as she fills up two shot glasses.
“I know, they don’t have your precious Bourbon.” She slides the glass over to me with skill, smirking slightly. “Hold in the tears, darling.”
“Fuck you.”
“Wouldn’t for a million dollars,” she retorts, raising her glass.
“Good, ‘cause I’m not interested.” I raise my own glass.
We down the strong liquor. Then another. And another. My tongue feels heavy, head light. I take another and another until even she’s looking at me with a face that says, “Slow down, asshole. I’m not taking you to get your stomach pumped.”
“What’s up your ass?” she asks wittily, closing the cap on the brown liquor.
“Nothing,” I say, drinking a cup of Sprite to wash away the numbness on my tongue.
“Right. Because you naturally look like you’re sitting on a pile of dicks.”
“Your language is always so colorful, you know that?”
“G,” she scolds with an annoyed look.
“Red,” I mock her.
She rolls her eyes. “How does Liv put up with your ass?”
“I could ask the same about you and Noah.” I tilt my head, and she growls at me. I smile. “What’s up with you two, anyway? I didn’t even know you were a thing.”
“Let’s save the girl chat for our next slumber party, shall we?” She twists up her mouth.
I open my mouth to reply with a witty comment when my pants buzz. Groaning, I pull out my phone and unlock the screen. I raise a brow and blink a few times, becoming a tad pale. Am I seeing this right?
“Who is it?” she asks curiously.
“The last person I’d expect,” I mutter, pocketing my phone.
“Huh?”
I push away from the messy counter. “I gotta head out.”
“Aren’t you drunk, buzzed at least?” she asks, sounding, if I dare to say, a little concerned. But I could be a little faded like she suggested…
I rummage through the cooler on the ground and snatch a water bottle. “I’ll be fine. See you later.”
She bites her lip but says nothing, giving me a sad head nod. “Okay.” I pause. She looks so…sad, broken even. I debate whether I should take her home or something, but she grabs a beer from the cooler and chugs a good amount down. Her blue eyes are raging fires and the look on her face says she wants to be alone and forget. What that is is unknown to me.
Chapter Forty-Three
Liv
So many questions bubble up on top of one another, it’s almost impossible to focus on one. Why are they selling the house? I get that they’re getting a divorce, which I am still distraught over. Twenty-odd years down the drain, because, what? They lost their love? Forgot why they got married in the first place? They can try to find that spark. But why sell the house, my home for the last eighteen years? There are too many memories of Jonah and me playing hide and seek, my first sleepover with Charlotte, Mother tucking me in with a sweet lullaby—too much to name, too much to lose to at least half a million dollars.
“What?” I finally find my voice.
“We’ve decided to sell the house,” Mother answers. She sounds exhausted but, even more, wretched. She should feel forlorn, she practically built and designed this house with her heart and soul. I can still remember her marveling over the French oak wood chairs she had included in one of the living rooms as she tucked me into bed. How she always stared up at the columns and delicately designed balconies every time we arrived home after she’d picked me up from elementary school. This house was like her child. She can’t possibly give it up.
“But why? Why not leave it where it is? Let Grandma take it or something,” I suggest desperately to Father, but he just shakes the idea away with a flit of his hand.
“Grandma likes where she is at the nursing home. She wouldn’t want to leave her friends to live in this big house by herself,” he says. I feel a surge of anger. He has barely spoken for eleven years, yet the longest sentence he comes up with since then is that?
“You can’t just sell it.” I turn from Father’s fallen gaze to Mother, who looks so sad but is trying to hide it. “Mother, you can’t sell our home.” My voice breaks as tears build up in my eyes.
“This hasn’t been our home for a very long time,” Father obje
cts.
“But it’s been mine!” I counter. “What…what about Louise? Are you just going to fire her?” I ask frantically. She’s been our housekeeper/caregiver for eleven years. They can’t just get rid of her. She’s practically my second mother, my primary mother when my own was preoccupied with traveling the world and diving nose-deep into her work.
Father sighs. “Louise has been let go.”
“You fired her?” I shout unintentionally. I can’t help it. I love Louise; she’s been my light when I was in a dark place. Always there for me when I needed her. I can’t believe they just fired her.
“No, let go,” Mother assures gently. “She’s working with the Millers down the street. She’s taking care of their little boy, Thomas. Born just a few months ago. Full-time, I made sure of that. You can even go see her if you want.”
I breathe heavily in relief. I would have felt horrible if she’d been searching for a job, unable to keep up financially. “Thank you,” I say. She loves working. Though she could stop if she wanted, considering the large sum my parents gave her and how long she took care of me. But the natural nurturing trait of hers would never allow her to stop even for a second. That’s a part of why I loved her. She loved to be my rock, just as much as I loved her for being one I desperately needed.
“Honey, let’s…” Mother shakes her head and gives me a weak smile. “Let’s sit down and talk about this.”
I begin to protest, but her eyes stop me before I can get a word out. Striking blue and nearly always strong, bold—they are glazed over with tears. This means much more than the house. Something else is weakening her defensive wall she’s delicately built around her. Instead of making things harder because I am upset, I nod and follow them into the grand dining room. Dark mahogany table, curved padded chairs to match, a crystalline chandelier, and a liquor cabinet. There are boxes next to the cabinet. Pretty soon, the furniture will be in an antique shop…
Grey: New Beginnings (Spectrum Series Book 5) Page 28