Chapter forty-seven:

 

 

She hears it before I do. Because I’m still lost in the past. Trapped in the memories.

You shouldn’t look back, even when it’s tempting.

Carrie stands up and makes a run for the bedroom door. And though she hears it first, and though I am still in a daze, I still manage to grab her before she leaves. She doesn’t scream; I think her lungs hurt too much for that because she has a hand protectively over one side.

My fingers graze over her hair and I almost lose my grip, but then I close my palm around her locks and I pull back. And then she does try to scream but I clap a hand over her mouth and pull her back to my chest before the sound fully makes it out of her mouth.

“Carrie! Where the fuck are you?”

He’s inside.

It must be Adam. He had a key, not like that other person that came around screaming her name. Adam has a key and now he is in the house. I wonder what will happen now that he is here. Will it be like with Cody Mathews again? Will Mr. Fancy Asshole Adam kick my ass? And my back? And my head? And my legs? And my arms? My mom isn’t here to bathe my wounds this time, but maybe Carrie will.

“Carrie! I sent someone around and you weren’t here. You should always be here, you know that!” he’s yelling. “He was a good client, payed top whack for you because he likes it a little rough!”

I hold her close and I listen as Adam storms through the house looking for her. I hear him mutter something else as he goes into the living room and then into the kitchen. He must know that something isn’t right. That something is very, very wrong.

I would know if I were her boyfriend. I would be able to tell right away. I would feel it in my heart and in my bones and in every part of me before I even got here. I would know that something is wrong.

And now here is Mr. Fancy Asshole Adam storming up the stairs two at a time, still calling her name, but sounding less angry and more wary now. And I have no idea what I’m going to do. All I know is that I’m not a kid anymore, and I’m not a pussy, and he’s not taking her from me.

And here he is opening the door and coming into Carrie’s bedroom and he’s staring at me. A frown crosses his features as he sees me holding Carrie.

Carrie with her black-and-blue face and her wheezing lungs and her swollen head.

“Who the fuck are you?” he says, and he reaches into his pocket and he pulls out a gun.

And, what the fuck? A gun, Adam? Really? Who carries a gun around with them? No one, Adam, that’s who. Only gangsters, and you’re not a gangster, you’re a stuck-up white boy pimp, that’s what you are. A rich boy dabbling in a poor man’s business.

“I’m Ethan, and you should probably leave,” I say calmly.

And well done, Ethan, I think, because I even manage to sound scary to me.

Adam looks from me to Carrie and then back again. I must look scary because his eyes go wide as he assesses the situation. I remember watching an old black-and-white movie with Carrie years ago. The main character was in a similar situation to this, only he didn’t just have the girl as a hostage, he had a gun too. There was this huge shootout where the girl got shot because they didn’t think about the situation properly before starting to shoot. I don’t want that to happen here, not to Carrie, so I know we need to think things through properly. Especially since Adam has a gun, and I can tell he’s a trigger-happy kind of guy. Of course he is. Another thing to stick on my list of reasons why I hate this guy.

He’s too quick to react. He doesn’t think things through. Doesn’t work through the situation before reacting. So I know this is all down to me. I need to take control of the situation before he fucking blows it for all of us.

“Carrie and I are old friends,” I say.

“Looks like it,” he replies almost calmly.

He’s not dressed in his suit today, but he still looks pretty smart. I wonder if he just came from home. I wonder if he fucked his wife before coming around here to fuck Carrie.

He makes me feel sick.

“Real good friends, right?” he sneers.

Smartass, I think. “This isn’t how it looks,” I add on with a scowl.

Adam raises an eyebrow and I can tell that he normally gets his eyebrows waxed so they are a good shape. They’re not a man’s eyebrows. They’re too groomed, too perfect.

What a dick.

“Really? Because it looks like you got my girl there against her will and it looks like you beat the shit out of her.” Adam lifts his gun a little higher. “And it looks like you need to let her go before I blow your fucking head off.”

And it’s weird, because I honestly thought he would sound…smoother, more stuck-up, but he doesn’t. He has a Boston drawl to him, and I think how strange that is. Because in that black-and-white movie, the other guy (the bad guy) he was from Boston too. And God I hope that’s not a hint for how this is going to play out.

“Looks can be deceiving,” I reply. Good one, Ethan.

But it’s true though. I mean, here I was thinking that he was some rich Los Angeles preppy privileged white boy, when really he’s not. He’s from Boston, and actually up close he doesn’t look as stuck-up as I first thought.

And part of me wants to say, good for you, man. Good for you for doing better for yourself.

But I don’t, of course I don’t, because this isn’t that type of situation. We’re not drinking buddies, or gym buddies, and you can’t go talking to someone like that and letting them know that you judged them before really getting to know them. That’s another thing my mom always used to say.

Adam laughs dryly. “That’s very true.”

And see, we do have stuff in common. How strange is this?

“But the thing is,” he continues, “is that this gun isn’t deceiving. Not even a little bit. That’s my property you have there in your arms, and you’re also in my property, and I’m honestly trying to think of a reason why I shouldn’t just kill you right now.”

And, Wow, Adam, you need to work on your mommy issues. Carrie isn’t your property—she’s a person, and you can’t own a person.

“She’s not your property,” I growl out.

The side of his mouth pulls up in a smile. “Sure she is. I paid for her and I own her. Every dirty little hole she has is mine.”

Carrie hasn’t moved or flinched since Adam walked in, but she chooses now to speak up.

“Just let me go, Ethan, and Adam won’t hurt you. Isn’t that right, Adam?”

Adam grins. “That’s not entirely true, sweetheart. I’m still gonna hurt the guy for laying his hands on you.” At least he’s honorable. “I can’t make money when your face is like that, so someone’s gotta be punished.” Or not. “Christ, even I’d find it hard to fuck you looking like that.”

So now we’re at a stalemate. I can’t let go of Carrie because Adam will shoot me, but if I don’t let go of her he’ll probably shoot us both anyway. Up close he doesn’t seem the sort of guy that has her best interests at heart. I honestly don’t think he’d care about hurting Carrie if it came to that.

So now what?

Think, Ethan. Think.

“You’ve got about thirty seconds,” Adam says, and he’s looking right at me, not even paying Carrie any attention. And I hate him even more for that. For not showing her the attention she deserves. For not giving a shit that she’s hurt. For caring more about his so-called “property” than he does about the person. And I think it’s that anger that makes me react so carelessly.

Because I can’t stop myself from reacting when Carrie (she must sense this is all going to shit too) tries to get out of my grip. It takes us all by surprise, especially because she hasn’t tried to move since this all started. She turns to lead in my arms and drops to the floor. And this time I don’t have time to grab her, because I know that Adam is going to shoot me. And it’s all a blur as Carrie turns to lead, and I dive at Adam, and Adam fires the gun. And then we are a tangle of limbs, of arms and legs, and there’s kicking and hitting. And I hate fighting, Adam, I really do. But I’m not a pussy anymore. I learned to fight. I had to if I wanted to stay alive.

And then Carrie has the gun and she aims it at me, but I know she means to aim it at Adam, so when I see the fire in her eyes and I know she’s going to shoot because she raises the gun, I throw him in front of me. And See, Carrie? See how I’m still trying to help you?

The gun is louder than I expect it to be.

And the recoil is more than Carrie expects it to be.

And the pain is worse than Adam expects it to be.

And then we all freeze, and I think, Well done, Carrie. We sure showed him. What a great team we make.

Carrie drops the gun and screams, and I’m not stupid so I quickly grab it, and by the time I have it in my hands, she is kneeling by Adam’s side and crying.

“It’s okay,” I say as Adam struggles to breathe and Carrie presses her hand over the bullet wound in his shoulder like she is trying to stem the blood flow. But she can’t because there’s so much blood. “Thank you for saving me, Carrie,” I say, and I mean it, too. She just saved my life. And look what a great team we still make!

I’m smiling as she looks up at me. And honestly, it’s not that I don’t feel bad for Adam, or that Carrie had to save me, it’s just that once again I’m just so grateful to be alive. I lean over and put my hands on my knees while I try to catch my breath.

“Damn, that was a rush, right?” I smile, still grateful that I’m alive. That Carrie saved me for a change. And what beautiful symmetry there is in that.

I was always the one saving her, and now she’s repaying the favor. That’s just fucking beautiful.

“You’re insane!” Carrie screams at me. Her face is blotchy with tears, and swollen and bruised, and she’s still trying to stop Mr. Fancy Asshole Adam from bleeding to death, and her other hand is still on her side where her rib is possibly, probably, more than likely broken. She leans over him and presses her mouth to his. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says over and over.

And then Adam coughs, and blood sprays from his mouth, and I hate the sight of blood, and I hate to see Carrie so upset. Even if she’s made me just as upset.

But ain’t that always the way?

You hurt the ones you love, whether you mean to or not.