Kami rolled her eyes, completely disregarding my orders and followed behind me. “Angel said I was needed, so here I am. Oh, and quit your worrying. I’m pregnant, not paraplegic.” However, she let me put the bags on the table and unload them. Kami looked beautiful, as always, but tired. Her belly was round and protruding, but the rest of her had stayed slim. I had to worry if she was stressing. She tended to lose weight when she was overwhelmed in her life, and with Amanda back in town, I knew she wasn’t comfortable.
“Everything good?” Translation: I’m going to try to respect boundaries and all that other shit, but . . . How are things with Blaine?
She started rummaging through the bags, pulling out various pints of ice cream, chocolate chips, whipped cream and chocolate syrup. “Good. As good as can be expected.”
She was lying to me. “And that means . . . ?”
Kami sighed, pausing in front of the freezer with a pint in each hand. “It means that his ex is a desperate, ruthless bitch who wants him back, and is willing to use not only her body, but a freaking child to get what she wants.” She yanked open the freezer drawer, nearly pulling it off with the force of her aggression. “Can you believe that she’s trying to say her son—a kid he’s never even met—looks up to him as his dad? This child she conceived while they were married, that has no idea that Blaine even existed until now, all of a sudden considers him as his dad? It is total fucking bullshit!”
“Damn.” I replied shaking my head. I went over to her, took the ice cream out of her hands before she Hulk-smashed them, and led her to a seat. “Who cares what that crazy loon is saying. Blaine isn’t buying it, is he?”
“No,” she sighed. “At least I don’t think so. He doesn’t want to hurt the kid, but they keep popping up—the bar, his uncle’s house, our house. It’s like, enough is enough. When is he going to set her straight and send her packing?”
Standing behind her, I rubbed the tension from her shoulders while she prattled on about Blaine’s ex, Amanda. I had only caught a glimpse of the girl, who was pretty enough, but in a more obvious way. She still couldn’t hold a candle to Kami.
According to Angel, she was everything Kam was not—out-going, boisterous and overly sexual. And apparently, Angel had given the girl a little advice too. “Watch it, heifer. You fuck with her, you fuck with me. And don’t let the cute face fool you. I will cut a bitch.”
But as it seemed, Amanda hadn’t taken the warning, and made it her mission to try to make Kam’s life hell. I get that Blaine was trying to be diplomatic about the whole thing, but let’s face it—some broads didn’t respond to decency and reason. And any chick that would knowingly get herself knocked up while married to another man was devoid of both.
Bottom line: You can’t argue with crazy.
“I hate her, Dom. I know that’s a strong word, but I do. I hate her.” Even though her voice was just a broken whisper, it was enough for Angel to catch as she entered the kitchen.
“Who do we hate?” she said, coming over to kiss Kami’s cheek and rub her round belly like it would bring her luck.
“Amanda,” I answered for her.
“Oh God. Not that trick again. Dude, seriously, say the word, and I will break my size six stiletto heel in her silicone ass.”
I raised a brow at Angel’s colorful vernacular and chuckled. The girl was five-foot-nothing and about as threatening as a little pink pixie. But she was dead serious. She would kill for Kami. We both would.
Kam considered her offer for a hot minute before shaking her head. “No. that’s not necessary. Tempting, but not necessary.”
“What happened to the kid’s father?” I asked.
“Gone. Long gone. Back in the day, he and Blaine came to blows over something unrelated, or so it seemed. Blaine ended up putting the guy in a coma, which led to him . . . having to go away for a while. After he recovered, the guy just disappeared.”
“Shit. That’s right.” I had heard the story before. Amanda used to date that kid—Clark was his name, I think. The guy had a serious temper, and had put his hands on her. Of course, Blaine being the good Samaritan that he is, had defended her honor. But Amanda is as dumb as she is pretty and ended up cheating on B with the same motherfucker that whooped her ass. And after that . . . well, let’s just say Blaine was no stranger to the Mecklenburg County jail.
“So after all this time, what would make her come back here?” Angel asked.
“I don’t know. She wants something—money probably. Word must’ve gotten back to her that Blaine has plenty of it.”
We decided to put a pin in the Amanda mystery and finish unloading the food, along with enough ice cream and toppings to satisfy an entire sorority with PMS. Kami also picked up one of our favorites—Chipotle. Frozen sweets, big ass burritos . . . she was not playing around.
“Oh my gaaaawd. I love Chipotle,” Angel mocked in the most annoying, nasally voice known to man. She did the bit, mimicking the YouTube sensation, every time we indulged in mounds of grilled chicken, black beans and guacamole wrapped in mammoth-sized tortillas. “Chipotle is mah liiiife.”
I picked up a monstrous, foil-wrapped roll and smiled down at Kami. “Remember these in college? Broke as fuck and hungover. Shit, one of these would last us all day!”
We grabbed our burritos and took them to the living room to sit cross-legged on the carpet. It was still rough to even be in this space after finding Kami here, nearly dead, less than a year ago. Before she got out of the hospital, we ripped up the carpeting and changed all the furniture and décor. It looked like an entirely different room, but the memory still lingered in the atmosphere. Shit, I couldn’t even get the smell of blood out of the walls for weeks. But Kami insisted that we not allow it to have any more power than it had already claimed. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“I brought all your favorites,” she said, digging through a canvas tote between bites of burrito. “Transporter 1 through 56. All the Fast and Furious movies, rest in peace, Paul Walker. All 27 Die Hards. Everything Arnold pre-Governator. Take your pick.”
“Wait a minute. Chipotle, ice cream and action movies,” I mused through a mouthful of cilantro, rice and beans. “What the hell are you two up to?”
As if it were rehearsed, both girls shrugged their little shoulders innocently and said, “Oh nothing.” They were both shit actors. Cute as hell, but they weren’t fooling anyone.
“Seriously. Did someone die? Are you moving away? Shit, did they cancel Scandal?”
“No,” Kami assured, touching a hand to my cheek to calm me. “The Gladiators will be back for another season, I swear.”
“Then why the hell are you guys acting so . . . nice. Especially you,” I glared accusingly at Angel, my eyes narrowed in suspicion. “We’ve sat here for nearly five minutes, and you haven’t compared my dick to a rotten tree trunk or said I smell like gonorrhea-scented Axe body spray. Something’s up, and I don’t like it.”
“Oh, God, you can be such a vagina, I swear,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Can’t I be nice for a fucking change?”
“No.”
“Well, maybe I want to now, asshole.”
I wasn’t buying it. There wasn’t enough bite in the “asshole.” No conviction. “Thirty seconds to tell me what’s up, or I’m marching into your room and sending your favorite dildo down the disposal.”
“Oh, please. Give it a rest. You wouldn’t dare. You don’t have the guts.”
“Twenty seconds.”
“You’re such a hater, you know that? You’re probably insanely jealous of that dildo, considering that it makes your dick look like a tiny, tan Tic-Tac.”
“Ten seconds.”
“You motherfucker. If you touch Tyrone, you are dead. You hear me? I will beat you to fucking death with that big horse dick!”
“Enough already!” Kami interjected, just as I began to rise to my feet. Angel looked like she was on the verge of angry tears. She was really attached to Tyrone. I’d heard he
r praise it by name more than a few late nights.
I sat back down and picked up my burrito. “Then spill it.”
Kami looked at Angel for confirmation, then back to me, her expression stricken with concern. “Angel said you’ve been having nightmares again. Talking in your sleep . . . screaming.” She swallowed then chewed her bottom lip, something she often did when she was pained or conflicted. “Crying.”
Shit.
I hadn’t told anyone about their reoccurrence. I had always been a rough sleeper. It was impossible to ever close my eyes again without expecting to be woken up in the worst way. And while it was common for the evils of my past to intrude on my dreams, the nightmares had gotten progressively worse. It usually happened when I was stressed or upset about something. But I honestly couldn’t think of anything in my life that had changed except . . .
Raven. And Toby.
But that wouldn’t be a problem anymore.
“She’s been coming in your room at night. Holding you while you sleep and leaving before you wake up. She thought maybe some downtime—just the three of us—would be good for you.”
I looked at Angel. Her face was still screwed up, yet her scowl had softened a bit. “On the few nights that you’re alone, of course,” she mumbled, casting her glance down to her hands knotted in her lap. The girl had a heart as vast and deep as Lake Norman. She just didn’t let anyone see it.
I took a deep breath before setting down my food and crawling over to her side of the table. And before she could protest, I wrapped her in my arms and squeezed until I could feel her heart pounding against my chest.
“I love you, muff diver,” I muttered before kissing her hair.
“Love you too, McSlurry.”
“Awwww,” we heard Kami sniffle beside us. “These goddamn hormones. I don’t care. I love you both.” And with that, she wrapped her tiny arms around both of us, remaining the glue that held us all together.
A few tears and three big ass burritos later, we were watching something with Bruce Willis that included explosions, gunfire and him in a dirty tank top. So we pretty much could have been watching any Bruce Willis movie. A huge tub of popcorn sat on Kami’s lap in the middle—although it was dangerously close to the edge and battling her protruding belly—and we were passing around a bowl of ice cream with all the trimmings.
“I meant to ask you,” she began, scooping up a dollop of triple fudge ice cream with a piece of popcorn. “What’s this about you being in Dive with a woman and her son?”
“Yeah, what’s up with that? You get hitched and have a kid without telling us?”
Crap. I’d done well with avoiding their questions. Dive was too crowded for the third degree, and luckily, Angel was busy most evenings. I knew I couldn’t keep Raven and Toby a secret forever, and honestly, I didn’t want to. I just didn’t know how to verbally explain what I was feeling. Not without sounding like a complete idiot.
“The boy is a kid from the center. Selectively mute. Tough upbringing. The girl is his sister, who’s also his legal guardian. The mom OD’d last May.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” Kam remarked.
“It is, for sure,” Angel agreed. “And I can see why you’d be protective. But it doesn’t explain what you were doing with them, especially when you’re so adamant about keeping work and your personal life separate. Plus according to CJ, you got all alpha male on him and slapped your dick on the bar when he was just joking around. What’s up with that?”
I shook my head and diverted my attention to the TV screen, although I couldn’t see a thing. It was ridiculous that I was still thinking about her. What kinda self-respecting man put himself out there for a chick that clearly wasn’t interested? Was I developing some sick masochistic tendency?
Hell no.
“Nothing is up,” I muttered, the half-truth sour on my tongue. “She’s made it very clear that she wants me to stay away from her and her brother. She’s been nothing but rude and nasty towards me since the day we met. I’m passing their case along to another mentor tomorrow morning.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Kami whispered, giving my thigh a squeeze.
“Still doesn’t explain why you pissed on CJ’s leg.”
I cut my eyes at Angel, knowing exactly what she was doing. That trollop was annoyingly perceptive.
“She hates me. End of story.”
“But you don’t hate her.” She wasn’t even trying to mask her amusement at my discontent.
“No.” I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face. “I don’t. And it doesn’t help that I’ve grown attached to the kid. I worry about him. He’s not . . . he’s not like other boys. And yeah, she’s a bitch to me, but still, for some reason, I’m attracted to her. Not even because she’s gorgeous. I’m attracted to . . . shit. I don’t even know. Are you happy now?”
“Not yet.” Angel reached over to grab a handful of popcorn, tossing a few pieces in her mouth. “Maybe it’s because she’s probably the one person you want but can’t have.”
“Or maybe it’s because she’s the one person you need,” Kami offered with a small smile.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I can’t push it further. I can’t put myself out there like that. Not anymore. Not if I want to avoid getting hurt.”
Again, Kami squeezed my thigh, as if relaying a secret. “I understand you want to guard your heart, and I would too. But maybe . . . maybe that’s exactly what she’s doing too. Pushing you away to keep from getting hurt. When people do things like that, it’s because they’ve felt real pain. The type of pain that slices down to the bone. The kind not even time can erase. And they’re afraid of feeling it again.”
I let her words hang in there like fragrant smoke, contemplating the reasons why Raven would feel the need to shield herself from me. I’d always expected that there had been more to her story—to their story. But even after checking with their caseworker, I couldn’t turn up any indication of abuse. Still, I knew something—or someone—had changed her. No one was born a cynical, distrusting shrew. They were forced that way by experience.
IF IT WERE POSSIBLE for a mute kid to give you the silent treatment, that was exactly what I received from Toby all weekend.
So by Monday, I knew that I had to swallow my pride, pull on my big girl panties, and make shit right. Which was the complete opposite of my plan when it came to dealing with Dominic Trevino.
I had a late morning break between classes, so I jumped in my car and headed over to Helping Hands. I sat in the parking lot a good five minutes, giving myself a mental pep talk. I had to admit that it wasn’t that I just didn’t want to see him. A part of me was a little embarrassed. I’d acted irrationally, and I’d said things I shouldn’t have said. And even if he did deserve it—and he did—it wasn’t the time or the place. Bitch or not, I do have a lick of sense.
I stared at myself in the mirror, feeling as haggard as I looked. My hair was in a messy bun, tendrils of dark hair spilling every which way, and I looked tired. Luckily, I had my meager little makeup kit with me that I used for work nights. By the time I finished slapping on some mascara and lipgloss and had smoothed my hair into a neat ponytail, I felt marginally better about the task at hand.
His office door was half open—as it always was—but I couldn’t see him through the crack. I knocked anyway. I wanted to at least attempt to be on my best behavior.
“Come in,” he answered from inside. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to find him at his desk, eyes diverted to a stack of files in front of him. He was so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he hadn’t realized I was there.
I shuffled from foot to foot nervously to avoid locking up with nerves. I didn’t even know why I was so freaked out about being here in his office, but the thought that we were somewhat alone . . . together . . . it just brought it all back.
The pain.
The rejection.
The anger.
The lust.
There once was a
time when I wanted Dominic Trevino more than anything on this earth. I saw him in my dreams at night, and woke up with the sun to see him in the morning. And he couldn’t even remember my fucking face.
I get it. I was pathetic then. But that didn’t excuse his total disregard for others. If I had been one of those skanks that wore eight pounds of makeup and low-rise jeans with my thong hanging out, would he have remembered me? Or if I spread my thighs at the drop of a dime or offered to blow him in the bathroom, would I have been worthy enough for him to know my name?
No. Of course not.
But even as I stood before him, fidgeting with anxiety, I couldn’t find the strength to truly hate him. He was so beautiful, even after all this time. And the way his presence filled the tiny room, suffocating me with a mix of his intoxicating scent and heady pheromones, I found myself even more drawn to him. I was that pathetic girl again, and if anything, it made me hate myself.
As if just remembering that he had a visitor, he looked up, pinning me with those dark-lashed, hazel-green eyes. He seemed shocked at first, but the light in his expression quickly dimmed. He narrowed his gaze, and his mouth—oh God that mouth—puckered into a frown.
“Can I help you?” But it didn’t sound like a question. Unless that question was, “What the fuck do you want?”
“We need to talk.”
His brows raised in mock amusement. “Oh really? I thought we did in the parking lot, when you accused me of being a narcissist and a phony. Did you forget something? Need to accuse me of being a puppy murderer too?”
“Dom . . .” The word was out before I could stop it. Only his friends and loved ones called him that. And I was neither. Right? “Look, about the other day . . .”
He lifted a hand, cutting me off from saying any more and climbed to his feet. “Don’t bother. I’ve heard enough. You’ll be happy to know that I’ve set Toby up with another mentor here, and I will do my best to stay away from him as much as possible. I’ve also heard from the school regarding the attack on Friday. They have a few leads and have questioned students, but I’m sure you already know that. I let them know that they shouldn’t contact me in the future with anything involving Toby, seeing as you’ve denied my help. However, his new mentor will follow up on anything further, and will contact you. Anything else?”
Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2) Page 9
