by K. A. Tucker
He talks and I listen to the low seductive hum of his voice and, although my hormones are planning a full assault to highjack my brain and take over all rational thought, I can’t help but get distracted by the shred of life flowing through my soul again.
***
I revel in the feel of my arms around Trent’s warm, strong body for the entire ride home, feeling no need to speak, wishing the night would last forever. When he walks me to my apartment door, I’m bowled over by the sudden tornado of emotion inside me—bliss and disappointment, excitement and fear, all converging, ready to knock me off my feet. I also sense a growing awkwardness in the air between us. Maybe because I’m silently wishing he’d invite me back to his apartment and disheartened that I know he won’t.
“So, thanks for showing me my first alligator and not having your way with me.” I busy myself with searching my purse for my keys. “I’m glad I still have all my limbs and—”
Trent’s soft lips cut my rambling short. His arms enclose around me, one hand skimming the small of my back while the other cups the back of my neck. He pulls me close against him, his mouth working slowly and controlled against mine, like he’s restraining himself from doing what he wants to do. That sense shoots jittery waves of heat through me. My arms lose all strength and drop to my sides, my purse and keys tumbling to the ground along with them.
Trent breaks free and crouches down in front of me to pick my things up. When he’s up again, he hands everything to me with a challenging smirk. “You going to survive?”
I hate that he can level me so completely and joke about it. Bastard. But I do love a challenge. I step forward and press my full body against his, chest to knees, hooking my hand around his back so I can jerk him forward against me, close enough that I can feel him in his jeans. He’s not unaffected. I look up into that perfect face and smile sweetly. “Nothing a long, hot, shower can’t fix.”
That did it. I feel him getting harder.
Trent smirks, no doubt fully aware of what I’m up to. What I would do to know what he’s thinking right now.
“Do you have a cell phone?” he asks abruptly.
I frown with the sudden change of conversation. “No, why?”
He breaks away from me and takes five giant steps back to get himself to his apartment door. He slides his key into his lock. “Because I don’t trust myself around you for more than a minute sometimes.” When he turns to size me up, it’s with a smoldering look. “Texting is good. It’s safer.”
“I’ll get right on it,” I purr, adding with mock innocence, “leaving so soon? You okay?”
“I will be,” he calls over his shoulder as he disappears into his apartment, leaving my mouth dry and my body on fire.
Stage Five ~ Dependence
Chapter Nine
I’m at the mall at nine a.m. on Tuesday morning to buy two cell phones. One for Livie and one for me. They’re nothing fancy but I can text easily and that’s all I care about after lying wide-eyed in bed all night, contemplating Trent.
At noon, as I’m heading out of my apartment door with my gym gear, I bump into him. With a grin, I decide that I really do love living next door to him. I really do.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks, stepping just inside my personal space. I note that I don’t mind a bit. In fact I thrive on Trent Emerson being in my personal space.
“Like someone slipped Rohypnol into my drink,” I lie, giving him my full-tooth smile. “I’m on my way to the gym. You interested?”
Blue irises take in my black tank top shamelessly. “I could burn some energy.”
My heart skips three beats. “Then go get your things,” I say and bite my tongue before I offer him a better way to burn energy.
With a smile, he leans in to kiss my cheek. “Give me two minutes.”
I wait in the commons area, no doubt with a stupid grin on my face, while Trent runs into his apartment. When he comes out, he’s in track pants and a fitted white t-shirt. I may not be able to see his tattoo, but I can see every ridge of his sculpted chest and flat abdomen. How the hell am I going to get through my rounds with that to look at?
“I’ll drive?” he offers with a smile, as if he can read my mind.
I can only muster a nod.
***
“You need a hand with the bag?” Trent offers.
“This way, Jeeves.” I stroll over to a free spot and toss my stuff to the wall behind it. I begin to stretch my body, feeling each muscle expand and loosen. I always marvel at how far I’ve come every time I’m about to work out. It took me so long to even move my foot after the accident. At one point, my muscles had deteriorated to nothing, and I was sure I’d never walk again. At the time, I didn’t really care.
Trent mimics my stretches, his arms lifting over his head, one arm bent and pulling against the other to stretch his triceps. His shirt rises, exposing the contours of his abdomen and the dark trail of hair running down below his navel.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter under my breath, turning around to finish my stretching in blissful ignorance of the god behind me.
“Okay. Ready?” I hear Trent call out. He swings his arms back and forth, clapping as they come in front of him. “Let’s show ’em what we’ve got!”
“Do you have any idea how to hold a kick bag?”
“Of course,” He leans against it, his arms circling the entire circumference.
I don’t think Trent’s ever held a kick bag. “I said ‘hold’ not ‘hump.’ You want your ribs cracked?”
His arms drop and he moves away from the bag, gesturing at it. “Alright then, smart ass. Teach me.”
I grin as I tie my hair back into a ponytail, aware of the small crowd behind us in my peripherals. Ben’s with them and he’s got that smirk on his face. I still want to slap it off his face, even though he’s turning out to be an alright guy.
“Okay, what you need to do …” I step in front of Trent and slip my hands into his. I start explaining how he needs to distribute his weight and the best height to position his hands, all the while I’m in awe of the fact that holding his hands doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’d happily hold them through movies, long walks on the beach, and anything else that involves hand holding. And touching in general. I want to touch Trent for the rest of my life. “Put this leg here …” My fingers slide to his thigh to reposition his leg and I feel the corded muscle as he shifts. Hot, strong legs. “… and turn your body this way.” Now my hands are on his waist, gripping his sides as I turn him slightly. I notice my breathing is speeding up. Damn, how the hell am I going to work out with him here? “Most important is your balance. Got it?”
He nods as I begrudgingly drop my hands and step over to my side, getting ready for a kick. “Seriously? You’ve never done this for your friends before?”
Trent shrugs. He manages to stay straight-faced for another three seconds before a sly smile betrays him. “Yeah, tons of times. But I liked letting you feel me up.”
A loud chorus of snickers and laughter erupts. They all knew he was playing me. How did they all know and I have no clue? Probably because I’m too busy drooling over his body to notice his practiced movements. Suddenly feeling the fool, I give the bag a soft kick. Okay, maybe not so soft. It flies back under the impact and hits Trent, eliciting a low grunt as he stumbles backward and hunches over, balancing himself with his hands just above his knees.
“I thought you knew how to hold a bag?” I murmur, walking over. I get no answer. With a bit of hesitation, I rest my hand on his back as I bite my lip. “You okay?”
“Kace! You really have a thing against balls, don’t you!” Ben hollers through cupped hands so the entire place can hear.
I flush, shooting daggers at Ben as I apologize to Trent. “Shit, I’m sorry. I figured I’d get your shoulder.”
He cranes his neck to look up at me while still hunched over. “If you’re not interested in me, just tell me. You don’t have to ruin me for all women.”
“I’m more
about action than words.” I’m glad he’s making jokes, but I still wince. I drop to a crouch in front of Trent and ask in a low voice, “Are you okay? Seriously?”
“Yeah, I’ll live. And by live, I mean curl up in the fetal position on my couch with a bag of ice on my nuts for the rest of the night.”
“I’ll hold the ice,” I offer in a soft whisper.
When he turns his head, I see fire alight in his eyes, and I can’t help but smile at his own frustration, which must match mine. The smile is quickly followed by a wince. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be over there, healing.”
Trent stays leaned against the wall, protecting his injured body parts while watching me run through a full set of kicks and punches, not fully into it. As I’m finishing, I sense him approach behind me. I squeal in surprise as he grips either side of my hips, pulling me back into him, into all of him. “When you said hold the ice …”
“I thought you were near death over there,” I answer, breathless. “That doesn’t feel fatal.”
“I was, but you are one hot chick when you pound on the right bag.” He jerks me back against him hard and I yelp. Not in pain. No, definitely not pain.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to take it slow?” I remind him.
He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, and I also said I have a hard time doing that when you’re around.” He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “So what do you say? I’m ready to go a few more rounds with you.”
Nothing but a strangled sound escapes my lips. I don’t know where this side of Trent is coming from. It has to be all the testosterone in the air. Or maybe this is the real Trent and he’s been adept at restraining himself. Or it’s his way of claiming his territory as the flock of guys watch me intermittently, including Ben. Whatever it is, I’d willingly hand over full possession of my body to this Trent to do with what he will.
I swallow, trying to focus on the bag of sand taunting me as all that bottled up fighting anger deflates and a new emotion rises. Desire. Raw, uninhibited desire for Trent. I’m two seconds from dragging him into the women’s locker room and ripping that shirt off. Hell, I’m ready to take him right here, on the pad, spectators be damned.
His hands slide from my hips, but not before one hand squeezes my ass and then he strolls over to take his position on the other side of the bag. His dark gaze leaves me unnerved. “Okay. I’m ready for you this time.”
***
Trent hands my phone back to me with his number programmed into it as we stand in front of my apartment again, the sun’s afternoon rays beating down on us. Whatever heat scorched the air back at the gym has evaporated with a mysterious phone call on our way out of the gym. Fun, forceful Trent is gone. This Trent looks agitated and distracted. I soon learn why.
“I’ve gotta head out tonight, Kace. Work and mom stuff. I don’t have a choice. If I don’t show up, she’ll know I’m not in New York.” His voice fades away and I catch his eyes widen momentarily, as if surprised. Why would that matter? He rushes on. “I’ll be gone until Friday, but you’ll hear from me, okay?”
I nod, hoping for another one of his blazing kisses. That or for him to throw me over his shoulder caveman style and carry me to his bed. Either one would work. But I get a peck on my forehead instead. With a lazy salute and a frown, he spins on his heels and takes off for his apartment.
Chapter Ten
Serve drinks.
Smile.
Take money.
I repeat that mantra all night at Penny’s. The place is as packed and sordid as ever and yet it feels empty and boring without Trent there.
It isn’t until I’m back home at three a.m. that my phone vibrates in my pocket, sending a thrill through my body. There’re only two people who could be calling and one of them is unconscious next door.
Trent: In New York. Surrounded by sky scrapers. Miss you. How was your night?
My heart surges with joy as I type back.
Me: Full of bare flesh and indecent propositions.
I can’t bring myself to add that last little piece. That I miss him like crazy. That I can’t believe I’ve wasted weeks keeping him away.
A full minute later.
Trent: Was any of that bare flesh yours?
Me: Not yet.
I crawl into bed and rest my phone on my chest, waiting for his response. It’s a while before I get one.
Trent: A cold shower is calling. Sweet dreams. Good night. xox
I cover my mouth as I laugh out loud, afraid I’ll wake Livie or Mia up, who’s staying at our place with Livie tonight. Setting my phone onto my nightstand, it’s a while before I fall asleep.
***
Three days without Trent is unpredictably tough. We exchange a few messages in the late evenings. Whatever work and family stuff he’s doing during the day must keep him busy because the texts don’t start coming until after midnight. When they do, when I feel the vibration in my pocket, it’s like Christmas has come.
They’re all fairly innocuous, “Hi, how are you?” and “I miss you,” and “Bagged any guys at the gym, lately?” messages. Several times, I catch myself typing something a little more provocative only to delete it before hitting ‘send.’ Something tells me it’s too soon for sexts, especially given we haven’t gotten past first base.
God, I can’t wait until we get past first base.
***
Trent comes back today. That’s the first thought that comes to my mind when I wake up on Friday. Not carnage, not blood, not the miserable scraps left of my life. For once, the first thought that comes to my mind is the future and what it may bring.
For such a perfect wake up, the day sure ends like shit.
I have no idea what time Trent’s arriving into Miami. I’ve sent a few messages to him to find out, but I haven’t heard back. It’s making me incredibly anxious. Awful visuals of planes crashing plague my thoughts all day and into my shift at Penny’s.
So when Nate tugs me from the bar and into the back office where Cain holds a phone up for me, my stomach plummets to the ground. “It’s urgent,” is all he says, his brows pulled together tightly. I stand and stare at Cain and the black receiver for a long moment, unable to bring myself to face it. It isn't until I hear a child’s cry on the other end that I snap out of my daze and grab it from his hands. “Hello?” My voice wobbles.
“Kacey! I tried your cell but you didn’t answer!” I can barely understand Livie between her sobs and Mia’s wails. “Please come home! Some crazy man is trying to break down the door! He’s screaming Mia’s name! I think he’s on drugs. I called the police!” That’s all I get out of her. That’s all I need. “Lock yourselves in the bathroom. I’m coming Livie. Stay there!” I hang up the phone. My words tumble out in short, clipped fragments and they don’t sound like me. To Cain I say, “There’s an emergency. It’s Mia. Storm’s Mia. And my sister.”
Cain is already grabbing his car keys and a jacket. “Nate—get Storm off the stage. Now. And have Georgia and Lily cover the bar.” He hooks his arm around me, pulling me gently. “Let’s get to the bottom of this, okay, Kacey?”
I feel like someone’s kicked me in the gut. My head bobs up and down, all the while an internal torrent of screams and wails assault my senses. Storm and I are in Cain’s Navigator and on the freeway in under thirty seconds. Nate’s hulking body fills up the passenger seat. Storm, in nothing but her silver bikini from her acrobat act, drills me with the same questions over and over again and all I can do is shake my head. Breathe, I hear my mother’s voice say. Ten tiny breaths. Over and over again. It doesn’t help. It never fucking helps, dammit! I’m shaking all over as I sink further and further into the dark abyss where I go when people I care about die. I can’t seem to get out of it. I’m drowning under the weight of it.
I can’t bear to lose Livie. Or Mia.
Finally Storm stops asking me questions. She instead grabs hold of my hand and holds it to her chest. And I let her, finding solace in her racing heart beat. It tells m
e that I’m not alone in this.
A circus of police and ambulance lights greet us when we arrive at the apartment. The four of us run past the opened gate, past an anxious Tanner who’s talking to a police officer, past the wrangle of curious neighbors, all the way to Storm’s apartment to find the door half-hanging off its hinges, split in two by someone’s fist or head or both. Three police officers hover over a hunched male form. I can’t see his face. All I see are tattoos and hand cuffs.
“I live here,” Storm announces as she breezes past them and through the door, not batting an eye at the guy. I follow her steps to find a puffy-eyed Livie sitting on the couch with a form curled up on her lap, sucking her thumb and choking on ragged sobs, well past the point of hysterical crying. An officer stands over them, reviewing notes. The table lamp that sits next to the door is in pieces and Storm’s giant stainless steel frying pan rests on the ground beside Livie.
Storm is on her knees in front of Mia in a second. “Oh, baby girl!”
“Mama!” Two scrawny arms fly out to wrap around Storm’s neck. Storm scoops Mia up and into her arms and begins to sway. Tears run down her cheeks as she hums a song.
“She’s unharmed,” the police officer assures us, his words releasing the lungs worth of air I’ve been holding. I rush to Livie, throwing my arms around her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you. It was so scary!” she cries.
Her words hardly register. I’m too busy fumbling with her arms and legs, grabbing her chin, rotating her head this way and that, checking for wounds.
Livie laughs, grabbing hold of my hands and holding them together in hers. “I’m fine. I got him good.”
“What …. what do you mean, ‘you got him good?’” I give my head a shake.