Grey
The week has gone by painfully slow, but sickly sweet. Painfully slow because I have been pushing myself to train harder, without the help within the gym. I haven’t been there since David dropped the nuke-bomb that he’s moving here to Miami. I’m not even angry that he’s staying—I’m lying, I am fucking furious. It’s the fact that he didn’t tell me beforehand. I would surely tell him if I was moving to a whole new state with my fiancée, which I will never have, but you get the point. He just treated me as if I was some kind of kid he couldn’t talk to. Not like I was his fucking brother. And it pissed me off. I am still pissed off.
I push harder as I run, my thoughts nearly drowned out by the rock music blasting through my earbuds. I weave through people and am gunning for the outskirts of town. It begins to drizzle, but it doesn’t stop me for one second. If anything, it makes me run even faster, causing my calves to scream at me to stop. But I do not ease up. My phone keeps buzzing the entire time I run, but I don’t answer because I know exactly who it is. And he can fuck off. An hour later, I arrive at a crowded park that’s damn near on the other side of town.
I hunch over and take long, deep breaths. I can barely hear the loud music over my heartbeat and panting. “Fuck,” I curse as I stretch my aching back and stand. I thread my fingers through my sweaty hair and plop onto a bench. There’s a beach nearby, and the air is warm. This place is so freaking peaceful. Sometimes I wonder how something can look so beautiful yet be filled with so many betraying assholes, David being one of them. Dean being another. The city may look alluring and sweet, but up close it holds dangerous feuding gangs, monopolies, strippers, and everything your mama would warn you about.
My pocket buzzes with an incoming text. I groan and rub my face. I have ignored him all week long; he won’t let this go on any further. I hastily pull out my phone and swipe it open. As I expected, it is Dean. He wants me down at The Spot at ten. That’s all. I know he has something shifty up his shady-ass sleeve. Knowing him, dodging his advances, and him saying he wants you for a simple run-down and not cussing you out means you’re going to regret avoiding him. But I can handle him. He’s put me through shit I can never repeat, not even in my head.
I am yanked out of my thoughts of the menacing gang leader by a particular ringtone I have set for Liv. It’s some stupid color song by a girl named Hashley? I don’t know. She stole my phone and set it along with a photo, saying a plain ringtone and a default background was both disrespectful and just plain mean. Apparently, this song is so me…? The girl can be weird when she wants to be.
“Finally wake up?” I tease. “Gosh, we did so much not-fucking, I must have tired you out.”
“Do not tease me, mister, or there will be a much longer time of no-effing,” she shoots back, and I can just see that little cute smile of hers and narrowed eyes that always appear when she wants to appear threatening. In reality, she’s as intimidating as a bunny wielding a carrot around like it’s a sword. Honestly, I just can’t get over the “no-effing.” I’ve heard her curse, so why the censoring?
I laugh then sigh longingly. “What’s up, cute-butt?”
She growls her little growl, and I laugh a little more. “I’m hungry. Do you mind getting something on your way back?”
“Sure,” I say and begin to head back in the direction of the house. I didn’t notice it before, but I’m pretty starved myself. “What do you want?” I’m going to treat myself to some greasy burgers because I fucking deserve it.”
“I could use some salad from Panera, and maybe some ice cream from my favorite parlor downtown?” she says sheepishly. “Remember to get extra—”
“Sprinkles. Yes, I got it,” I cut her normal order off with a laugh. “Anything else? Maybe some plugs?”
“Plugs…?” she questions.
“Yeah, to plug up the bloody captain sailing the bitchy ship down south.” I quirk a teasing smile even if she can’t see me. She’s been having her lady-time for a few days now and has been quite a bitch on and off, but I get it completely. It’s her time to be bipolar, I get the rest of the month, it’s just nice that way. Equal, you know?
She makes a really unattractive sound that could only sound cute on her. “Stop being so insensitive and get me my damn stuff, okay?”
I am ready with a comeback when I hear a very distinct male voice in the background on her side. I stop walking at the bottom of the hill and grind my teeth.
“Who the fuck is that?” I boom, giving her no time to defend herself. I listen to her speak as I begin to run back to my car that’s about thirty minutes away. But hearing a guy is with her, I am so fucking pissed I will reach it in twenty. “Liv!”
“It’s no one!” she squeaks, and I growl impatiently. “Seriously,” she mutters, and I perfectly imagine her biting her lip.
“That didn’t sound like no one.” I sound as pissed as I feel, maybe even more.
“Well, it was…just the TV,” she lies. “You left it on that fighting channel.”
“Do not lie to me, Liv.” I just want her to tell the damn truth. I don’t think she’d ever bring a fucking guy to my—our—kind of—house. Not unless she wanted to see more blood than she has for the past few days on my hands.
“Don’t forget the sprinkles. ’Kay, bye, drive safe.” She makes a kissy sound in the phone before hanging up.
I grunt angrily as I shove my phone on my basketball shorts and begin running. All kinds of thoughts of bashing a fucker’s face into the ground and demanding why she brought him to the house in the first place play through my mind like a horror film. I’m pretty sure I knock down a few people here and there as I run harder and faster than I had running, but I couldn’t give less of a massive shit. They are simply in my way.
When I finally get to the house half an hour later, I storm in, nearly throwing the front door off its hinges. I have not cooled down one fucking bit as I drove like an absolute madman on the road. A cop tried to pull me over a while back, but I lost that fucker easily. Partly because he’s a shitty newbie, and I am a pro when it comes to ditching cops. Don’t ask.
“Olivia Renee Westerfield!” I belt out her name as I throw open the bedroom door.
She jumps up a little. She is on the bed in the same clothes I left her in, one of my black shirts and boxers. Her hair is thrown up in a ragged, curly ponytail, and her laptop rests on her thighs.
“Aw, where’s the food?” she whines when she looks at my empty hands, about to throw a period-bitch fit.
“Don’t start that period-bitchy shit with me,” I warn her, pointing a finger. I look around for any signs of a boy, and she watches, chewing her lip, basically making it known she is a guilty little adorable shit. “Where is he?”
“Who?” she tries to play dumb.
“You know who!” I snap, walking over to her.
“No, I don’t!” she hisses, shoving her laptop down a little.
“Yeah, right.” I turn to search the house when I hear the voice again.
“Olivia, are you there?” The voice is close, really close…
I look to her laptop, and she does too.
“Shoot.” She bites her lip.
I rush over and snatch the laptop out of her small hands before she can close it. I walk over to the door and throw it open fully. I am taken aback, lifting an eyebrow. It’s the dude she spoke to once back in December. You know, the sweater-vest, khaki-wearing motherfucker she clicked with so well? Yeah, that preppy fucker. But he was only talking to her about the program I didn’t really know about then, so why he is talking to her again now? Maybe their friendship runs past the program…?
“Why the fuck are you talking to this prick?” I make a face, and he laughs like the good guy he is. Asshole.
She runs over and grabs the laptop from my hands. “Matthew, can I please call you back later?” she asks sickly sweet with a smile and a bat of her eyelashes.
The fuck!
“Of course, good—” he begins, but I am tired of his polite voice.
I slam the screen shut, and she screams, but I cut her off. “Are you cheating on me with him?”
Her eyes blow open and she mouths for words, but finally squeaks out, “There is nothing to cheat on. We haven’t discussed what we are officially.”
“So?” I shrug my shoulders violently. “You’re saying it’s okay for me to go out and fuck a random girl?”
She looks so hurt, she bites her lip and shakes her head. “Of course it isn’t, but he and I aren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing?” I scream.
“Can you please not scream at me?” she pleads in a small voice, hands drawn up. “All it does is give me headaches and scares me a little. So, please, inside voices.”
I rub my palm over my lip roughly in agitation and sit on the edge of the bed. “Talk,” I demand, and she sighs.
She sits next to me, fiddling with her thumbs. “You have to promise not to get mad at me.”
I scoff and tug at my hair. “Can’t promise that.”
“Fine, but just…don’t walk out. Do not assume and let me speak. Please, I will only tell you if you promise me that.”
Whatever it is must be worse than I thought. Fuck.
“Talk,” I demand again, and she nods.
A few tense seconds pass before she finally says, “I got accepted into the…into the Psych Program…again.”
I snap my head toward her, but she is staring at the floor. “That’s good…right?” I rub my neck, and she finally looks at me, tears bundled up in her eyes.
Oh no, here comes the tears.
I grab the tissue box on her side of the bed and hand it to her. She’s been crying non-stop ever since her lady-time began. She mumbles “thank you” and begins to sniffle as she wipes her face religiously. It hurts my heart to see her this upset over something so amazing. I help her dry her tears and cup her red, puffy face.
“You’re not mad?” she mumbles, bottom lip trembling.
I smile but shake my head no. “Of course not, silly.”
“But…w-why not?” she stutters, sucking her bottom lip.
“Because you’ve wanted that spot for a long time.”
“But it’s what ruined us the first time,” she points out, voice scratchy. I make a mental note to make her some tea for her throat. “Aren’t you even a little upset?”
I take a deep breath and look away. “I…I think I should be…but no. It doesn’t make me upset,” I say honestly, ignoring my pride and grudge that’s fighting to break through.
The thing did tear us apart, but it wasn’t just that. It was also her, and I am already working on building my trust for her. But she was willing to go so far for the thing; it means that it means a lot to her. And I love her so much it physically hurts, so who am I to step in the way a second time? I know for a fact that I will not let it rip me away from her again. I almost didn’t survive the last time. And I’m not going through the misery again.
“Really?” she croaks.
“Yes,” I laugh.
“Yay,” she says softly, cheeks glistening with warmth. I crack up in laughter, and she gets hotter and hotter. But then she pouts and whimpers, “But the food…?”
“I’ll get it for you.” I wink at her, and she launches her arms around me, sniffling back tears.
“You’re the best in the world.” She kisses my neck, and I grow slack in her arms and accidentally fall into the bed. She giggles, and I laugh so hard my stomach is in pain, but it doesn’t matter. Because she is to me the very air I breathe and the flicker of warmth I’ve craved so desperately for months. But now that I know I can’t live without her, I will never let go of this little light. Never.
***
After getting her food, which she practically inhaled, blaming her lady-time, she had me take her to this store called Nerdstrom, or some geeky shit like that. The place looked like Micah’s nerdy ass and Liv threw up all over it. Khaki-everything dripped down the walls and plaid socks littered the rows and ugh, the sweater vests. I am surprised I didn’t die of boredom and disgust. But I barely bit back my tongue as she shopped for clothes for the program.
I am seriously surprised I’m not super upset about it. I mean, it is kind of the reason we split the first time around. But then I just had to admire her drive, however fucked up it was. Plus, she really has to be really fucking destined for it or extremely talented if they are taking her again. By the way she was gushing to me about it, I could tell she’s very excited, so I will keep quiet about the wrong it has done to us and focus on how genuinely happy she is, because her happiness overrules everything. And I mean everything.
My smile when thinking about my brilliant, foodie girl drops when I pull up at The Spot around the time Dean said I should be here. I just want to get whatever this is over with so I can go back home to my girl and tuck her in. Fuck! I am becoming so fucking whipped again! I told myself I’d stay tough this time, but how can I when she’s all pouty faces and cute smiles? I catch myself falling into a daydream about her and clear my throat.
I stare into the rearview mirror and point at myself. “You are a tough motherfucker. You’re about to walk into a gang meeting. Act like it.”
I get out of the car, popping the collar of my leather jacket just to prove my douche-thoughts. I head inside and ignore the stares as I walk straight into the back and down the stairs, where I expect I am needed. A lot of bad shit happens down here. Fuck that. If word got out to the PD, I would let my girl and—fuck it—David down too. But Dean has a pretty tight relationship with a few corrupt cops and knows to keep everything low-key. I kind of know what to expect. It’s the reason I’m wearing my MMA gloves right now.
I’m not surprised when I find a few members lounging around smoking, Dean in front of a tied-up guy. He looks pretty fucked up as I stand in front of him. Blood gushes from his broken nose, bruises all over his collarbones and cheeks, and eyes so bloodshot, I can’t even tell what color his eyes are. And the lovely boss beside me has a baseball bat in his hands. You do the math as to what happened here.
“Ask away,” I tell Dean with a sigh as I crack my knuckles, eyeing the prisoner. I bet he’ll spill once I get a few punches in. I pop a gum into my mouth and throw the wrapper away as I near the guy, but Dean pulls me back.
“After I ask you…why didn’t you answer my calls?” Dean asks, head lolling to the side, toothpick slowly rolling in his mouth.
I hold his intense gaze and shrug. “I was busy with training. You know how the big fight’s coming up.”
He nods thoughtfully, rolling my answer in his mind. “Get to it,” he says, turning his back, bat propped on the floor, almost black-blood shining in the single dim light in the dusty basement. I watch him for a moment before turning to the poor fuck. I don’t know what he did or what Dean wants to know, but I know I can’t test Dean. He is the most menacing man in Miami, one who could hunt you down and show you hell at its finest.
I throw my fist at the man’s face without any hesitation. I do it over and over, taking small breaks for him to beg, then go back at it. My boot collides with his jaw, and he cries out. After a while, I look back at Dean, who has the bat behind his neck, toothpick rolling, rolling…
“When do I stop?” I ask.
He picks his gaze from the man to me, then shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t…”
I look to the man, my bloody glove…then continue bashing his face in without any hesitation.