Tough to Love: Saving Avery

by Ava Catori

  Tough to Love: Saving Avery

  Ava Catori

  Chapter 1

  He walked into the bar like he owned the place, with the swagger of self-importance. He was bigger and broader than most of the guys that frequented, but even with all of his good looks and body to back it up, I didn’t want to be bothered, especially not today.

  “Hey,” he nodded, “can I get something cold?”

  “Do you have a preference?”

  “Something good,” was all he answered.

  I pulled a longneck out of the cooler and poured a shot of iced vodka to go with it.

  He slammed the shot down and tossed some bills on the counter.

  I hated how much space he took up without even trying. His presence felt larger than life. At another time my thighs would have squeezed together almost out of reflex, my panties would be damp, and I’d be aching to touch the guy’s hard body. Today I could have cared less.

  Lately, I couldn’t be bothered. Nobody did it for me anymore – in fact, most men left me cold.

  “Quiet night,” he commented, like I couldn’t notice on my own.

  “Yep,” keeping it short and sweet.

  “Sorry you got stuck working tonight.”

  “No big deal, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

  “A pretty girl like yourself; no boyfriend or family to celebrate with?”

  My shoulders tensed. My jaw got tight, and my teeth went into lockdown clench mode. It happened so quickly, I barely had time to think about it. Family, that’s funny. Fucking assholes.

  “Look, I’m not much for talking,” I finally forced out.

  “And yet you took a job as a bartender,” he mused.

  “I have bills to pay.” I was in no mood. It was one year ago, Thanksgiving eve that my entire world shifted.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, watching me closely. I could feel his eyes taking in my body, absorbing every detail, almost memorizing it so he could jerk off to my imagine later. His gaze was silent but raw, and I felt naked under his intense stare.

  Any other day I might have cared, maybe even shown a hint of desire. I’d never touch the guy though, no matter how smoldering hot he was. I was done with guys like him, guys that thought they owned you, breathing in your air, filling the space and gap between you. People like him were the toughest part of my job – always thinking because they were strong and aggressive and that they could possess you like some mindless bimbo, using you for their own pleasure.

  On another day, I’d work harder to get a bigger tip but not today, and maybe not even tomorrow.

  I liked it better when the place was empty. The occasional straggler came in, but most people were home with their families eating their god damn turkeys and their pasty mashed potatoes.

  One more fucking year and I could blow out of this town never to look back - one more year. There was nothing left for me here. Two more semesters and I’d be free. I promised my mom I’d stay only that long. I couldn’t live here anymore – but I promised I’d get my degree. I’m doing it more for me than for her, I could care less what she thinks.

  His eyes were still on me watching my lack of movement. Turning my back to him, I went to the other end of the bar.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said, sliding his bottle back and getting up to leave.

  “Same to you,” I mumbled, glad he was leaving.

  I wanted to lock the door, close out any potential customers for the night, but I still had a couple of hours to go. We had to be the only place open in town, and my boss insisted we remain that way. It’s not that I had plans or something better to do; I was just in no mood to be around people.

  Chapter 2

  When it happened, when he put his hands on me, I pushed him off. He’d had more to drink than he should have, but that was no excuse. Only he was stronger than I was, and he didn’t take kindly to being pushed.

  His hand came up fast and hard, pinning me to the wall by my neck. With his other hand, he lifted the gauzy material of my skirt and tore at my panties. His fingers pressed tightly between my thighs, telling me how hot my body was for him. “You want this, I saw you looking at me,” he snarled, his breath full of booze.

  “Get off,” I choked out, calling out as loudly as I could. With that he reeled back and slapped my face hard. The tears spilled out and as I started to scream, his mouth came down hard on my own, muffling my sounds.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he growled, slamming my head against the wall.

  I clawed at him, but his fingers were pushing between my nether lips, penetrating me, and as he forced himself on me, later ripping his jeans off and sliding up between my legs, I cried and beat at him with balled up fists. He didn’t stop until he was finished.

  I felt used, ugly, and my brain was shredding with pain. I hated him, hated myself, and didn’t want to breathe in the same room as him.

  Nobody believed me, not my mother, not my step-father, because their precious minor league ice hockey star would never do something like that. He was an upstanding guy, and I was ridiculous. They were tired of my dramatic cries, accusing my step-brother of raping me in the other room. Obviously they would have heard something. How could I ruin Thanksgiving like this, and what the hell was wrong with me?

  He sneered at me as I broke down crying. “He fucking raped me,” I screamed out.

  “That’s enough of that,” my step-father stood, glaring at me like it was some made up rant, like I had nothing better to do on Thanksgiving than accuse my step-brother of rape. Fucking asshole.

  I moved out, my mom begging me to stay, but she wouldn’t stand up to him and didn’t know who to believe. It was easier to pretend it didn’t happen. I hated her for not taking me at my word. I still hate her, but I promised I’d finish school. I’m not doing it for her; I’m doing it for me. It’s bought and paid for, so I’ll finish.

  I can’t afford much on my salary, but the bar owner said I could rent a room upstairs. The bathroom is down the hall, it’s not pretty, and it’s small, but my door locks and I don’t have to see my family.

  Some nights I could still feel his hand on my throat, his mouth on my own, and his cock driving hard into me. The tears don’t fall anymore. Usually I’m numb and just wishing the thoughts would fall out of my head.

  The night didn’t get better – and after I made the statement, the bold, fucking truth, I was shut out. I was the bad one. I was the one who was lying. I was the one who was causing a scene and ruining a perfectly fine Thanksgiving. My mom threw her napkin on the floor and ran from the room, not wanting to deal with it.

  “If you ever touch me again, I’ll kill you,” I spat out, lashing my anger at him.

  He said nothing, but it was at that moment my stepfather threw me out of the house. I was ready to leave anyway. He said I was a harlot looking to make trouble, and I was no longer welcome there.

  I never went back. My mom comes in time to time – but I rarely have much to say. I think she does it to make herself feel better, telling herself lies. She couldn’t say anything, couldn’t go up against him or it would destroy their marriage. I’m grown, but she has the rest of her life to live with him.

  She’s dead to me. I see her come in, I let her talk, but I never have anything to say back.

  Chapter 3

  He walked back in, carrying a brown bag with him. Looking up, he caught my eye. His gaze was just as intense, only this time he wasn’t taking no for an answer – so he thought. He was wrong. My answer is always no these days. It didn’t used to be that way…not that it mattered.

  There was confidence in his walk. It was more swagger or stride, and he knew his place in the world. He obviously thought he belonged on the top,
his arrogance and cocky air moved with him. This was a man that didn’t follow the rules; he drew his own conclusions and had his own code of ethics.

  I wondered what brought him back and what he held in the bag. It dwarfed his large hands, hands that were solid and strong. His fingers gripped the bag, squeezing the top shut. Those very hands had probably touched a hundred young, tight bodies – girls that chased after him in high school in college. He was the kind of guy girls swooned over. He was the one that women ached to touch, to be with to show that they were the chosen one.

  Sitting back in front of me, he tossed the bag onto the bar. “It’s pumpkin pie.”

  I looked at him, wondering why he was here.

  “A little piece of Thanksgiving for you,” he said. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back another time.”

  I stared, not sure what to say. I finally choked out the word, “Wait, thanks.”

  With that he nodded. “The sea of pain in your eyes painted a picture,” he said, turning around and leaving.

  It shows? I thought I hid it well – maybe I was wrong.

  A total stranger, a man that could land any woman, a man that you’d assume only put himself first had just brought me pie. It left me confused and fascinated. He didn’t know me, and yet he went out of his way to share this tiny gesture. For the first time today, I smiled.

  His dark eyes didn’t give anything away. He didn’t reek of softness and reminded me of somebody rational, but not wearing his emotions on his sleeve. His action took me by surprise. I thought about the man more than I cared to over the next few days. It’s not that I wanted anything from him; I’d just been thrown by the move. He wasn’t asking for anything in return, and in fact I didn’t see him for another full week. By the time he walked back in, I was ready to see him. That surprised even me.

  It was the confidence in his body language that spoke this time. He was at ease with himself, I’d say almost cocky, but there wasn’t total arrogance surrounding him, just a little. His broad shoulders lead the way, and as he settled at the bar, he looked squarely at me with only the hint of a smile.

  “How was the pie?”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “Good. I’ll take a cold one.”

  I pulled a long neck out of the cooler and placed it before him. “This one’s on me,” I said, repaying the debt of the pie. I don’t like to owe anybody.

  Nodding, he waited for more words. What was I supposed to say? I wasn’t feeling talkative. That was the hardest part of the job for me, the small talk. Only at this hole in the wall, most people came to bury their stories and frustration. If I wanted a more social place, I would have applied at the busy sports bar down the way.

  The dark paneling on the wall, the dim lighting, and weathered booths let me get lost. Nobody bugged me to be their friend; they just wanted a shot and a beer. We didn’t do girly drinks here, we weren’t a trendy martini place, or a nightclub, or an up and coming pub, we were the seedy side of the road pub where blue collar guys came to drown after working their asses off all week, and didn’t need small talk to feel better.

  He didn’t seem the type that belonged here. He looked like he fit in with the sports crowd down the way, the guys screaming at the TV with a group of buddies betting on their latest football pools. His leather jacket wasn’t worn down at the edges enough, it wasn’t broken in enough – that jacket hadn’t seen years of wear, in fact, it looked like he’d just bought it recently. He could have easily cut the tags off and just put it on – it didn’t have years of life it in – not yet.

  “One more,” he ordered, and then chugged it down. Peeling bills out of his wallet he tossed five hundred dollars on the bar top, five hundred freaking dollars.

  Standing to leave, he shoved the money at me like I was some common hooker. It was more money than I could afford to give back. “I’m not some charity case,” I shot at him as he started to walk away.

  “I’ve come into some money lately; I’m just spreading the wealth.”

  “Not interested,” I answered. Pulling a twenty free, I shoved the rest back at him, calling out, “I don’t want your money.”

  “Then give it away,” he said leaving, not saying another word.

  Fuck. I gathered the cash in a pile and pulled it into a big, fat wad. Shoving it in my jean pocket, it bulged. Fuck, five hundred freaking dollars. What does he want? I’d just hold it until he came back - if he came back. I’d give it back or pay for his beers until the debt was repaid. You can’t just throw money at someone like that and not expect something in return. What did he want from me?

  My pulse jumped, and as much as I worried what he wanted in return, I knew that I wanted him to come back, if just to see him again. He had a raw power, like something that said he’d protect those around him, risking it all and putting himself in jeopardy, and a tiny piece of me liked that feeling as much as I hated to admit it. Was I fawning over him, no, I don’t think so; I was merely admitting that he was an attractive man.

  One of my regulars came in not minutes later, “Was that Steel Brickman?” He seemed confused, almost in awe. “I swear to God it looked just like him.”

  “Who’s Steel Brickman,” I asked, turning to Harry.

  “Only the biggest name in football right now. They snatched him out of college ball before he even graduated. He was a no name playing for the Seattle Sidewinders back at school, some peon school, not even a big one, but a scout found him and grabbed him up. He’s about to start playing for our boys. I think they start him next week. He’s all over sports talk radio right now.”

  “The Red Hawks?” That explains the cash.

  “Yeah,” he said, his head turned towards the door.

  Why wasn’t he hanging at the sports bar down the road? A professional football player would fit right in. He probably had a huge ego, being pulled out of college, a no name that went pro. I didn’t follow football, and except for the rare game that was splashed on the television time to time here, I rarely paid attention.

  Chapter 4

  He didn’t come back, not for a while. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take an interest in his background. I did some searching on the web to pull up his story. Nearing graduation in his senior year back in Seattle, his name was all the rage locally, but not playing in the bigger leagues he wasn’t getting the same exposure. The agent’s brother lived in town, and kept telling him about this kid. It took a couple of visits before he snapped him up – offering him the big life on the east coast if he’d sign on. He took a massive sign on bonus, and was locked in tight as the Red Hawk’s back-up quarterback. According to the article, they thought he’d become a driving force in the team’s future, a name that would be a household name and would be worth the money spent up front.

  Without him looking back at me, I could study the picture of his face. He had a strong jawline, a masculine face, and short jet black hair. At almost twenty-two, he looked older than his age. His expression had the look of time, and not that of some farm fresh kid plucked out of school.

  I’m guessing his twenty-two years hadn’t been easy based on the stories I dug up, but nothing too extreme. It’s like an explosion of stories of his past were being passed around after he won the contract he wasn’t even trying for. I’m guessing the guest appearances on news shows wouldn’t be far behind.

  Closing my browser, I stood up and watched it flicker. I was lucky the piece of shit laptop was still working. It was on its last leg, and I desperately needed it to hold out – at least through my final year in college.

  I thought about the money he threw on the bar top. It would easily pick me up something used, but I couldn’t bring myself to spend it. I hadn’t earned it, and was like god damned hand out. So he made money, it was his money, not mine.

  I was drawn back, pulling the photos of him up again. There was something in me that wanted to study his face, get to know each line, and stare into his dark eyes without him staring back. It startled me when I realize I wanted to
feel his hot breath on me, breathing ragged, sweaty, and worn.

  I don’t think about those things, at least haven’t in way too long, but the wicked thought crept into my brain. Fine, I admit it, he’s handsome with a raw intensity, but that’s all it is. I’m having my own version of foreplay in my head, and it’s the closest I’ve been to sex in ages. I shut the thoughts down and paced instead. I need to get out of here.

  I lace up some shoes and go for a run. I don’t want to think anymore, and certainly not about some guy. Guys don’t fit into my plans, not anymore. They aren’t worth it – they’re all pieces of lying shit, and he’d be the same once I got to know him.

  Beads of sweat roll down my face as I hit my fourth mile. I went faster, harder, trying to push everything out of my head. It’s the only way I know to make the thoughts go away, any thoughts. The stress slowly drains from me, and when I stop my mind is clear once again – the way that I like it.

  I have a paper I’ve been putting off, and know if I don’t tackle it today it won’t get done. I’m more than ready for the semester to be over, but I still had a few more weeks to get through. Thankfully between work and school, I didn’t have a lot of free time. I didn’t want free time – it left me open to think about life, and right now life had shit on me. We weren’t exactly buddies.

  I pulled up the bulleted outline with notes from class, but my brain wouldn’t lock onto my work. Instead it drifted to the football player, the stranger from the bar, the picture from the web, and the warm feelings I was sensing between my legs.

  “No,” I grunted out loud, and focused back on my notes. I would not let some guy weasel his way into my mind like this. They’re all assholes, every last one of them – including my dead beat dad, my excuse for a step-father and the step-brother that I hate.

  Digging in, I tackled the essay and wrapped it by night’s end. I’d put it off as long as I could, relieved I’d finally finished.

  Tearing into a pack of cheese crackers, I realized I had little food left in my tiny room, and would have to hit the market for a few things tomorrow. I could do it between classes and work, but I only had a short pocket of time. With a tiny mini-fridge and one cabinet to store groceries, I rarely kept much food on hand anyway. Besides, I had more than my fair share of pretzels downstairs at the bar. They filled me up and were cheap, so I could save what little money I had for more important things like rent.