Liv

I didn’t sleep. I think Memphis knows because I felt his eyes on me most of the night. I pretended—a little for him and a little for me. My eyes remained closed even though my body was restless. I’m not afraid, but the fact that I’m not makes me suspicious somehow. There isn’t an easy way to put it into words, not that I have to. Memphis seems to understand the things that make me how I am.

Maybe he just accepts my imperfections.

He’s a fighter. I wasn’t supposed to fall for him.

But I am.

The morning sun is warming this small space, and my skin is damp from our body heat and the heavy quilt sheltering us. I’ve never been so comfortable lying naked in a man’s arms. Enoch was always cold after sex—both literally and emotionally. He didn’t like to talk, and he rarely liked to touch.

He’d compliment me, and shower me with sexy words, but only long enough to get me to let him sleep—or leave for the office. I wonder now if that’s where he really went.

So many lies.

Memphis’s lips press into my hair, and his hand shifts beneath me enough to reach the strands that have fallen across my face. I smile as he tucks them behind my ear.

“Good morning.” His voice is a gravelly whisper, and I feel it vibrate in his chest.

“Good morning,” I hum, snuggling in, heat be damned.

“You didn’t sleep at all,” he says through a chuckle.

I knew he noticed. I shrug one shoulder.

“I’m okay. I have this ability to operate on very little.” It’s Sunday, which means I really don’t have anything to do. I may crawl into my bed upstairs and crash for a while, but not until I know Memphis is busy with something else. I don’t want him to think I can’t sleep here. I can hardly sleep anywhere unless I’m alone. I think there’s something built into my fabric that’s always on alert that whomever I’m with is going to disappointment me.

But Memphis isn’t. Somehow, I just know it.

“You have to run,” I say, preparing my body to be let go. He doesn’t move, instead wrapping his arms around me tighter.

“It’s Sunday. How about today is a day of rest?” I feel his lip raise against my cheek.

“Uh uh,” I say, shaking my head and wiggling loose, finally sitting up to look down at him.

My hand feels along the side and top of my head, and I realize that my hair is probably tangled and teased from our night’s activities. I blush a little and close my eyes, drawing his quilt to my chest. Memphis tugs at it, though, and when I open my lids to look at him, he smirks, pulling one more time until my breasts are bared.

“Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”

My chin tucks and my cheeks round from the heat of his attention. His eyes roam down my face to my arms and breasts until he reaches forward with the back of one hand and traces my profile with a feather-light touch.

He’s quiet, and the longer he showers me with his seductive affection the more his brow draws in. Something is weighing on him, and I assume he’s worried about me.

“I like staying here,” I say, wanting to set him at ease. His eyes perk up a little and his slight frown shifts to a smile as his gaze comes back to mine.

“Yeah?” His voice is quiet.

“Yeah,” I say. I take his right hand in both of mine and I begin to massage each finger. Even these small parts of him are exhausted yet strong. His eyes grow heavy from my touch.

“I could put you to sleep like this,” I say.

His chuckle is soft, but deep.

“I’m completely on board with this.” His laugh is raspy, the morning kind.

I work his hand until the tension in it is gone, then I hold my palms out for him to give me his other one. He smiles faintly and rolls to his side, resting it on my legs, and I begin to massage again. His eyes are focused on my hands while I study him. There’s this flicker that happens in his eyes when he’s thinking. I’ve seen him do it when Leo talks to him about fighting defensively, as if he’s soaking information in and dissecting it at lightning speed and applying it to every possible outcome. His eyes…they’re doing that now, their focus rapidly scanning from knuckle to knuckle. The movements are miniscule, yet they’re there. I can’t ignore them because they mean he’s thinking hard about something.

“Hey, lost boy?” I finally say, shaking his hand against my lap. His eyes widen and he breathes out a smile, coming back from wherever he was when his gaze meets mine.

“Sorry, I was…”

“Thinking?” I finish for him.

His lip ticks up and his eyes settle on mine for a few long seconds.

“You can tell me anything, you know?” I actually mean it; I’m not even afraid.

Memphis moves closer to me and rolls onto his stomach, holding his chest up with his elbows, his hands both cupping one of mine. His face softens as he gazes at our fingers touching, his enormous hands swallow mine completely, and I love that they do. Somehow, nearly a minute passes, and the quiet in here grows even thicker.

“I never want to lie to you,” he says, his eyes lifting to meet mine, his hands stopping to hold me still. There’s a gentle squeeze, and I wonder if that’s what keeps me calm or if it’s simply Memphis, who has somehow become this rare exception to everything I’ve ever known of this world.

“Okay,” I say, breathing in slowly through my nose as my mouth curves, my lips closed.

Memphis reflects my expression, and lets the moment be while his eyes flit between both of mine with their focus. He’s being thoughtful with his words. I’m sure of it. My stomach tightens in anticipation, but somehow, I know it’s still going to be okay. Everything…Memphis and me…we’re going to be okay.

“The other night, when I was looking for you, I saw…something…in Leo’s house.” His lips hang open and his head tilts slightly while my eyes narrow, pushing a wrinkle onto the bridge of my nose.

“Something.” I repeat his vague choice of words and smirk a little.

His eyes roll as he chuckles, but he holds on to my hands, eventually coming back to our quiet.

“I saw them…more than kissing.” His lips fall shut and he waits for me to catch up. The strangest sensation washes right through me—it’s similar to amusement, but it’s tinged with a little disgust too.

“You…you knew, didn’t you?” Memphis asks.

I breathe in deeply, and hold my breath while I think about it. Perhaps I did. I’m certainly not surprised.

“I’m not sure. It…” I pause to think, and my eyes move from my lap to his face as I breathe out a small laugh. “It feels like nothing, so maybe I did. If that makes sense.”

He holds my stare for a beat then begins to nod slowly.

“It does,” he says, his eyes settled on mine. “I meant to tell you days ago, and I would have…or I didn’t mean to keep that from you. I just needed to find the right time or way, and I had to make sure it didn’t hurt you to hear it.”

“Thank you,” I say before he begins to worry any more than I think maybe he already has.

I pull my hands free only long enough to crawl closer to him and lean forward and press my lips to his briefly. I hold his gaze for a full breath while I’m only a few inches away, and I let the feeling settle in my chest. There’s a balance inside of me, and as gross as my family’s behavior is, it isn’t surprising to me anymore. I don’t think it has been for quite some time, since I was a little girl forced to grow up fast and see people for their ugly sides.

“You, mister, need to get some miles in.” I smirk as I back away and let my right foot feel for the stepladder out of his loft bed. “Those lungs of yours have a handful of days left to grow as big and strong as they can be. So hit the pavement, champ, before it’s so hot that it feels like hell outside.”

“It always feels like hell outside,” he grumbles, rolling to his stomach and wrapping himself in his blanket. Once my feet are both on the floor, I pull the edge of the quilt with a hard tug, leaving him without any cover at all. God his naked body is something to behold.

“Fine, but when I’m done, you and I are going to do a bunch of lame couple things,” he says, climbing from his bed without the use of the ladder. He turns to face me and presses my cheeks between his palms, forcing my lips to pout just before he kisses them. “I mean I want to do the most cliché, dumbest couple shit you can think of.”

“Like sharing a soda with two straws?” I shoot him a wry smile because that sounds awful. I like my own soda, and usually nobody likes the same flavors as I do.

“Exactly!” His smile grows, and I instantly regret suggesting that.

“Goody,” I mutter, pulling one of his large shirts over my head and searching for a pair of sweats to borrow. He hands me one, but doesn’t let go until I roll my eyes and laugh.

“Fine, I’ll be a good sport,” I say, and he leans in for one more kiss, then lets me have his sweatpants. I snap them at him as he walks away.

“Careful,” he taunts.

Our eyes lock one last time before he pulls the slender door closed on his bathroom. I slip into his pants and loosely tie my sandals to my feet before gathering my clothes from the night before in my arms. I slam the door closed loudly enough behind me to alert him that I’ve left.

It’s already warm outside, but Memphis will run far anyhow. He’ll push himself to dangerous levels. I’ve watched him do it for days now, and I know that he’s been pushing himself like that since the day he found his father’s gloves.

He doesn’t know any other way.

I take my time making my way back to Leo’s, already missing the small camper behind me that feels so much more like home than anywhere I’ve ever slept. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to sleep there…in Memphis’s arms. I feel like I’m close. The act of closing my eyes and giving in to the pull of slumber under someone else’s watch is one of those things for me—it’s a wall I have a hard time scaling. Even with Enoch, before the world came crumbling down, I didn’t sleep soundly. It’s like I always had one eye open, or I kept dreams at bay in case I needed to jolt awake.

There has never been trust.

I trust Memphis.

I start to smile at the thought, the way trusting him sits in my chest and makes it feel warm and right. I easily push open an already-unlatched door to Leo’s house.

“Olivia Valentine?” A man in a dull blue suit stands at the side of Leo’s kitchen table the moment I step through the door. There’s a coffee mug resting on the table behind him, and it’s still steaming, which means it’s fresh. He hasn’t been here long.

My mom and uncle are sitting with him, and there’s an eerie vibration in the air—they’ve been talking about me.

“What’s going on?” My steps have turned into slides, my feet like magnets on a metal floor. Something isn’t right in my gut, I just can’t tell what.

“Are you Olivia Valentine?” The man repeats his question, walking directly to me, his jacket over his arm, sweat stains on his dress shirt.

“That’s me,” I say, sliding a foot or two back as he approaches.

In a smooth motion, he unburies an envelope from beneath his coat and hands it to me.

“You’ve been served.”

My eyes flutter and I get dizzy, instantly feeling my mother’s eyes drilling holes through me with her judgment. The process server leaves and my uncle leans back in his chair and takes a long sip from his coffee. He smiles at me over the mug, somehow satisfied by this. No matter how many things I’ve been through, there is always something new to drag me down.

“Why did you let him in?” I shake my head and squeeze the envelope in my palm. My stomach clenches with a brief wave of nausea, and my head grows hot. The sick feeling shifts into anger quickly.

“My job is not to worry about your problems,” my mom says, standing and turning her back to me as she whisks her half-filled coffee mug off to the sink to pour it out and rinse. She’s here for the show. She lives for this tension, and I don’t want to give it to her. I hate how I get sucked in—what our push and pull turns me into.

“Right, my bad. You’re only my mother; why would my problems concern you at all,” I say, moving quickly to the stairs.

My foot lands on the first step when I’m suddenly yanked backward by my hair. The painful tug surprises me at first, and I scream from the sting.

“What’s wrong with you?” I shout.

My mom slaps the envelope and my clothes from my hands then grips the center of the shirt I’m wearing, pulling the material closer to her seething eyes.

“What is this? Are you whoring yourself out to our fighter now? You walk in here, into this house that we were kind enough to let you stay in, wearing his shirt and…and…you’re wearing his pants? Where did you get this?”

My mother kicks my beautiful new dress, and I hear some of the stitches tear.

“Stop!” I yell through gritted teeth, bending down to pick it up, my hand never reaching it because her knee comes up to kick me.

“Oh!” I cry out and cover my eye, my cheek burning and a bruised sensation beginning to throb at my brow.

With half of my face covered, I stare at her. Her eyes are red. I’ve seen her like this before. This is how she reacted when Charles left our gym, and it’s the way I imagine her face looked when she found out Enoch had stolen her money. It’s a mixture of shame and hatred for me and everything I’ve made hard in her life.

“None of this is my fault,” I say in a low tone.

Her brow draws in, forcing a deep line between her eyes. Her lips look as if she’s tasted something sour. Something…bitter.

I lunge at her, causing her to flinch, and then I reach down to pick up my damaged dress and the envelope. When I stand back up, I make myself tall, only inches between us. I’ve never been afraid of her. She hates that, too, because she’s powerless.

“You had me on purpose, and it just kills you that none of it worked out like you thought it would.” I smirk, then take a step up, forcing her to lift her chin to keep her eyes on me. “Dad never really loved you. Leo uses you, because he’s just as empty as you are. And Memphis is never going to stay here and make money for you like you think he will. He’s going to win, and he’s going to move on to something bigger—to better people.”

“I suppose you’re going to make sure he does?” Her eyes dim, heavy makeup weighing down wrinkled lids. She works so hard on the façade. I see right through it—everyone sees right through it.

“I won’t have to. It’s just how your life is going to go,” I say, turning and leaving her there to be pissed and throw a tantrum at the bottom of her brother-in-law’s stairs. I don’t turn around until I get to the top, and when I do, her eyes are like lasers waiting to burn a hole through me. The effect is nothing.

I don’t need her. I don’t need my uncle.

I never did.