by Jaci J
“You’re fuckin’ sad, man.”
Yeah, ‘cause he’s been such a ray of sunshine over the past year. “Pot, meet kettle,” I tell him, throwing a smug arm over the back of my seat. His silence is all I need.
Ellison and I have been doing this shit a long time, and everyone knows it. So damn long, in fact, that I’ve lost track of. I’ve known her for over twenty years now, or somethin’ close to that, and grade school was where it started. Me and her brother Mike go back years. She was just five when I first met her—a sweet little girl who turned into a monster.
For as long as I can remember, she’s been in my life, and I hope like fuck she always is. Besides my club, she’s all I’ve got.
Her brother and I were close as fuck until he grew a vagina and patched in with the Raiders. Ever since then, he’s been doing shit to fuck with me. But that’s where I lost him. Drugs took hold of him next, and that’s where El lost him. Mike and I are nothin’ now. He’s a fuckin’ douchebag that needs to be taken out.
I’ve always had an unhealthy infatuation with El. Something about her being forbidden fruit makes her that much more sweeter to me. She was off limits in that unspoken rule for so goddamn long, but once I got my hands on her, I kinda lost my fuckin’ mind over her. I’ve been trying to fuck her out of my system for ten years.
But now we’re friends. Hell, she’s my best fucking friend.
El stops at the table across from ours with an armload of steaming hot plates in her hands, and she does it all with that hot as hell sway in her hips. Sliding the load onto the table full of stinky fuckin’ truckers, she does it all with a smile, even though I know she hates this job. I wish she’d let me fix the problem, but she’s hardheaded as fuck.
Bending over, she sits a plate in front of some fat fucker who’s staring down her shirt, grinning like he’s hit the jackpot. I hate that shit. Hate how she flirts and smiles and chats up these cockwads.
“Everything look good, boys?” I hear her ask them, her voice soft and sexy.
“We’re good, unless you wanna give me your number?” The guy grins. I’m about to rip that grin clean off of his face when she shakes her head and she smiles pleasantly. I know she’s used to it, but it doesn’t make it any easier on me. She’ll live through it, but I’m not so sure about me.
“Sorry, boys. All I’m serving is food this morning.” And that’s all she ever better be serving.
“Jesus. Look at you crackin’ your knuckles like you’re about to do somethin’,” Buck chuckles. I’m about three seconds away from getting out of this seat when Ellison walks away from the table of goons.
“Baby.” I stop her, needing her attention on me, which is the only place it should be. Yeah, I’m an asshole about it. “Hot sauce,” I tell her when she stops long enough to look at me. Scooping it off of the bar across from us, she comes on over and slides it onto the table in front of me.
“Thanks, baby doll.”
“Anything for you,” she laughs and rolls her eyes at me. El knows what I’m up to. “Are you feeling needy, Rock?”
Needy?
Grabbing on to her wrist, I jerk her to me. Her knees hit the vinyl seat, and she leans in when I tug her close. “Roll your eyes again at me again, I’ll turn that fat ass of yours a pretty shade of my handprint.” She drives me crazy, and she knows it.
She smirks. “While I’m at work?” Her voice is full of challenge. Why does she test me? My follow-through is accurate as fuck.
“Try me.”
Giving my arm a placating pat, she gets up and off the seat. Looking back at me, she mouths, “Later.” Goddamn right.
Ellison takes a few more orders and serves up the rest of her tables before things slow down, then she’s over at my table again, just like she should be.
“My feet hurt,” she moans, plopping down next to me. Taking a load off, she kicks her feet up onto the seat across from us and slouches. “Wanna rub them for me?” She laughs, clicking her heels together.
“Don’t rub feet, babe. You know that,” I tell her, even though I might just fucking do it for her anyway. Pretty sure if there’s a line where she’s concerned, I’d cross it.
She smiles, but it only lasts until Sarah starts walking towards us, grinning seductively. Leaning against my side, El makes an irritated noise and glares at her. The bitch knows I’m not interested. She only does it to fuck with El, and El knows it, but it still bothers her. Jesus. Women are so goddamn difficult. If El would wear my patch, there’d be no question as to who I belonged to.
Sarah disappears to the other side of the diner, and El’s back to smiling and laughing again. Complicated as fuck.
“So…no rub down then?” she asks with a pout on her luscious lips.
“No.”
“But my feet hurt, Rocky.” Right to the motherfucking heart. She calls me that ‘cause she knows it fucks with me. There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for her when she asks me in that whiny way of hers.
“Pleeease.”
“Babe—”
“Come on. You know you want to.”
“Why the fuck you wear those boots if they hurt?” I look down at the pair of combat boots she stomps around in all day. It’s not that I’m complaining, ‘cause those boots bring back good memories—memories of them being thrown over my shoulders not so long ago.
“Because you bought them for me.” Probably should have known that. I think I might have picked them up for her on a run a few years back from some guy selling army surplus shit. Or, it could’ve been from that Indian guy Poncho introduced us to, who made leather goods down on the Rez.
The annoying bell has El jumping outta her seat like it’s on fire. “Order up,” the cook bellows from behind the order window. “Now!”
“Gotta go,” she groans as she gets up and walks off. Rounding the bar, some dude sitting on a stool reaches out and puts a hand on her lower back to stop her, and I start picturing ways I can remove that hand.
“Miss?” The soon to be armless asshole coos sweetly at her. Pussy. I hate when someone touches her, and that goes for any man, woman, or child. But that’s not how we are. We live in anything but a perfect world.
“Yeah?” She stops and looks at him, hand on her hip.
“Could I get some more coffee?” He smiles at her and of course, she returns it. That shit makes me pissy as fuck. Maybe that’s why the food here taste so goddamn bad. My constant anger sours the taste.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back,” she responds before walking around the corner and out of sight.
It’s been years of me watching her with boyfriends, customers, even my brothers, and that shit never gets easier on me. She’s like an illness that I just can’t get out of my system.
“Yeah, you’re fucking pathetic.”
Buck confirms what I already know. I’m not even going to argue with him ‘cause I don’t have a leg to stand on.
***
I choked down my omelet, braved my hash browns, and shot back my coffee. When I finish, I get up to leave, tossing two twenties on the table before I head for the door, Buck following behind me.
“Rock! Wait up.”
And I do.
“What’s up, babe?” Turning around, with the sun shining on her face, I notice a purple bruise on her forehead that I hadn’t seen before. She attempted to cover it with make-up, but in the dark restaurant, I missed it. I see that shit now.
“The fuck happened to your head?” I growl out, pushing her hair away to get a better look. It’s not bad, but it isn’t pretty either.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” she mumbles with a frown a frown on her face. Fidgeting with her hair, she rights it and covers the bruise back up. I swear to fuck, if someone put that bruise on her, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.
“Better explain that shit real quick, baby doll, before I blow the fuck up.”
“Calm down there, big guy. My shower rod broke. It fell when I was getting out and hit me in the head
,” she laughs, like it’s funny and shit. I don’t laugh, ‘cause I don’t find it amusing at all. She lives in a shithole. It doesn’t make me happy to think she’s paying to live in that place with it falling down around her. “Could you come by and help me hang the new one I picked up?”
“Sure.” There isn’t shit I wouldn’t do for her and she knows it. Hang curtains or buy her a small island, all she has to do is ask.
“I’ll be by tonight. Might be late.” Nodding, she smiles that Ellison sweetness at me and bumps playfully into my side. “Thanks, Rock. You’re my hero.”
That’s me, motherfuckin’ Superman.
“Need me to knock or just let myself in?” Who knows if she’ll have one of those clowns she meets tending bar there with her. I’d hate to have to kill someone tonight after this morning.
“Just come in, but who says the door will be unlocked?” she asks defiantly.
“Babe, you never lock your door.” It keeps me awake at night thinking she’s so careless, doing stupid shit like that. Anyone could just walk up in there, then what would she do? Bitch him to death? She’s five foot nothing, a buck twenty soaking wet. She doesn’t have a chance in hell against some crazed lunatic hell-bent on fuckin’ her world up. Fuck. She makes me crazy. “You need to lock that damn door, Ellison.”
“Yeah yeah,” she scoffs and rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll be off at one, so come over whenever.”
“See you later, babe.”
“Bye, Rocky.”
“Pathetic,” Buck spits out as he follows me out into the parking lot.
Getting on my bike, I look over at his stupid fucking face, smiling that stupid fucking smile of his. “Man, shut the fuck up. Don’t make me get up off this bike and knock you on your ass.
“You can try, motherfucker. Let’s roll, you pansy ass bitch.” Why the hell am I friends with this asshole?
“I will shoot you,” I shout out as I fire up my bike.
Buck just laughs and pulls out onto the highway, leaving me sitting here like a fucking idiot.
Ellison
Giving my hands one final brisk rub against the blast of hot air from the heater vents, I tighten the hood of my jacket around my face and throw open the door to the only nice thing I own, my 4Runner.
I worked two shifts today. I did the morning out front at the grill and the night shift in the back at the bar. In between, I was able to catch a few hours of sleep at home.
I jump from my car and run through the lot full of melting snow, heading for my front door. I dodge puddles and jump snow banks before I finally make it to my front door.
It’s fucking cold as hell out here.
Making my way inside to the entry way of my apartment, I kick off my boots and strip down, leaving my clothes in a pile. Flipping on the heater, I run towards my room for some warmer clothes.
Standing in front of my closet, I debate on whether to slip on something nice, something Rocky might like, but I give up and decide to throw on some sweats. It’s not like he cares what I wear anyways. Besides, it’s fucking freezing.
Walking into my bathroom, I grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth. Leaning my hip against the vanity, I think of Rocky coming over, and that familiar beat hits my heart.
From some of my first memories, Rock’s been there. Through the loss of a parent, broken hearts, drunken mistakes, graduations, failures and successes, he’s been there through it all. He’s invaluable to me. I’m not sure what I would do without him, and I’m not even sure he knows how important he is to me. I try to tell him, but I choke every time I try to make the words come out. Something about telling the most important person in your life how much you really need them is really fucking scary. It cements their importance in your life, and gives them that power over you emotionally. To me, that is beyond terrifying.
In the living room, I find my favorite spot on the couch. I cross my legs, grab the remote, and stare blankly at the TV. After twenty minutes of this, I finally hear his heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. The distinct thud of steel toe Georgia boots on the old cement outside, echoes along the stairwell and under my door. Each and every time I see Rock, my heartbeat kicks up a beat or two. That’s what he does to me.
Knowing he’s here makes me stupid with excitement. I love his dark, serious eyes, and his short dark hair. His nose is perfectly imperfect, and his lush lips are scarred. He has a strong jaw, and a sexy as hell dark beard. He’s definitely something worth looking at.
Young infatuation turned into a crush, and that crush grew into unrequited love. Now, that teenage love has turned in to a familiar comfort, but I still get that feeling whenever I see him.
The knob on the door rattles as he tries to open it. He’s so impatient. “Ellison?”
I locked it just for him.
“Yeah?” I yell back through the closed door, remaining on the couch.
“Open it.” he demands. Always so fucking bossy.
Getting off the couch, I walk slowly to the door, taking my sweet ass time. “Can’t,” I tease, leaning my shoulder against the wall while listening to him grumble at the closed door.
“What? Why the fuck not?” he shouts. He’s starting to sound upset. I can hear him shuffling before he jerks hard on the door handle. Twisting and pulling, he fights with it, the hinges almost ready to give. Lord, he’s gonna break my damn door off the frame.
“Rock?”
“What?” he snaps, still jerking on the doorknob.
“I’m just fucking with you,” I laugh. I unlock the moving knob and crack the door open, smiling at his crazy pissed off expression. I figure I might want to cut him some slack since it’s cold and late. I mean, he did come all the way over here to help me.
“Fuck. You scared the shit outta me,” he breathes out as he walks in and around me. “Thought you fell and broke your damn neck.” Jesus, I’m not ninety.
Looking me up and down, he nods when he seems satisfied that my neck’s not broken. “Sorry it’s so fuckin’ late. You about to go to bed?” He looks down at my ratty sweats.
“Nope. Just got home a little while ago and wanted to get comfortable.”
“You look it.” He swats at the old sweatshirt I’m wearing, the one I stole from him. It’s six sizes too big, it’s a classic, and it’s my favorite.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Yep.” He’s a man of a few words tonight I see.
I turn and wave for him to follow me down the hall to the bathroom, but halfway there, he stops abruptly in the middle of the hall.
“What’s this shit?” he asks, kicking at a pile of boxes lining the hallway, and I cringe. A pain in the ass is what they are.
“My brother’s shit,” I say carefully. I know he hates to talk about him about as much as I do.
“That fuck face still hasn’t gotten his shit outta your place?” His voice gets louder with each syllable. Michael comes around, saying he’s here to get his stuff, but he never actually takes it. He only comes by for money, and that’s about it.
“Nope.”
“Want me to make him take it?” he offers, smiling that devious dimpled smile of his. Rock is violent. I swear you’d think the man was born swinging.
Chewing on the inside on my cheek, I mull it over for just a second. His offer is very appealing. I do want Mike’s shit out of my house for good, but Rock will only create a disaster out of an already messy situation.
“That’s okay, I can do it. Thanks though.”
“Don’t like you dealin’ with him ‘n his people.”
“I know,” I sigh. “But he’s my brother.”
“He’s not good people, El. He’s gonna drag you into his shit, and there won’t be a goddamn thing I can do about it.” Rock glares at the boxes. “He’s not the same guy, babe,” he adds a little softer, his eyes losing their edge.
Michael is a sore subject for the both of us. My brother and Rock were best friends growing up. They both turned eighteen and sought similar paths, but with comp
letely different outcomes.
Rock looks back down at the boxes with a mix of hurt and hate on his face.
“Rock—” I start, but he cuts me off when he kicks one of the boxes.
“No. You need to take that shit to the trash ‘n be done with it, or let me deal with it.”
“I’ll get rid of it,” I lie.
I should let Rock dispose of Mike’s junk, but I’m trying not to cause more drama. My brother may be out of his damn mind, but he’s still my brother. Rock is my friend. He’s my best friend, and I don’t want to upset him either. Me tossing that shit out will only piss Michael off, which will piss his club off, and in turn, send Rock into a fucking rage. I’ll keep it and return it at a later date.
Grabbing onto his arm, I tug him away from the boxes towards the bathroom. No more of this depressing shit. “Help me get that rod up, will ya.”
***
“Fuck,” Rock grumbles, plopping down on my little couch. Catching my hand on the way down, he tugs me with him, right onto his side. Leaning in, I inhale. He smells woodsy and clean, with a slight hint of motor oil. My Rocky.
Scrubbing at his face, he sighs and looks at me. “So how the fuck you been, babe? Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“It’s been eight days, and you saw me this morning, but I’m good. You doin’ all right?” He looks tired.
“Eight days too long. Here, get up.” He pats his thigh and motions at my feet with a tattooed hand. Slinging my legs over his, he sets about removing my socks, letting them drop to the floor, then picks one foot up in his big hands. “Could be better,” he says, rubbing at my arch. “Could be worse.”
Oh Jesus, that feels good.
“Mmm,” I hum. “That feels amazing.” Rock has no problem rubbing my feet, he just doesn’t do it often.
“Sounds like it.” My eyes meet the back of my head. Digging a knuckle into my heel, he drags another moan out of me. “Is it as good as when I—”
“Don’t finish that,” I mutter.
“I was gonna say when I make you a grilled cheese, ya fuckin’ pervert,” Rock chuckles as his fingers work on my feet.