by D. M. Davis
Hot and squished, I open my eyes to find myself wrapped in strong arms I immediately recognize are not Austin’s. It takes a second before the visions of last night come flooding back in a stream of cringey memories. Austin used me, admitted he’s cheated with his lewd remark comparing my pussy and ass to others he’s had. I’m an idiot. A fool. I believed in us or maybe the fantasy of the us I’d hoped we could be. It’s not easy giving up on nine years of my life. As much of an ass as he was in the end, he was my savior in the beginning.
With that thought, no matter how natural it feels to be in Gabriel’s arms, using his chest as a pillow, I just can’t. I need distance. I need space to breathe. I move.
“Don’t.” His gruff timbre and tight embrace stop my retreat. “You were whimpering in your sleep until I held you. Then you finally quieted down and rested.”
Yeah, that’s not embarrassing. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I slept like a rock.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.
I try not to read too much into his statement or the kiss. “I need to move.” I roll out of his arms and onto my back, regretting it the moment my shoulder gives its painful protest. “Shit! Will it ever stop hurting?”
A chuckle from my right has me looking at him, his hair a riotous mess, his chiseled face softened by the tenderness in his eyes. “It will. I promise.” He helps me sit. “But it’s going to hurt like a bitch for a few more days.” He checks his watch. “Time for more meds.”
I know all of this. I’m a physical therapist. But my training falls to the wayside when I’m the patient. For now, I’ll blame the meds and the emotional stress of my life falling apart.
“I’d like to get out of this bed, maybe sit on the couch, not feel like such a bum.” Or a burden. I need to make a plan. Do I dare go home? Maybe Grant and Emmy would lend me their guest room until I’m back on my feet. Could I stand to be in their lovey-dovey faces right now? Meh, beggars can’t be choosers. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m not sure Cap and his revolving door of women would want me in his space, no matter how much he cares for me like a daughter. I can’t go back to my apartment. Austin could show up. Though Grant says he’s gone, I don’t have any desire to be in any space shared with Austin. Gabriel’s seems like the safest bet at the moment.
“We can do that.”
We? He’s entirely too agreeable. “Don’t you need to train?” I need some distance from Black Ops MMA Gym’s golden boy playing Mother Teresa.
“Tomorrow,” is his only response as he lifts me from the bed.
“I can walk,” I half-heartedly protest. Being in his arms isn’t all that bad. I’m a little needy at the moment after being thrown away by Austin. Maybe it’s not wrong to let Gabriel take care of me. For the moment.
“I know.” He traipses out of the room, down the stairs, and into the den, placing me gently on the couch with the recliner option. “Here.” He hands me the remote. “Find a movie or something. I’ll make lunch.” He throws a blanket over my lap and is gone without so much as a look back.
As much as I can’t trust this gentler side of Gabriel “No Mercy” Stone, I have to say, I don’t hate it. His mother and sister have to feel like queens if he dotes on them half this much. I’ll accept it as payback for every dirty look and hurtful word he spit in my direction. Frenemies. Maybe that’s what we are.
“College football? That’s what you want to watch?” Gabriel returns, setting up tv trays and propping me up with pillows.
“It’s Saturday.” Don’t most guys watch football on the weekends? My dad did. It’s probably the only trait I got from him I don’t despise. Austin used to tease me, saying I loved football more than him. I couldn’t admit—even in all the years we were together—I love football because it was the only thing my dad liked about me.
“So, that means college ball?” He heads back to the kitchen.
“Yep,” I respond loud enough for him to hear.
“I can get behind that.” He places a bowl of what looks to be beef vegetable soup on each of our trays, disappears, and comes back with a plate piled high with grilled cheese, napkins, and drinks.
“I’m impressed.” He’s got all the bases covered.
“Don’t be.” He sits next to me, his own tray close enough to touch mine.
I take a tentative spoonful, blowing till I’m sure I won’t scald my tongue. My first taste will definitely not be my last as the warm, rich goodness coats my mouth. “This tastes homemade.” Some chick must have made this for him.
“It is.” He places a napkin in my lap. “I couldn’t sleep when we got home from the hospital. I was sure you’d sleep soundly for at least a few hours, so I made beef stew. Hearty, and doesn’t require two hands to eat.”
When was the last time anyone cooked me a meal? Damn. This man’s thoughtfulness brings tears to my eyes. I nod and sniffle into my bowl. “Thank you.”
“No thanks needed, but you’re welcome.”
Gabriel’s attention to detail, his ability to know what I need before I need it highlights how far Austin and I have—had—fallen. He used to be the one to know what I needed when I needed it. But that was a long time ago. The man he is now is not the boy I fell in love with. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.
I drown my feelings in food and football until I’m too drowsy to keep my eyes open. Gabriel pulls me into his chest like it’s a normal occurrence. I go willingly. I’ll figure out my plan tomorrow. Where to go. What to do. “Tomorrow,” I murmur, my eyes already closed, sleep teasing my consciousness.
His chest ripples with a laugh as he softly rubs my back. “Sleep, Frankie. No more worrying tonight.”
Blaring music jolts me awake. “What the—?” I scramble from bed as only a one-armed woman with a lame shoulder could—gracefully and without cursing. Hardly.
I stumble down the stairs, my heart beating nearly as loud as the music rocking the house.
“Gabriel, what the hell—?” My rant dies when I step into the den and take in a frantic Emmy trying to silence the music as her daughter, Gwen, sits on the floor, screaming with her hands pressed to her ears and tears streaming down her face. “I know how you feel, honey,” I say to Gwen, knowing neither of them can hear me.
I pluck Emmy’s phone from the dock, and the music falls to an acceptable volume, continuing to play “Cowboy” by Kid Rock on her phone. “What the fuck, Emerson?”
She scoops up her daughter. “It’s okay, Gwen. Mommy is so sorry.” She silently apologizes to me with a quick glance as she soothes her whimpering daughter, who’s buried her face in her mother’s sizable chest—motherhood has been good to her.
I stop the song, my ears still ringing, and look up to find Emmy on the couch with Gwen attached to her breast, peacefully nursing. “Well, I wish all upsets could be calmed so easily.”
Emmy smirks. “Believe me, I’ve soothed Grant many times this way.”
“Uh, yeah, I didn’t need to know that.” I hand Emmy her phone, not even missing mine one bit. I’m happy to be ignorant of any text or phone calls I might have received from Austin. Or worse, the knowledge he hasn’t even reached out at all. “What are you doing here, and what’s up with the musical-rock-the-house wake-up call?”
“Sorry. I was trying to find a new entrance song for Gabriel. His next fight is in a few weeks, and you know he’s a big Kid Rock fan. So, I thought…” she trails off, rubbing the tears from Gwen’s sleeping face.
My heart pangs at the sight. That could have been me. That should have been me with Austin’s baby. We’ve been together for nine years. We should have been married with babies by now. Granted, we were busy growing up. But still, nine years is a long time to find myself in the situation I’m in now. Husbandless and my arms barren of children. This is not the life I imagined for myself. It’s not the life Austin promised me.
Anger and regret try to fight their way to the surface. I can’t deal with this now. I stand and cringe from the pain. Meds. I need my pill. “Want s
omething to eat? Drink?” I round the couch and head to the kitchen.
“Gabriel left breakfast in the oven.”
I stop in my tracks. “He cooked?” Again?
She slowly nods, surprised by my surprise. “He was finishing up as we got here.” She unhooks Gwen, patting her lightly on her back. “He wanted me to tell you he’ll be training most of the day, but he’ll pick up your things on his way home.”
“Things?” I shrug and continue to the kitchen, knowing Gwen still has another side to drain. And she will, sleep be damned. That girl can eat.
As I set everything on the kitchen table, Emmy steps into the kitchen. “Have you never had Gabriel’s breakfast?”
I scoff, “No. He’d rather kill me than cook for me.” I regret those words the second I say them. He has been cooking for me. But I was referencing the man he was two days ago, before Austin went psycho on my ass and then AWOL.
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Emmy sits, loading her plate with egg casserole, bacon, and biscuits. “Damn, that man can cook.”
“He makes a mean beef stew too… And an egg sandwich.”
“He’d rather kill you, huh?”
I point to my shoulder. “Before this? Yes.”
She sets down her fork, tenderness filling her eyes as she takes in my sling. “How are you? I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. Grant convinced me you didn’t want any visitors, but when Gabriel called last night, I was all over coming over today to keep you company.”
“I’m fine.”
She shakes her head. “You’re a horrible liar.”
“I’m not a horrible liar.” I am. Unlike Austin, I’ve never been good at it. When I do, I feel guilty, and it must show on my face. It’s one trait I did not get from my father.
“Yeah, you are. You’re not even good at lying to yourself, saying Gabriel would rather hurt you than feed you. I take this spread here and the food he made you yesterday as evidence to the contrary. Not to mention the fact he’s brought you into his home to care for you.” She takes a bite, then adds, “He even missed a day of training, and you know that man is hardcore when it comes to his training.”
He’s hardcore about everything. Gabriel is an all-in kind of guy. He’s black or white. There is no gray in the world he inhabits. “He feels bad, that’s all.”
“Why, because his best friend beat you up?”
Damn, sometimes I forget how painful it can be to have Emmy’s truthfulness thrown in your face. “He didn’t beat me up.” To demonstrate how okay I am, I force a bite of food I don’t want.
“I point out your shoulder as evidence to the contrary.”
“What, are you studying to be a lawyer or something? Evidence shmevidence. I give you the past five years as evidence of Gabriel’s disdain for me.”
“I give it as evidence that he has the hots for you. Always has. His assholiness is a defense against the power of your pussy.”
If I had food in my mouth, I’d choke on it. “Power of my pussy? Sounds like a great fight entrance song.”
She laughs, “God, it would be an epic entrance song!” She butters a biscuit and hands it to me. “Gabriel made me promise you’d eat. So, eat.”
Thankfully, we don’t talk about Gabriel succumbing to my so-called all-powerful pussy. Instead she fills me in on their occasional Sunday ritual where Gabriel cooks breakfast for the entire Malone clan—Grant’s parents, two brothers, their significant others, and their kids. She lights up talking about how well he fits in like the tougher, bigger, and scarier Malone brother.
I, on the other hand, have never felt so alone and isolated. Austin and I have no family—we’ve been each other’s family for the past nine years. Well, maybe eight. The last year felt like we were distant relatives who can barely tolerate each other’s presence.
After cleaning up, taking meds, and finding my home for the day on the couch, Emmy asks what I hoped she wouldn’t, “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“I imagine you already know.” Grant tells her everything, even stuff I’d rather he didn’t—and probably shouldn’t.
When my tears start to fall, she’s at my side, gently holding me to her chest. I never knew my mom, and though Emmy is only a few years older than me, I imagine this right here is what it feels like to be loved and comforted by your mother.
“How could he hurt me and then leave me alone on the floor like that? Like he didn’t care what happened to me. Maybe he didn’t.” He had been cheating on me for who knows how long. “Why do men cheat? And why do I feel like it’s my fault?” I blubber as quietly as I can, not wanting to wake Gwen, but unable to keep it together any longer.
“One—he’s a jerk. Two—because men are assholes.” She smooths my hair. “Not all men, but the ones who cheat and hurt women are.”
I can’t disagree, but it doesn’t relieve the ache in my chest or stop my tears.
“It’ll get easier. I promise.” She should know. She’s overcome abuse at the hands of her father.
I thought my father was bad, but he never touched me. He just never did anything for me either. He acted like I wasn’t there, like I wasn’t worth the air he breathed or the ground he walked on until the day he walked out.
It dawns on me then: Austin turned into my father, and he left me just as easily, never looking back.
There’s no need to look when there’s no one there you care about.
My mind’s not in it today. I’m worried about my Angel. How’s her pain today? Was she upset when she woke to find me gone? I should have left her a note so she didn’t think I pawned her off on Emerson. I needed to train. I’ve only got a few weeks before my next big fight. But mostly, I needed space. I carried a sleeping Frankie to bed again last night and held her while she slept. That wasn’t my intention, but when I started to pull away, she grabbed my hand and said, “Stay.” So, I did.
I don’t doubt it’s the pain meds making her sleep so soundly in my arms like I’m her safe place. Fuck if I don’t want to be just that.
“Your timing’s for shit today, Gabriel.” Jonah lets the weights slam down on the press.
Tell me something I don’t know.
He waits until he’s standing in my view before he asks, “How is she today?”
“I don’t know.” I still the speed bag before catching his eye. “She was asleep when I left.”
Arms crossed, he nods. “You’re worried?”
“Yeah.” I start up again, hitting with my right three times, then my left three times, right, then left. Right. Left. Right. Left.
“Call her.”
“Emerson is with her.”
“So you can’t call her?”
“She doesn’t have her phone.” She doesn’t have anything. A cold reminder that spurs my frustration and reinforces my ire toward Austin. I’m going to kill him.
“Call Emerson.” Jonah doesn’t know her well enough to call her Emmy.
I call her Emerson out of respect for Grant. She’s Grant’s Emmy. She’s Emerson to me no matter how much I like her as a friend. No matter how many times I jump with her at her Wings Out Skydiving School. It’s her baby, her passion, but she’s still Emerson. Never Emmy. There’s a bro code you don’t cross, and the line, for me, begins with her nickname.
It’s a distinction I kept solid with Frankie too by only calling her Francesca, until a few days ago. Now, I can’t seem to stop calling her Angel and Frankie, even to her face—especially to her face. Her gray eyes fill my vision, and it fucks up my rhythm. Again.
Jonah laughs. “You’re gonna have a shit day if you don’t call and check up on her.”
I grunt in response, giving up on the bag. Weights will be a better distraction.
Three hours later, I’m pouring sweat and steaming with frustration. It was a shit show of a training session, and everyone knows it. They were kind enough not to razz me about it too much. No one mentions Austin or what he did to Frankie other than to ask how she’s doing. I gave vague, half-grun
ted answers since I don’t know how the fuck she is today.
When I arrive at her apartment, I use the key Austin gave me. We’ve always had keys to each other’s places. Today, I feel like a creeper using it without her okay. I’d never invade their privacy, but today it seems necessary in order to get her some clothes and any personal items she may need.
I enter on high alert, expecting Austin to be hiding out, but there’s no one. It’s eerily quiet when I shut the door behind me. They don’t have any pets, so the place is still with no echo of life having been here in days. My sight immediately goes to the clothes strewn on the floor from the front door to the couch. Though I hate the thought, it’s obvious they didn’t waste any time getting naked on Friday night. If they were in the mood for sex, what the hell happened to turn things south where Austin ended up hurting her? The thought has my anger simmering.
I kick the clothes into a pile. Her panties and bra looking like they were ripped from her body only fuel the fire. It’s then I notice the bloodstain on the floor by the couch. It’s not huge, but it’s not small either. She didn’t have a busted lip or any open wounds I could see. She could possibly have some I can’t see. My darker thoughts take over, and my anger boils into rage. “What the fuck did you do, Austin?”
Maybe it’s his. I don’t entertain the thought for long. He’s been an ass lately, and that’s saying a lot coming from me, King Asshole. No, I doubt it’s his blood.
He made my Angel bleed, a fact I can hardly swallow. I kept my distance, purposely keeping Frankie at arm’s length because he loved her, and she loved him. I knew he’d been off with her since his accident. He’s a tightlipped motherfucker. I assumed he’d come around, and time was what they needed. I was wrong. Now she’s hurt. I can’t help but blame myself for not seeing it sooner. I was so busy focusing on building the wall between us to keep her safe from the likes of me, I didn’t ensure she was safe from Austin. I never thought he’d harm a hair on her head.