Alys

Eric had made a few phone calls, and he got us into the club an hour before opening to give me a tour. It was always weird to see a venue with the lights on, showing all the scars and flaws of a place that one normally wouldn’t see.

It was a bit of a shithole to be honest.

Bougainvillea would always be the best, but I was biased. With what Phil had done to the place, it really captured that gritty, bluesy, rockin’ atmosphere that our group loved. We’d spent so much time there—with the lights on, too—that it was a home away from home, and only the best of the unknown bands ever went up on that stage anymore.

Like Bougainvillea, this place had upper floors—two compared to Bougainvillea’s one—with the top floor being the VIP area. After we had a look around and took plenty of photos, which I’d email to Phil tomorrow, Eric and I were escorted by a hostess up to the VIP area, and she took our drink order.

Bougainvillea didn’t have hostesses, and it never would. If someone wanted a drink, VIP or not, they would have to get off their asses and get it themselves.

“What sort of music do they play here?” I asked Eric.

“Mostly emo-goth style,” he replied. “But tonight is hard rock.”

That made sense, what with the black wallpaper—which had seen better days—and the wrought iron railings. Wall sconces flickered fake torches, and the flooring was bare concrete treated with something that made it look like marbled rust. I liked the floor. It wasn’t too bad of a look.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I think the layout is good. It could be turned into a Bougainvillea-type place with some serious work. The stage is smaller than I think they’d like, but that could be fixed, too. I’d have to see how the other places look.”

Checking my watch, I saw that it was nearly eight o’clock, which meant it was almost three in the afternoon back home.

No doubt Connor is at the studio by now.

I’d been gone for two days, and already, I missed my friends. My family. Maybe it was strange—how I was so dependent on them for a sense of happiness—but I didn’t really care.

But I was here to discover who I was now. I hadn’t even called Kenna other than to tell her I’d arrived safely. I was holding out on doing so because I was so scared that, once I did, I’d end up weakened and need to come back home.

What really stung was that not once had Connor tried to get in touch with me. I supposed it was what I deserved. I had told him good-bye, and it was no one’s fault but my own that he’d taken that at face value.

The lights dimmed down, signaling that it was opening time. The hostess came back, and we ordered another round of beer.

“So, do you have a girlfriend who’d be pissed to know you’re taking another woman out?” I asked Eric.

“Nope.”

“Boyfriend?” I joked.

He smiled. “No. I’m not involved with anyone in a romantic sense.”

I nodded. “Me either.”

“Well, it’s understandable with just losing your husband.”

I flinched. “Yeah.”

But it wasn’t X I was mourning so much now, and that just made my guilt increase a hundredfold.

What’s the normal time period of mourning someone? It still fucking hurts. It’ll always fucking hurt. But…it’s not like we fucking broke up or something. X is never coming back, and my heart bleeds for another man.

One who wanted to be with me even though he had a kid on the way with another woman.

What if I can’t get over this jealousy?

Because that was what it really was. I was jealous, hurt, and bitter.

Better to be far away and alone with this than all up in Connor’s business.

I had unleashed my nasty streak the night Quinn showed up, and I was embarrassed for it. My friends might feel that I was justified for being a bitch, but it still didn’t sit well with me.

“I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose someone like that,” said Eric.

“It’s…” I searched my heart and soul for the words. “It’s devastating. I didn’t know I could hurt so hard when X died. He was such a huge part of my life for such a short amount of it. I’ve lost people before—a woman who was like a mother to me and another who was pretty much my grandmother. But, with their deaths, I felt like I could process it better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with Laurie—Mom—we knew she was sick. She had been for years, and we knew that it was only a matter of time. Toward the end, her passing was almost a relief, knowing that she wasn’t suffering anymore. With Grandma Betty, she passed in her sleep. She was old, and…well, Laurie was her daughter, and she grieved for her hard the last years of her life. If anything, I’m sure it contributed to it.

“With X…he was so full of life. He met every challenge head-on and was relentless in his pursuit of happiness, you know? He made me feel so special. Loved and cherished. And it was over in the blink of an eye.”

“I’ve never really been romantically involved with anyone.”

That surprised me. “Really? Not once in your whole life?”

Eric shook his head and took a swig of beer. “Sometimes, I think it must be nice to have that with another person, but…”

“But?”

“Have you ever heard of asexuality?”

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Yes. But I’ve never met someone who is asexual.”

Eric smiled. “Well, now, you have.”

“Huh. What’s that like?”

He shrugged. “I just have no interest in sex. I’ve never been attracted to someone. I guess it’s weird but…not for me.”

“That sounds fucking liberating.”

Eric busted out laughing. “Yeah, maybe it is.”

“Seriously, man. To not have any inclination toward sex or getting laid or…fucking any of it! Life would be so much simpler if sex had no part. Have you always been asexual?”

“Yeah. I guess it’s like being gay or something. It’s not really a choice. It just…is.”

“So, you don’t get horny?”

“Not really, no.”

“Does your equipment…work?”

He smiled. “It does.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“No. But that’s only because of curiosity rather than desire.”

“Fascinating,” I half-whispered. “I was married to a bisexual.” That just flew out of my mouth. I’d had no intention of spilling that information to him, and I was horrified I’d spilled the beans on X like that.

“What was that like?”

“I don’t even know. Sometimes, it was hot. It was a part of his life that he shared with me. I think he just liked a cock in his ass. Oh my God, I should shut up.”

Eric cracked up. “Please don’t. I’m bloody curious now. The two of you had sex with other people?”

“Just one. A man. One we were both really close to. I guess that made it easier for me, you know? Because I was never into that kind of shit. I’m still not.”

“You did it for him.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Then, it never would have lasted anyway,” Eric stated. “There would have been a point where you couldn’t continue on like that. Either he’d have had to give it up to make you happy or you’d have had to be miserable for not having a monogamous relationship. In the end, neither of you would have truly been able to be yourself.”

“Possibly,” I replied. “But he made sure I knew it was something I had to be comfortable with, and at the time, he was more than willing to give up men to be with me.”

“What about this other guy?” he asked. “Are you two still close?”

Are we? I wondered. Did Quinn coming back into the picture kill that between us?

“Yeah, we’re still close,” I replied. “And we have feelings for each other.”

Fucking understatement.

“Oh. How does that work?”

“Right now, it doesn’t. My guilt and his…obligations…make for a fucking hot mess, and I’m trying to pull myself out of it. So…separate ways and all that.”

Eric raised his beer bottle, and I joined in, clinking mine against his.

“To avoiding hot messes,” he said.

“Indeed,” I replied.

The bands weren’t too bad, but I wasn’t impressed enough to give Kenna a call and tell her about them. I had no doubt, if she were here with me, she wouldn’t have had much to say about the talent.

I got a bit buzzed, and since we’d taken a cab, so did Eric. His confession about his sexual orientation, or lack thereof, had put me at ease. I supposed I had been feeling odd, living with a man I didn’t know, and knowing he had no sexual inclination toward…well, anyone made me feel freer somehow.

Whenever I got around to calling my best friend, I was so going to tell her about Eric and his nonsexual ass.

When we got home, I said good night and headed straight to my room. Stripping out of my clothes, I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and scrubbed my face. Then, I went straight to bed, slipping beneath the cool satin covers.

That was when I felt the loss of Connor.

The loss of X.

But, most of all, the loss of who I used to be.

I’m so fucking tired of feeling like this, I thought as I opened my eyes to the morning light.

I was over this shit, over being depressed, over being a pain in the ass to myself. I needed to get up and get the hell out of whatever funk I was in.

The best way I knew how to do that was to train, but I had no idea if there were any Krav Maga places around.

Eric was in the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee when I entered. Smiling, he grabbed me a cup and filled it, adding some cream and sugar.

“Good morning,” he said. “You look like hell.”

“I feel a bit like shit,” I told him. “I need to move my ass. Is there a gym around here that offers Krav Maga training?”

“I’ll find one if that’s what you want.”

“I’d love that, thanks.”

An hour and a half after a breakfast of toast, eggs, and tomato slices, Eric was driving me to a gym that had a trainer who was willing to do one-on-one lessons whenever the fancy struck me. Sitting in the front seat of the Land Rover, I tried to memorize the streets, but there was no way I’d remember my way back.

“I’ll be close by whenever you finish,” Eric told me as he pulled up in front of the building. “Just give me a call when you’re done. When you go in, ask for Randy.”

“Okay,” I replied.

Eric made to get out of the car, no doubt to grab my bag for me, but I glared him down. Hopping out, I opened the back door and grabbed my own damn gym bag. Then, I waved good-bye and headed inside.

It looked clean even though a lingering odor of sweat perfumed the air. At the front desk sat a very attractive, very fit receptionist.

“Hi,” I said, walking up to the desk. “I’ve got a session with Randy. I’m Alys.”

“Hi, Alys,” replied the receptionist.

She handed me a clipboard with a form to fill out, and once I did that, I handed it back to her with my credit card.

“Can you keep me on file? I’m not sure how long I’ll be here in London.”

“No worries,” she replied. She picked up the phone and paged Randy to the front desk.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting Randy the Trainer to be but certainly not the beautiful, petite blonde vision that came up and greeted me.

“Alys?”

“Yes?”

“Hello, I’m Randy. It’s short for Miranda.”

She stuck out her hand, and I shook it, secretly pleased with how firm her grip was.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?”

A thrill of adrenaline pumped through me, warming my chest, making me feel alive in a way that I hadn’t in months. It had been just as long since I practiced Krav Maga, and I knew that coming here was exactly what I needed.

Kenna and Connor had their yoga to help bring them peace and shit. For me, there was nothing better to calm my brain than the prospect of kicking the shit out of someone. Chances were, it’d be my ass getting beat, and I was all right with that, too.