by Nashoda Rose
Trevor didn’t work, at least according to the government. He was a hacker and was probably pretty good at it considering all the people he had in and out of his apartment constantly. He also made fake IDs on occasion like the one he made me to get into the concert.
Trevor went straight to the kitchen, opened the drawer under the oven and took out a frying pan, setting it on the stove. He opened the fridge. “You have eggs?” I couldn’t afford eggs.
“No.” I shut my door and followed him into the kitchen.
“Bacon?”
If I couldn’t afford eggs, bacon was a hell no. “Nope.”
“Pancakes it is.” He reached up into the cupboard and took down an orange plastic bowl, then the “just add water” pancake batter, a banana sitting on the counter, and went to work on making banana pancakes.
“So who’s the guy running from you at seven-thirty in the morning? New boyfriend?” He peeled the banana, took a bite and said with his mouth full, “If you want, I can check him out. Make sure he doesn’t have a record or anything.”
I poured water into the top of the coffee maker. “Is that what you do for people?”
He smirked over his shoulder at me. “Babe, I do lots of things for people if the money is right. I’m a genius on the computer.”
I laughed. “A genius who is going to land himself in jail.”
He shrugged. “Life is too short to worry about the what ifs.” The fork hit the sides of the plastic bowl as he leaned his butt against the stove, bowl perched in his hand and against his naked chest while he stirred the batter.
“The guy’s security,” I said.
“For?” He stopped stirring, eyes widening. “Fuck. Strip club security?”
“No.” He chuckled, and I realized he’d been teasing. I put the carafe under the spout and flicked the on switch. “I got the job at Compass.”
His brows lifted and he started stirring again. “Wait a sec. You told me Kite wasn’t going to put in a good word for you.”
“He didn’t. I hijacked one of the cages the other night and got an interview. They hired me.” It was a little more than that, but I wasn’t sure whether to tell Trevor about the other half of the job. It was probably better I didn’t, at least until I talked to Killian about the rules. But Mars had to know the truth; that was non-negotiable.
“No shit.” He laughed. “Didn’t know you had it in you, sweet cakes.”
The percolator hissed and bubbled and then the sweet aroma of coffee drifted into the air. There was nothing better than the scent of fresh coffee in the morning.
Except maybe Killian. God, why did I even think that? Because you had him locked to your lips last night.
“So, the guy isn’t a boyfriend. But you’re in the hallway yelling at him in your pajamas, and he’s running for his life out of the building.” He dropped sliced pieces of banana into the mixture. “Fuck me. You had a one-night stand.”
“He’s security for the band Tear Asunder.”
He snorted. “You’re screwing the security guy with the band?”
“God, no. I didn’t sleep with him.”
“Dating then, which leads to sex, hopefully.”
I sighed. “I’m not dating him either, and I’m not going to be sleeping with anyone. He was dropping off keys. He kind of had my car. Well, the guy, Greg, at the club had my car, and the guy who was here drove me home last night in the band’s limo. Greg was supposed to drop off my car, but he took it to the wrecking yard instead.” Trevor wasn’t pouring the batter into the frying pan that sizzled with butter. Instead his eyes were on me with rapt interest in my story. “This morning security guy Luke brought me my keys. But they weren’t my keys. They were new keys. To a new car.”
“He gave you a new car?”
“No. Well, yes, but not Luke. Killian.”
“Killian?”
Right. Most people only knew Killian as Kite. “Kite. The drummer in Tear Asunder.”
“Fuck, sweet cakes.” He shook his head. “When you go for a guy, you go big.”
I scowled. “I’m not going for any guy.” I took two mugs out of the cupboard and poured the coffee.
Trevor was quiet and he rarely had nothing to say, so I looked up, and he was smirking annoyingly.
I set the coffee pot back. “What?”
“Let me lay it out for you. The drummer from the rock band buys you a new car because yours is crap.” Opening my mouth to refute, he lowered his voice. “And it was crap. It needed to be set on fire years ago.” He flipped a pancake. “The guy has money, sure, but I doubt he buys new cars for random people. So, what’s the deal?”
Trevor may be a douche, but he was smart as hell and supposedly had two degrees. Computer science and engineering. He also read people well, so I was going to have a hard time convincing him that my dating Killian was real, especially since he knew about the situation with David and I’d told him I didn’t plan on dating again for a long time.
“We’re dating. Well, plan to. We talked about it. Going on a date. Probably for coffee or something.”
He gestured to my new cell sitting on the couch. “And the phone is from him, too?”
I nodded. “It’s a Compass rule. For safety.”
He flipped the pancakes again then placed them on the plates.
“I like him already.”
“You do?”
“Well, yeah. You shouldn’t be driving around in that car, and no chick should be without a cell phone. He just handed you those things. So, yeah, I like him.”
I put the mugs on the table and sat, my mind reeling.
Killian hadn’t given me any money, but he hadn’t needed to because he did it in a way so I couldn’t take a check and rip it up. I had to have a cell, club rule, and he dumped my car so I needed another one.
The job I’d fought for. He hadn’t wanted to give me that, but he did and more.
Shit.
We sat and ate banana pancakes, and Trevor let the subject of Killian go. We chatted about movies or rather debated as I liked old classics and he was into anything sci-fi.
After we finished the pancakes, my cell vibrated on the couch.
I ignored it because it was likely Killian calling back and I didn’t want to talk to him in front of Trevor.
Trevor had other ideas as he dove for the couch and snatched it up and pressed Accept.
“Trevor. No.”
He turned his back to me as he said, “Yeah?”
Scrambling from my chair, I grabbed his arm, but he merely walked away with me hanging off him like a puppy. “Trevor,” I growled beneath my breath.
“Yeah. She’s here. Who’s this?” Pause. “Yeah, I saw the name on the screen, but I’m asking anyway.” Another pause, longer this time. “Live across the hall.”
Oh, my God. I darted around Trevor and gave him my most doleful eyes while mouthing “please.”
“Nope, not her fuck buddy either. Savvy never brings guys home. I hear you asked her out.”
Oh, God. I slapped my hand on my forehead and slumped my shoulders.
“Don’t hurt her.” There was another pause before he said, “Yeah, she’s here.”
He passed me the phone, and I mouthed “asshole” to which Trevor winked then strolled back to the table to clear the plates.
Putting the phone to my ear, I plopped down on the couch. “Trevor is my neighbor.”
“He said,” Killian replied. “I assume the one who made you the fake ID?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Luke said you didn’t like the car.”
“He’s right.”
“It’s not a new car, Savvy. It’s been sitting in my garage. It needs to be used and you need a car. When you buy a car, I’ll take it back.”
“But I had a car.”
He sighed. “Can we not argue this anymore? Christ, your car didn’t even have airbags.”
Of course it didn’t. Airbags weren’t around when my car was built. “Do you give cars to
all the girls you date?”
“No.” There was no hesitation. “And you’re the first girl I’ve dated.”
“Fake dated,” I corrected in a whisper so Trevor wouldn’t hear. There was no response. “I don’t want people to know you gave me a car. It looks… well, bad.”
Trevor snorted as he picked up the maple syrup off the table.
“The only people who will know are the ones you tell.”
“Killian—”
“Jesus, Savvy. I’m not asking for your soul here.” It sure as hell felt like it because Killian always had a part of me. “I’m making sure you’re safe, and it starts with a cell and a car.”
“Your safe is overwhelming,” I grumbled.
“Yes.”
I was surprised he admitted to that, but then I was discovering Killian had no qualms about telling me exactly what he thought. “Why are you calling?”
Trevor snorted. I guess that didn’t sound appropriate to a guy I was supposedly dating.
“Were you wet last night when I kissed you, orchid?”
Jesus. “That’s why you’re calling?” I felt the heat in my cheeks and that familiar ache between my legs.
“Answer the question.”
“No.”
“Bullshit. But I’ll let you have that until my fingers are inside you, then I’ll ask you again.”
I sharply inhaled. “That isn’t going to happen.” I lowered my voice. “It isn’t part of the arrangement.”
“Then you won’t have to worry about having to tell me the truth.”
“When did you get this way?”
“What way, orchid?”
Infuriating. Sexy. Dirty talking. Hot as hell. Panty melting. “I have to go.”
“I’ll pick you up at ten for our date. Dress casual.” Before I could respond, he was gone.
I pulled the phone from my ear and tossed it on the couch before turning for the kitchen. Trevor had his hands in the sink filled with sudsy water and was looking at me, laughing.
“What?” I picked up our mugs and brought them over to the sink then plopped them into the water.
“You’ll be fucking him by the end of the week. And, babe, I’m being generous. I think it will be by the end of the day because you have a history with him. Plus, I spoke to him, and he doesn’t seem like a guy who gives in if he wants something. And he wants you.”
“Well, I’m not sleeping with him.”
“Want to bet on it?”
“Oh, my God, I’m not betting on when I’m having sex with a guy.”
“So, you are going to have sex with him? You just don’t know when?” he teased.
I groaned. “No. God, no. I don’t want to have sex with him.”
“Then why bother dating him?” Trevor asked, grinning.
I slapped his shoulder shaking my head, and he flicked soapy water at me.
“Trevor?” It was a girl’s voice out in the hallway.
I lifted my brows and he cursed under his breath. “Breakfast for a week,” he said.
I shook my head. “No. I’m not doing it again. It’s mean, and you were an ass for picking up my phone.”
“I’ll owe you,” he said. “You can call it in at any time. And by the sounds of it, you’re going to need it.”
“So like what?”
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
He grinned. “Yep. Even sex.”
“Gross,” I muttered because Trevor was like a brother to me.
“Trevor?” the girl called again.
I sighed. “God, fine. But I’m holding you to the anything.”
He smirked and grabbed the flowered dishtowel off the hook beside the fridge and picked up a plate to dry it.
I walked to the door and opened it to see a gorgeous, curvy blonde standing in the hallway looking over the railing. There was a purpose to Trevor leaving his door open when he came into my place. He hoped the girl would just leave. This one was hanging onto the idea that he’d be back for her. He wouldn’t.
“Trevor left,” I said.
She wore his Toronto Raptors jersey that hung to midthigh. Trevor wouldn’t be impressed she was wearing his favorite basketball team’s shirt.
“But his door was open,” she said with confusion.
God, I hated this and I was enabling him in his slutty ways. Trevor had to get his shit together.
“Yeah.” I shook my head sighing and pursed my lips. It wasn’t my best performance, but she wasn’t even looking at me as she examined her leg for some reason. “I heard him on the phone as he ran out. Something about his mom being in the hospital.” Trevor’s mother lived in California on the beach with her latest squeeze.
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Hmm, okay. Do you think he’ll be back soon?”
I just told her his mom was in the hospital. But only twenty percent of the girls I told this story to ever asked if his mom was okay. Those were the ones I felt bad for. “His mother lives in California.”
“Oh. Do you have his cell number? I’ll call him later.” Trevor’s other rule, never ever give out his cell number to the girls he brings home.
“No, I don’t. But I’d be happy to give him yours and tell him you dropped by.” I played it like I had no clue she’d stayed the night.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, but it was too short to be flicked, so it swung back in exactly the same place. “No. I’ll leave him a note under his pillow.”
“Good idea,” I offered, smiling. A guy like Trevor loves a girl leaving her number under his pillow.
I shut my apartment door.
Trevor lounged on the couch, bare feet on the coffee table, ankles crossed while he flicked channels on the TV.
“You know, one day the lies are going to slap you in the face, and when it does, I hope it knocks you off your feet.”
“Babe, I’m clear with them before I fuck them. Not my issue if they think I’m so good they want second and thirds. And my mom does live in California.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Yeah, but she’s not sick. And you’re eating pancakes and watching TV across the hall. I’m not doing it again.”
He patted the back of the couch with his hand. “Sit. This shit with the rock star is fucking with your head. The chick will clear out in ten and I’ll get out of your hair.”
I walked over and sat, curling my legs beneath me. “Seriously, Trevor. I’m not covering for you anymore.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. But I still want to come over and have breakfast.”
“Fine, but you need to learn to make eggs benedict.”
Past Ireland
“Look at him.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, turning my head. I didn’t want to. I hated looking at the pictures.
Da twisted my arm behind my back, his fingers digging into my skin. I sucked in air at the pain then fell to my knees.
“Look, damn it.”
I did. I looked at the picture laying on the floor in the bedroom. My brother’s bedroom.
Empty. No sound of his laughter. No train running on its tracks. No superheroes flying through the air as he ran around the room making a zoom sound.
God, he’d wanted to be a superhero. To fly away whenever he wanted. To punch through steel. To be invisible.
And now I knew why. So people wouldn’t look at him with pity and kids wouldn’t make fun of him.
“This is your fault. They killed him, and where were you? Where the hell were you? Kissing some fuckin’ girl.” My da threw my arm away and kicked me in the back so I landed on my stomach, inches away from the picture of my brother’s smiling face as he sat on his brand new red bike.
“Tear it up.”
It was stupid to fight the inevitable. He’d make me, and if I fought, he’d make it harder on me.
“Pick it up, Kill,” he ordered. He loved calling me that. Ironic, he said.
I stared at Emmitt’s smiling face, and a tear slipped from my
eye and landed on the picture. He’d only been eleven.
I didn’t protect him. I was too busy talking to Keeva Campbell in the science room.
Emmitt. I’m sorry.
“If you don’t do as I say, it will be longer this time. Do you want that? Do you want to hurt your mum like that?”
No. I didn’t. I hated my mum crying all the time. Begging my da to let me out of my room. He never did. He couldn’t stand looking at me. But it had always been that way. He hated me from the day I was born. Emmitt was his only son, according to him. And now he was gone.
Hatred blazed in his eyes as he spat, “It should’ve been you. He had a chance at making it big in football. You took that from him.”
I didn’t care what he said to me anymore. But what I hated the most was the locked door. Closed in. The anger building each day.
“Rip it up,” he barked.
I reached out and picked up the picture, holding it between my trembling hands.
I closed my eyes and tore the picture in half. But I knew that wouldn’t be enough for him. He wanted it in shreds.
I tore it again and again until the tiny pieces lay in my palm. Then I closed my fist around them.
My mum’s footsteps hurried up the stairs and then she appeared in the doorway, a choked sob emerging when she saw me on my knees.
But it was nothing new. This was his mantra.
It had been eight weeks since Emmitt died and his room remained untouched. Mine, however, was empty.
My da had taken everything away after the funeral. It was like he wanted to erase everything to do with me.
We’d gone in my room, and he’d forced me to break, ruin, destroy every single thing I was able to, and what I couldn’t, he did. He said if Emmitt wasn’t here to enjoy his stuff, then I wouldn’t either.
Then he took everything out of my room except my bed and that was only because of my mum. He’d have preferred if I slept on the floor with nothing.
“Go to your room,” my da said when my mum approached.
I was getting off easy tonight.
I climbed to my feet and brushed past him. My mum had her hand on my da’s arm, and tears stained her cheeks. But it was rare they didn’t. She was always crying.
And she never ate anymore.
“He’s only twelve.” I heard her say as I walked down the hallway. She no longer said it wasn’t my fault.