Tragedy
IN MY HIGH-HEELED DESIGNER SANDALS, designer jeans, cute designer top with my big, slouchy, scarily-expensive designer purse on my shoulder, I walked out the back door of the club.
The black Lincoln Lash owned that Brutus drove (not only me but sometimes Lash or VIP guests) was parked five feet away, lights on, ready to roll.
I moved to it, my heels clicking on asphalt, when I heard an unmistakable voice say, “Ivey.”
I stopped dead.
Gray.
Shit.
Shit!
I clenched my teeth, swallowed, got my shit together and turned.
It was lit well back there. There were cameras. Bouncers randomly and often did walk-throughs. Lash didn’t fuck around. The girls parked out there.
That was all good except now.
I could see him well.
And he was no less tall, broad or beautiful.
“Gray,” I replied, tipping my head back as he walked to me and got close.
“Yo! No contact with the talent!” Brutus shouted, and I turned my head to look over my shoulder, seeing he was out of the car and moving our way.
“It’s okay, baby, he’s all right. I know him. He’s an old friend.”
Brutus stopped and stared at me. He’d known me the two years he’d been working there. As far as he knew, I fucked Lash and Lash was my only friend.
His attention went to Gray then back to me then Gray then me.
Finally he jerked his chin up and called, “I’m just in the car, Rue. High sign, you need me. I’ll keep my eye on you.”
“Thanks, honey,” I called back, watched him walk to the car, give us one last look then fold his big body behind the wheel.
I looked back to Gray.
His gaze was on the car then it came to me.
Then he murmured, “Old friend.”
Fathoms of concrete, years of building it, and just hearing his voice, miles of it disintegrated.
“Boys’ weekend in Vegas?” I asked.
“Roan’s gettin’ married,” he answered.
“Anyone I know?”
“Don’t know. Probably. Probably not anyone you’d remember.”
I remembered everybody, every second in Mustang, every person I met, every fucking thing.
I didn’t tell him that.
“So stag weekend?” I guessed.
“Yeah,” Gray confirmed.
I fell silent.
How did people do this?
I had one boyfriend, one lover, so I didn’t run into them everywhere I went. I didn’t have any experience with this kind of thing.
Well, whatever. I was me and I might be hard but I wasn’t rude.
“Would you like to go somewhere? Get a drink? Brutus will drive us.”
“No, Ivey, I wouldn’t fuckin’ like to go somewhere and get a fuckin’ drink.”
It took everything but I didn’t step back. I didn’t still. I didn’t press my lips together nor did I swallow against a suddenly dry throat.
I didn’t even flinch.
Yep, he was pissed.
“Jesus, fuck, you take your clothes off for money,” he whispered like he couldn’t believe it.
“Gray—”
“Three years ago, only eyes that saw that body were mine. Now thousands of fuckin’ guys have seen it.”
This was true.
“Your point?” I queried on an eyebrow raise.
“My point?” Gray flashed back, his eyes narrowing.
I sighed and asked, “Do we have to do this?”
He stared at me and I felt emotion shifting off him, filling the air, sliding into my nostrils, down my throat, suffocating me and suddenly his hand shot up. Thumb and finger capturing my chin, before I could do anything about it he tipped my head back, leaned in and studied me close.
He got three seconds in before I tore away from his touch.
My eyes sliced to him and before I could say anything, he did.
“Hard,” he growled then finished, “as nails.”
“Shit happens,” I hissed, the guard crashing down.
What could I say?
This was Gray and he was standing in front of me three years after he crushed me acting pissed.
“Yeah it does. You let it. You seek it out. Shit definitely fuckin’ happens.”
He was right about that. I let it, Casey and I sought it out. It happened.
And when I finally, finally got shot of it, I went back to the only home I’d ever had and found that other shit happened and that was worse.
“Christ, I’m standin’ right here lookin’ at you and it’s like I’ve never known you.”
“Are we done here?” I asked tersely.
“We’re done,” Gray answered immediately but neither of us moved. We just stood there, staring at each other.
Finally, Gray ordered, “Walk away, Ivey.”
Then, out of nowhere, in my head I heard his voice order, Say you love me, Ivey.
Say you love me, Ivey.
Say you love me, Ivey.
And I heard my voice reply, I love you, Gray.
I held his stare and didn’t move.
Neither did Gray.
And then he dealt the death blow.
“I told you tragedy would strike. What I didn’t know when I was sayin’ that shit was that the tragedy would be the sweet, funny girl who was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen would turn into a hard bitch in fancy clothes gettin’ paid to pretend every night, twice a night, she was a whore.”
I held my breath.
Gray finished, “Fuck me. Tragedy.”
With that he turned on his boot and walked away.
I watched him until he rounded the corner of the building and disappeared.
Then I walked to the car, opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
I was buckling my seatbelt when Brutus asked quietly, “Everything okay, Ivey?”
“Everything’s okay, Freddie,” I whispered, felt his shock when I used his real name but looked out the side window.
We got five miles from my house before it overwhelmed me.
Brutus helped me up to the house, took the key from me, opened the door and held me on my big, expensive, comfortable couch while he called Lash and I sobbed.
Then Lash came over.
Lash slept in bed with me mostly because I cried the whole night clutching him in my arms until I passed out.
Freddie slept on my couch.