CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Fringe
After I hang up with Angie, I open wide all the windows in my apartment to air the place out. Finding a beer bottle laying on its side in front of the couch and a damp stain on the carpet, I realize why it smells like I’m living in a brewery. I spend a few minutes scrubbing the stain and picking up all the other empties. I had myself one hell of a solitary pity party.
Moving to the hall closet to get my vacuum cleaner, I catch a glimpse of my rumpled bed. Suddenly, that option seems a great deal more attractive.
That’s where I find myself who knows how much later when insistent knocking at my front door rouses me. Throwing off my heavy comforter and getting out of bed, I shiver. All the windows are still open.
Great, just fucking great. Now, I’m living in a frozen brewery.
Step-hopping into a pair of jeans from the bedroom floor, I shrug into a flannel shirt as I go to the door and throw it open without thinking. If it’s any of Lucifer’s Angels, I’m shit out of luck.
But it’s not. “Angie?”
“Hi.” There’s a wide but awkward smile on her face as she pokes her head into my apartment. “It’s freezing in here.”
I can’t wrap my head around why she’s here. When she shivers, I hurry through my crap apartment closing windows to shut out the winter blasts.
“Is now a bad time?” She hugs herself, scrunching down into her coat. “I mean… you said it was okay when I called…”
“Oh, right, yeah.” I grin sheepishly. “Sorry, I forgot. Come on in. I’d say take off your coat, but…” I wave my arm to indicate the temperature of the room. “I was airing the place out and umm… fell asleep.” I run a hand through my hair. It’s more of a tangled mess than usual. I guess when I fell asleep it was still wet from my shower.
She laughs self-consciously. “That’s okay, I understand. No worries.”
She follows me into the living room and takes a seat on the ratty old chair across from the couch. She perches on the edge like she’s going to scurry away any second. I sigh inwardly. We’re both so uncomfortable, it’s painful.
Picking up my guitar that’s leaning against a wall, just to have something to do with my hands, I sit on the couch and pluck a couple of strings. She’s going to have to get this conversation going. This was her idea.
Finally, Angie breaks the silence. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
I shrug, not looking up, and continue to strum my guitar.
“Well, alright then.” There’s a hesitant pause.
What could she possibly want to say to me that’s so hard?
“Fringe, I came here to say I’m sorry.”
Oh. This gets me to raise my eyes to meet hers. Fact is, she does look sorry. “What for?”
“I behaved badly. Yes, that night at the party I was frightened but that’s no excuse for how I treated you afterwards.”
She’s about to say more but I clamp my open palm down on the strings to silence them, startling her.
“You ditched me, Angie. I don’t even know why you’re here. You could have sent a text to apologize and soothe your conscience that way.”
Looking down, she busies her hands with a button on her coat. “You’re hurt and lashing out.” She nods to her coat. “I really am sorry. Give me five more minutes to explain? If you don’t like what you hear, you can show me the door.”
“Go on,” I say in an even tone. I don’t know why I’m being such a bastard. What she did wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me recently. Maybe it’s just the final straw.
“Thank you.” She looks up and offers a small smile and I purposely go back to strumming the guitar as I watch her luscious lips move. “I like you a lot, Fringe. But we were never going to get together.” She chooses each word with careful precision. “When I realized you were starting to like me a little too much, I took the excuse of the party to put some distance between us. It was cowardly and, again, I’m really sorry.”
I want to scream at her, tell her that we’re perfect together, and to stop this fucking crap. Instead, continuing to keep my tone as level as possible, I scoff, “Why were we never going to get together?”
A look of such sweet sorrow crosses her features that my heart squeezes. Fuck all if she says she’s dying or something.
“Because I won’t let myself get between you and who you’re already in love with.”
What?
“What are you talking about?”
She takes a deep breath. “The night we met, when you were so drunk you couldn’t remember much…”
“Yeah, I remember.”
Again, that small smile. “What you don’t remember is telling me that you’re so far gone in love with someone that you can’t think straight. At first, I wasn’t sure if I should believe you but you started telling me stories about her and, even as drunk as you were, I saw the love.”
Now, I’m concerned. I don’t remember any of this. Who did I tell her I was in love with? I have to know. “Did I tell you who with?”
She nods. “You told me you wrote a song about her. When Raven Calls. I’m guessing her name is Raven.”
I take in an involuntary breath. Not so much at the revelation that I’d mostly come to myself already, but at the title of the song. I knew I’d given the song a name but I couldn’t remember it. When Raven Calls. It’s perfect.
She looks up at me and we stare at each other for a moment as my fingers automatically start playing the tune.
“Is that it?” she asks as I continue to play.
“Uh-huh,” I murmur automatically as my mind races.
“So it really is true. You love a girl named Raven.”
I look at the beautiful woman who came here to apologize to me, but my fingers keep moving into the chords. I can’t seem to stop them. “Has this been hard on you?”
At this, she stands, takes off her coat and sits beside me on the couch. I hadn’t noticed until now that it’s warmed up enough in here that we are no longer in danger of frostbite.
“I value your friendship a great deal. I could have fallen for you but I knew almost from the moment we met that you were already in love with someone else. You were off the market so I didn’t let myself think that way.” She offers a sweet smile and bumps her shoulder against mine.
I stop playing and throw my arm around her shoulders, bringing her in for a hug.
That’s when the banging at my front door starts. It’s so loud and insistent that we both jump to our feet, startled.
“What the fuck?” I put the guitar down and run a hand through my hair. “Stay here.” I motion to Angie and head toward the door.
The banging doesn’t stop. If this is Skull or any of the other LAs, or even worse, my old man, I’ll just shit. My hand is on the doorknob when I hear her.
Dawn. “Fringe! Come on! Please be home! Fringe!” There’s more frantic pounding.
I throw open the door. “Dawn. What’s wrong?”
“Thank god. I was running and running…” She’s having trouble catching her breath, her chest heaving, and her cheeks are bright red.
“Hey, take it easy.” I open the door wider. “Come in. Tell me what happened.”
She looks up at me, still panting, then her eyes go to something behind me. I watch them go wide, a look of despair replacing the relief of finding me home.
“No, oh no no no.” She spins in place and takes off running back down the street.
Shocked, I turn to look at what she must have seen and find Angie standing right behind me, even though I told her to stay put.
“Fuck.” I grab my coat and head out the door after Dawn.
“Fringe, wait. What’s going on?” There’s a note of fear in Angie’s voice.
“That’s Raven. Something’s wrong. I gotta go.” I keep moving, leaving Angie behind with more questions on her lips. They’ll just have to wait.
Once outside, I scan the street in all directions. The sun set not too long ago and there’s a small orange glow on the horizon that will disappear within minutes. It’s that difficult twilight time when it’s hard to see much of anything. What I know I don’t see, is Dawn. She’s vanished.
I take a few steps in one direction and shout her name and then do the same in the other direction. A passerby offers a smile that says he wishes he could help. I wait a moment, but get no reply. She could be anywhere, taken any street, cut through any alley. My only hope of finding her is to assume she’s on her way home.
Reaching into my coat pocket, I say a little prayer of thanksgiving when my fingers touch the keys to my bike. With my other hand, I pull my phone from my back pocket and speed dial her number. It rings and rings then goes to voicemail. I try again with the same results. Damn it. She’s not answering but I can, at least, try to find her.
I hurry back to where I parked my bike, swing on, start the engine, and roar down the street. Dawn’s penthouse is a couple of miles from my apartment, and knowing that she could take any number of shortcuts where I can’t go on my motorcycle, I decide to take the most direct route to her place, hoping I catch up with her.
Driving down street after street, darting through traffic and breaking as many laws as I’m taking risks, I keep my eyes out for her, straining into the glare. Cursing at the fourth red light, I’m on her street by the time I finally spot her. She’s about to slip into the entrance of her building but turns her head in my direction.
Fuck. I’m too far away. I’ll never make it.
What’s worse is that I know Dawn has seen me. She pauses, frozen for a moment, before hurrying to the door and disappearing within.
“Dawn!” I shout in frustration. Matt, the doorman, gives me the stink eye and I lower my head, my heart heavy.
I idle in front of her building, debating whether I should follow her in or not. I’ve never had a real relationship, only one-night stands or weekend flings, and I just don’t know what to do. She ran from me. Doesn’t that mean she wants her space?
Besides, she decided months ago that she wanted intimacy with Lobo, not me. Doesn’t that tell me what I need to know?
Still, she looked so wrung out at my door. I just want to hold her and tell her everything is going to be okay, even though I have no idea what’s going on.
Fuck, I love that girl.
But I think I’ve blown it.