by K. A. Tucker
“Oh yeah?” I slide my tongue over my teeth, acting all cool and unaffected. Inside, I’m not. I’m so not unaffected by Trent right now. “What’d the text say?”
He shrugs, now feigning indifference as well. I know he’s faking it too. That twinkle in his eye is his only tell. “I guess you’ll never know.” He exhales deeply as he holds my stare. It’s like the afternoon tension doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t see how that’s possible because I still feel it. He’s up to something. I can’t figure out what though.
“Just think, our afternoon could have gone a completely different direction had you not smashed your phone to smithereens,” he says, sliding a straw into his mouth. His eyes blaze with intentions.
Inside, it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaping over the bar and into Trent’s lap. That’s inside. Outside, I’m cool as a November chill. “What can I say? I have anger management issues.”
His mouth twists as if in thought. “You need to find a way to deal with those issues.”
“I have. It’s called pounding on a bag of sand.”
His brow arches playfully. “Clearly it’s not working well.”
I lean forward over the bar, resting my body on my elbows. “And what would you suggest I pound on instead?”
“Jeez! Would you two just give in already?” Storm calls out with mock exasperation, a martini shaker in her hand.
I hadn’t realized how loud we were. Glancing to my other side, I see Nate’s smirk, and I instantly flush. I don’t know why, but I do. I’m always flushing lately.
Trent doesn’t answer Storm or me, taking a long sip of his soda instead, and I delude myself into thinking that maybe he’s finally given up on pushing me to deal with things long since buried. Maybe this can work.
***
Over the next few weeks, Trent holds true to his word about making me smile. Unfortunately, he also holds true to his word about taking things slow. Only this time, he actually does. After those few short and hot slip ups, the true unrestrained Trent is chained and the one who occupies my time gives nothing more than guarded kisses and hand-holding.
It’s enough to drive me insane.
Each day, I hop onto Trent’s bike, wrap my arms around his chest, and I let him whisk me off. It always starts off with the gym, likely because he doesn’t want to see me smash my phone against the wall again. I’m finding now though that I don’t have as much desire and focus to run through my drills with him around. Those take attention and determination and, let’s face it, bottled up rage. Trent has a dousing effect on my rage. We end up goofing off and play fighting until we get dirty looks and decide to leave. By that point I’m usually so hot and bothered by Trent though that I’m okay with jumping into the shower. I keep hoping he’ll lose his way and stumble in there. He never does.
The rest of the days are busy. Paint ball fighting, bike riding along the Miami boardwalk, a Dolphin’s game, restaurants, cafés, ice cream shops, a Frisbee league. It’s like Trent’s got a “Make Kacey Smile,” itinerary and it’s jam-packed. By the time I get to work each night, my face hurts from so much smiling.
“Don’t you ever work?” I ask him one day as we walk down the sidewalk.
He shrugs, squeezing my hand. “I’m between contracts.”
“Huh. Well, aren’t you worried about paying bills? You’re blowing all your money on me.”
“Nope.”
“Must be nice,” I mutter dryly, but I don’t press any further. I just walk down the sidewalk, hand in hand with Trent, letting my body absorb the sun’s warmth.
And I smile.
***
“Why don’t you stay until close?” I murmur quietly.
Trent’s hand slides across his mouth as if considering how to answer me. “Because then I’ll have to walk you home.”
I frown, slightly taken aback. “Yeah, I can see how that would be horrific.”
“No, you don’t get it.” His gaze slides to my mouth before lifting back to my eyes. “What do you think will happen when I walk you to your door?”
I shrug, catching his drift but playing dumb, just so I can see what he says. He stands up and leans in, reaching to grab an olive. When he looks at me again, his eyes have that smoldering quality to them that he can’t hide from me completely, the one that makes my knees wobble.
“At home, we don’t have Godzilla chaperoning us.” His head jerks toward Nate, who’s ever watchful of Trent’s close proximity.
I put on my best confused look. “Well Nate’s not there when you walk me to my door during the day.”
He chuckles softly. Yup, there they are. Those deep dimples that I want to run my tongue against. “You know you’re shit at playing dumb.”
I press my lips together to keep from smiling.
Trent leans further against the bar, close enough that I’m the only one who can hear him. “I have a hard enough time keeping my hands off you all day. I wouldn’t stand a chance, knowing you’re about to get undressed and climb into bed.”
I brace myself against the counter as I watch him slide an olive in his mouth, his tongue curling around it.
So he wants to play dirty …
For the next week, I scavenge Storm’s closet, picking the shortest, tightest, outfits I can find. I almost take her sequined stage outfits one night. I make a point of leaning over in front of Trent often throughout the night, swaying my hips to the music. When Ben makes a snide comment about me getting ready for my first stage performance, I nail him in the solar plexus and continue on my way, earning a deep roar of laughter from Nate.
But I can’t seem to break this new resolve Trent has. He only watches, resting on his elbows with his hands folded in front of me. Watching me move. Watching me flirt with him. Watching me turn myself into a hot mess over him.
Finally, one night, I lose it.
“Dammit, Trent!” I snap, slamming his club soda on the counter in front of him. He looks taken aback. “What the hell do I have to do to get your attention? Do I need to get up there?” I throw an arm toward the stage.
His eyes swell for just a second, in shock. He reaches forward to hold my hands, but he catches himself in time and instead folds them across his chest. “Believe me, you have my full attention.” He gives me a heated look that makes my mouth dry up instantly. “You always have my attention. It takes every ounce of my control not to show you how much attention you have.” As quickly as that look came, it slides off. “I want you to get help, Kace,” he says softly. “I’m here for you, every day. Always. I’ll stand by you the entire time, but you need to get help. No human can bury their past indefinitely. It’s only a matter of time before you crack.”
“This is sexual blackmail!” I hiss. First, he tried to force me into talking with that galactic hands free orgasm and that back-fired. Now he’s withholding completely as a means to forcing me. Bastard! I stalk away, refusing to look at him for the rest of the night.
The next shift at Penny’s, Trent is proven right.
Chapter Thirteen
Storm is doing her acrobat thing on stage and I’m watching her, stealing frequent glances at my new phone for a text from Trent. Nothing. He’s not here tonight. It’s the first night he hasn’t been here in a long time and I feel his absence like a missing limb. Maybe he’s finally given up on me. Maybe he realized I’m a lost cause and he won’t be getting laid anytime this century if he waits for me to break down and seek out therapy.
Storm’s feet touch down on the stage to a raucous round of applause. She bends down to pick up her top, covering her breasts as best she can with an arm. I’ve seen Storm topless so many times by now, I don’t bat an eye. In fact, I’m getting used to naked females all around me. I’m starting to feel like the weirdo in the trench coat in the middle of a nudist beach.
Storm’s amazing, I think for the hundredth time, as the entire place claps and hoots. Everyone except a scrawny guy in the corner. I see him there, shouting at her, waving a fist full of money
. He refuses to give it to the bouncer collecting for her. I get the impression that Nate’s about to toss him out on his skinny ass.
And then I don’t know how it happens, but the guy somehow scampers past the bouncers and onto the stage, screaming, “Bitch!” A blade appears. I watch in horror as he grabs hold of Storm’s hair and yanks her head back. Even from my distant vantage point, I see his dilated dark pupils. This guy’s on something.
My jaw drops to scream, but nothing comes out. Not a sound. With a swing of my arm to clear all the glasses off the bar, I spring over and run, shoving people out of the way, kicking and kneeing and punching as I clear a path through. Blood rushes to my head and my feet pound the ground with each heartbeat and all I can think is that I’m going to lose her. Another friend, dead. Mia will grow up without her mother.
This can’t be happening again.
I reach the stage to find a cluster of tight black shirts hovering. I can’t see Storm. I can’t see anything. I push and shove and claw, but I can’t get past the wall. My hands fly to my throat, assuming the worst possible outcome hidden beneath this horde of bodies.
And I pray.
I pray to whoever decided to keep me alive that they grant the same grace for Storm, who deserves it far more than I ever did.
A giant erupts from the crowd bouncers.
Nate.
And he has the guy within his grasp.
He stalks past me with a menacing look, the guy dangling by the neck from one of his fists. I hope he squeezes too tight and crushes the man’s larynx. But that hope hasn’t calmed my nerves a bit because Storm is somewhere in there and I still don’t know if she’s alive.
“Storm!” I scream.
Finally the wall of bouncers breaks apart. Ben guides me through with a hand on my back to find Storm huddled awkwardly on the floor, her limbs folded into themselves. A pang of alarm stabs me. She looks so much like Jenny did in the car.
I dive to her side.
“Oh, Kacey!” she cries and throws herself on my shoulder. “All I could think of was Mia.”
I’m shaking. “You’re alive. You’re alive. Thank God you’re alive,” I mumble over and over as my hands grope her arms, her neck, her shoulders. No blood. No wounds.
“I’m okay, Kacey. I’m okay.” Her cheeks are red and tear-stained, her makeup smeared all over her face, but she’s smiling now.
“Yes,” I confirm, swallowing the painful ball in my throat. “You’re not going to die. You’re okay. I haven’t lost you.” I’m too close to Storm. Too close to getting hurt like I did when I lost Jenny. An avalanche of memories crushes any semblance of relief I should feel right now. Suddenly, I’m trapped in the past, with a best friend who I’d known since we were two, who shared days and nights filled with laughter and tears, anger and excitement. An acute ache blossoms in my chest as I realize they’re all the memories I hope to create with Storm too.
All the things that man just tried to steal from me.
With a hint of trepidation, Storm reaches forward and takes my hand in hers. I hadn’t breathed since I leapt over the bar. Now I let the air out of my lungs. And something snaps inside me. I don’t know how to describe it other than to say it’s like the little needle on my moral compass breaks in half.
As if a hate bomb detonates inside me.
He tried to steal my second chance from me. He needs to pay.
Fluorescent lights now shine down over the inside of Penny’s, casting an unpleasant glow over the spilled drinks, empty bottles and garbage as bouncers usher patrons out. I catch Nate’s broad shoulders as he rounds the corner toward the back exit, the guy still within his grip. My teeth crack against each other.
I’m faintly aware of Trent standing near the front entrance. He’s pointing toward the stage and arguing with a bouncer to let him pass. My attention lingers over him for a split second, but nothing really registers, driven back to the hall where that vile creature, the one who tried to rob me of my new life, left.
I’m up and running.
I’m shoving grown men out of the way as I tear down the hall after Nate. I round a corner in time to see his enormous frame pass through the back door. As I speed to catch up, my heart beat racing, blood rushing to my head, I sense my hand grab an empty glass bottle sitting on a crate. Without a distinct thought or message to my body, my hand smashes it against the wall, sending shards of glass flying.
My fist squeezes the neck tightly, imagining how sharp the broken edges must be.
How effective they must be.
When I plow through the back door, I find Storm’s attacker standing in the parking lot. Alone.
Perfect.
Without uttering a sound, I charge forward, my arm drawing behind my back as I ready my aim. The weasel turns to see me and his beady little eyes widen. Six feet, five feet, four feet … My arm is just about to catapult around to plunge the broken glass deep into his chest, to let him physically feel the level of pain I would have had to face had he been successful in his attack, when two giant trunks sweep in and lift me off the ground, securing my arms tight against me.
“No!” I scream. Now I’m kicking and screaming with everything I’m made of. My teeth clamp down on Nate’s arms and sink in, tasting copper. He grunts, but doesn’t stop, carrying me back inside the doorway. He drops me on the ground and leans forward to meet me eye to eye, his hands still securing my arms.
“Let the police take care of it, Kacey!” The rumble in his voice vibrates through me.
“Police?” I frown and peer out past him. The Weasel isn’t alone. Four cruisers with flashing lights line the parking lot and a dozen officers mill about, scratching notes down as witnesses recount the scene of events. Somehow I hadn’t seen them.
“Ohmigod.” I stumble back, vomit rising into my throat, the bottle slipping from my fingers to tumble to the floor as I clutch my middle.
“I got you before they saw what you were about to do. No one saw anything and if they did, they’ll let it go,” Nate promises, his dark gaze searing deep into my face as if looking for something. For a demon, lurking, perhaps.
“Kacey!” A breathless Trent yells as he catches up with me. I’m hyperventilating by this point, my chest heaving like I’m fighting for my last breath. The one I can never seem to catch. His attention falls to the broken bottle lying by my feet. “God, Kacey. What were you about to do?”
I’m swallowing and struggling for air and shaking my head and trembling all at the same time. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t know,” I mutter over and over again. But I know. I know what I almost did.
I almost killed a man.
***
Street lights pass by all at once and not at all as Dan drives us home in his police car. I know Trent is somewhere behind us on his bike and all I can think of is the look of horror on his face. What were you about to do? he asked. And he knew. No doubt he knew.
Storm helps me out of the car as if it were me attacked, not her. How is she acting so normal?
One step forward. One step forward. One step forward.
“Kacey, I’m okay. I promise,” I vaguely hear Storm say as she leads me hand in hand toward the apartment.
I know she’s fine and I’m thankful. But I’m struggling. I’m fighting to keep myself from crumbling into pieces on the sidewalk.
I almost killed a man tonight.
Aunt Darla’s counselors were right all along … One step forward. One step forward. One step—
Fingers snap in front of my face and break my trance. I look over to see an ocean of worry in Storm’s blue eyes. “I think she’s in shock,” she says to someone else, clearly not me.
“No, good. I’m good. Good,” I mumble and suddenly I’m grasping for Storm’s biceps and squeezing, panic surging. “Don’t tell Livie. Please?” She can’t find out what I almost did.
Storm nods. I see her exchange worried looks with Trent and Dan.
“Come on.” The ground disappears as a set of strong
arms scoops me up. In seconds Trent has me laying on my bed and he’s pulling the covers over me.
“No, I’m not tired,” I mumble, struggling weakly to get up.
“Just … rest. Please?” Trent says softly. His hand smooths over my cheek and I grab it, holding it tight, pressing my lips against his palm.
“Stay.” I hear the desperation in my voice.
“Of course, Kacey,” he whispers. He kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed next to me.
I close my eyes and nuzzle in his chest, reveling in the warmth of his body, the pound of his heartbeat, the smell of him. “You hate me, don’t you? You must hate me. I can’t help it. I’m broken.”
Trent squeezes me close to him. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. Give me your heart, Kacey. I’ll take everything that comes with it.”
I start to cry. Uncontrollably, for the first time in four years.
***
“Pull my finger.”
Jenny giggles hysterically. She giggles every time Billy says that.
And I roll my eyes, just like I do every time he says that. “So hot, Billy. Take me now.”
“Kacey,” my mother admonishes, overhearing me.
Billy winks and squeezes my hand tight and I squeeze back. Mom and Dad are in the front, talking about next week’s game and how I need to get my license soon so they don’t have to cart my ass around anymore. Of course I know they’re joking. They’d never miss one of my rugby games.
“Would you stop being so cheap and just buy me that damn Porsche already, Dad?”
“Language, Kacey,” my dad scolds but looks over his shoulder to throw me a smile. I know he’s beaming inside. I scored the winning try at tonight’s rugby game, after all.
Everything next happens in a fog. My body jerks violently. Something smacks into it. A weight presses down hard against my right side. I feel myself tossed and turned. And then it all just … stops.
And I’m vaguely aware that something is very wrong.