I wanted to shout with joy when I heard Frankie talk about Lindsay having feelings for me. That quickly turned into wanting to howl with outrage at how Lindsay thought she would break me. I knew I couldn’t go bursting in making demands or defending myself. Lindsay is like a feral cat sometimes and I know I need to coax her to me and not try to force anything.
Now, I’m sitting on the steps and almost back in control. I’ve been through some mildly tough shit in my life; holding my Dad together following my mom’s death, helping keep Frankie going when Gram was dying, not to mention any of the physical stuff like when I accidentally decided to test the sharpness of my knife with my hand. Nothing, nothing in my life has been as painful as hearing Lindsay’s shame thinking I would treat her like a victim. Nothing has been as hard as keeping myself from taking her in my arms and confessing how much I love her.
“Hey man, Frankie texted me and let me know breakfast is ready. Is there a reason you’re out here holding down the stairs instead of inside thawing out?” Joe asks as he comes almost even with me.
I shake my head slightly and open my hands trying to release the tension in them. I circle my head on my shoulders wincing at the snaps and pops. “The girls were talking, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I’ll explain later. It’s about Lindsay, not Frankie, just… I can’t get into it right now or I’ll lose the calm I’m struggling to hold on to. We’ll have a beer and talk later.”
I grab the railing and pull myself to my feet and then laugh as we both try to walk in the door at the same time. Forget the fact that I have to duck to get through the door without hitting my head, both of our shoulders almost fill the doorway. I’m honestly shocked we can fit in the hallway together, there’s no way in hell we would fit through the door even if we turned sideways.
I take a step back and let him go first since it is his place and all. I can see Lindsay sitting at the table. She looks flawless, like always. The happy mask is fully back in place, but I’ve been watching her for years and can see the slight pinching at the corner of her eyes and know that she’s still unhappy.
Might want to phrase that differently out loud, that definitely sounds like something a creeper would say.
I remind myself I just need to be patient. She promised she would tell me when I didn’t have as much on my plate as I do. I need to concentrate on getting Dad better. The sooner he’s on the mend the sooner I can have my Inferna Gattina.
* * *
We decide to go ahead and walk to the hospital. It’s not too far away, and it seems to have warmed up a slight bit. The state of emergency is still in effect, so it’s either walk or not visit my dad today. I’m glad that Lindsay is with me, I know if I ever told her how much I worry about her, she would probably cut me off at the knees with a lecture about feminism and women needing to take back the city. I respect the fuck out of women, and I know how mean and capable Lindsay is. I also know the amount of damage I could do if I really want to, and I know I’m not the biggest predator on the streets. I worry about the girls all the time, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
I also don’t see me caving and calling them anything but girls and I’ve been lectured over and over and over about it. It’s not that I don’t respect them. I respect the fucking hell out of them both. They are two of the strongest women I know, but they will always be my girls. It’s an affection thing, and they will just have to suck it up and deal with it like I deal with them dismissing my safety concerns.
Knowing at some point someone hurt Lindsay is just making every single protective instinct in me come roaring to life. Maybe she is right to have not told me about her past, I may have tried to trap her in a bubble to keep her safe and lost her. This way, while I might not have all the details, I have enough that I can force myself to accept that I can’t trap my pretty girl or she’ll lose the spark that makes her special.
Now that I know she’s interested back I can slightly play. I’ve always held back with her because I didn’t want to torture myself. I know her boundaries, and I’m not going to do anything that could make her feel unsafe, but I will take advantage of the fact that I can get closer to her than normal. In fact, I see the perfect opportunity up ahead. There’s a part of the sidewalk that hasn’t been shoveled yet.
Lindsay may be wearing her Docs, but there’s probably ice underneath the snow. I slowly and carefully slide my left hand behind her back and hold my right hand out for her to take. After glancing at my hand for a few seconds she slowly puts hers in mine, and holds tight as we carefully make our way over the snow with me angled towards her in case I need to catch her in a hurry. Normally I would just watch her and be ready to catch her if she fell, being able to feel her narrow waist under my hand is much better.
The best part is not having to say a word to her. It sounds really horrible to say, but considering how much I hate meaningless chit chat, being with anyone who is fine with the silence is a small miracle. She gives me a nod of thanks and withdraws her hand from mine. I indulge myself with the feel of her under my hand for an extra moment before I return her nod and pull my hand away.
We finally reach the hospital and head inside out of the cold. I start to walk to the main elevators to go to my Dad’s floor but see Lindsay dart away from me. Curious what she’s up to I follow her and see her head into the gift shop and start grabbing puzzle books and pens. “Hospital’s are insanely boring. Your dad is going to be out of it, so he’s not going to be up to his normal activities, but just watching TV and movies is boring as fuck after so long,” she explains as she loads the stuff on the counter. She adds two drinks, one for each of us. I feel comforted by the fact that she knows what my favorite drink is.
I force myself to focus on that and stare at her narrow hips as she walks in front of me. I have to distract myself so that I don’t lose my cool. Based on what she just said she has spent some extended time hospitalized. In the ten years I’ve known her she’s never been admitted to the hospital. I would think maybe she was talking about Frankie’s Gram, but she did the hospice thing at home so that she wouldn’t be in the hospital. One more piece in the puzzle of Lindsay’s past.
When we get off the elevator on the 4th floor, I head straight to the nurses desk needing answers. I know from the calls I’ve made throughout last night and this morning that Dad hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, and that he was still slightly out of it. Luckily the nurse at the counter pages the doctor for us. He joins us within a half hour and explains about my dad and how his recovery looks great and what we would need to do to keep him healthy.
Lindsay asks questions that I never would have thought of and is continuously making notes on her phone. By the time the doctor leaves, we have the contact info for a dietician, a physical therapist as well as a visiting nurse company. Apparently, if we have a comprehensive plan in place for home care, we’re likely to get him freed quicker.
The doctor also tells us that he will be staying in the Cardiovascular Intensive Care for another day before being moved to the normal cardiac care unit. Since they put the stent in, they want to make sure everything is healing properly. That’s also why they will be keeping him for at least another three days, they want to make sure there’s no chance of infection.
I’m not so naive to believe that everything will be back to normal when he gets home. The old man is going to be on a veritable cocktail of medication now, and he will have more doctor appointments than I think I’ve ever had in my life. I feel guilty but in the background of my mind all I can wonder is when will Lindsay think he’s well enough to talk with me. I remind myself to be patient. I’ve waited six years for Lindsay to look at me as more than a friend, I can wait however long it takes for her to feel ready.
I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and shove my hands into my hair. Maybe if I get a physical grip on my hair, I can get a pull on my scrambling thoughts and emotions. I feel Lindsay’s tiny hand on my neck rubbing lightly and just want to stay in this exact position so sh
e’ll keep doing what she’s doing right now.
“When was the last time you were in a fight Anthony?” I freeze at her question, but I know I have to be completely honest with Lindsay. It’s okay for her to have her secrets, for now, but I have to be completely open with her if I want this to work.
“You were at my last sanctioned fight, babe. I got into a minor dust up with a jackass in a bar a little over a year ago.” What I won’t tell her is that the fight was actually over her and some idiot bragging about how he was going to tap that. “I still work out at the gym, but I’m not training or fighting anymore, I don’t have the dedication that MMA demands.” I am praying that my brief history as a fighter doesn’t put up another roadblock for us.
I’m a big-ass dude, and when I needed a way to work my frustration and frankly testosterone overload out I stumbled into the sport. I was decent and got better but knew I was never going to make it my career so I eventually gave it up. Fighters need to live and breathe the sport, they stick to specific diets and training regimes. They travel around the country to different training camps, so they can learn specific techniques. I had three things that already demanded my dedication: my career, my family and my home. There wasn’t enough of me or my time left to focus on the sport like I would need to if I wanted to go pro.
I’m happy to know how to use my body more to my advantage. I know how to throw a punch with all of my body behind it now and I’m much more graceful and lighter on my feet. I learned just because I’m a massive brute doesn’t mean I need to lumber around like one. I also learned to channel my sexual frustration into the punching bag so that I don’t explode. Now all I can think is Lindsay imagining that I’m violent or threatening.
“After we leave, why don’t we find a gym that’s open? Maybe you can get a day pass or something so you can get rid of some of your tension. Hopefully, we find one that’s coed. I could use an hour with the heavy bag myself.” Lindsay calmly explains. I don’t know if she feels my muscles instantly relax at her words.
“I didn’t know you had experience at a fighting gym babe. I have all my gear in my truck since I was going to go after work yesterday. What gym do you normally go to?”
“I don’t normally go to a gym. I’ve been to different dojos around the city and taken some self-defense classes. I found a place down on Washington that has Krav Maga classes that I like. I don’t want to dedicate myself to one discipline and try to get a black belt or something so much as learn how to use my body to the best of my ability.” I watch out of the corner of my eye as she curls her tiny hand into a fist. I wonder if she realizes how much she gives away if someone knows how to connect the dots.
“Okay babe, sounds like a plan. We will make our calls and get everything handled that we can today, then when we get done here for the day we’ll find a gym. Maybe we can find an Oompa Loompa for you to spar with.” I tease to lighten the mood. Truthfully I can’t wait to see Lindsay’s form. I get lost briefly imagining how great her body would look with her leg fully extended in a side kick.
8
Lindsay
I allow myself a sigh as I collapse onto the couch in my living room. I need to reach down and unbuckle my cute little mary janes but just don’t have the energy to. I rub my face with the heels of my palms trying to wake myself up. I took my eyebrow ring out a couple of weeks ago mostly because I got sick of having to be careful of it when I did this. I still have my lip ring in for now, maybe I should go see Angie and get my septum done. I’ve never had it before, and I won’t hit it when I’m scrubbing my hands over my face like I find myself doing more and more lately.
It’s been a month since Anthony’s dad had his heart attack. When he was discharged, we got him set up with a visiting nurse but he’s been doing so well we were able to let her go. Maria, Joe’s mom has been a godsend. She not only has been cooking for Big Tony, but runs him to doctor’s appointments, as well as helping around the house. I’m sure we would have figured it out some how if she wasn’t available, but we all know how much she has helped him.
I almost cry when I feel the weight of Duchess landing beside me on the couch. Even my demon cat that couldn’t care less about me unless it impacts her food can tell something is wrong with me. She had willingly let me pet her every day this month. Instead of curling up in whatever spot of sunlight or heat she can find, she will seek me out and collapse near me or on me. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her soft fur under my fingers, her rumbling purr has me relaxing and almost dropping off to sleep. I force myself to sit up and shake the fatigue off.
I can’t even blame my current exhaustion on the Big Tony situation. I took over all the social media for them to try to help increase business, I know the shop does well but they could always do better. One more business is not going to really overwhelm me in a business sense. It’s my own brain that is trying to push me into collapsing. I did that thing that I hate to do, I admitted I have a problem. I called the therapist that has helped me the most with my PTSD and told her what was going on.
She agrees with Frankie that I need to sit Anthony down and tell him about my past. He might accidentally trigger me and would feel horrible. She also says we need to stop counting the chickens before they hatch. Apparently, I’m stronger than I used to be and my avoidance of intimate relationships is another symptom of my PTSD. I fucking hate this psychobabble shit, but I know she’s right and has helped me more than anyone else.
Instead of trying to force medicine on me and talking everything to death, she focused on what I needed the most help with, transitioning to normal society. We worked on identifying any triggers I have, how to deal with flashbacks, and how to get to stable. I love Dr. Anderson for her avoidance of the term normal. Normal was never the goal; stability is. She also helps with what she calls empowerment therapy. She thinks if female abuse survivors feel empowered they feel less helpless and can help overcome the hyperarousal and anxiety that is one of the main symptoms of PTSD. It has helped more than anything I think, mostly because I know I can defend myself now.
I know Anthony wouldn't ever hurt me. He would never hurt a woman but especially not Frankie or me. My fear is that the little uncivilized part of my brain will forget that in the heat of the moment and pounce. Or that Anthony will refuse to admit it’s not working because he is afraid to hurt my feelings. Already being worked up and on edge is hell on my psyche, it thinks something and sees monsters and demons everywhere to try to explain away my anxiety. In case you ever wondered, being on alert nonstop is fucking exhausting.
What really pisses me right the fuck off is the weird-ass cycle of coffee to sleep to anxiety I’m dealing with. Luckily, Dr. Anderson didn’t lecture me about it again, I’ve heard it over and over again from her and Frankie. What type of hetero-life mate tries to tell you that the nectar of the god’s is bad for you? Coffee can increase my anxiety and twitchiness, which can make it hard for me to sleep. I need the coffee because I’m tired, because I can’t sleep. If I stop drinking the coffee, I will need at least twenty-four hours of nonstop sleep to feel human. If I do that, I will have Frankie up my ass with a checklist for depression before I know it. I can’t even bitch since I would do the same for her too.
I’m snapped out of my meandering thoughts by my phone alerting. I knew it was Anthony because I recently replaced all of his ringtones and notification sounds to a grizzly bear snort sound. He’s been worse than normal with his grunting and overprotectiveness. I glance at my phone curious since he normally calls if he needs to talk to me.
Get to the shop. Now Micina!
He’s definitely never talked to me like that in the past. I wonder what’s the matter with him. Maybe he has a thorn in his paw… wait that was a lion not a bear. God do I need a decent night of sleep. I check the temperature on my phone real quick before I go. March on the East Coast can be crazy, one day it’s in the sixties and sunny, and the next it doesn’t even go over forty and there’s snow. I give Duchess one last scratch behi
nd the ears, she opens her eyes the barest slit and I swear rolls her eyes at me. Even my goddamn cat is a smart ass.
Today luckily, is one of the warm days, I look down at my colorful mary janes. My best friend knows my battle with finding shoes that fit me outside of the kids department. She introduced me to this Venezuelan company that makes canvas mary janes, they range from cute to badass, when you put them on it’s like being barefoot. Today, I’m wearing a pair that has a unicorn on one shoe and stars and rainbows on the other. I have on a pair of black linen shorts and a black camp shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I had meetings in the office earlier so this outfit was professional enough to deal with my more uptight clients but still me enough that I didn’t feel like a sell out.
I stop at my bench and look at the bags on top trying to pick which would match my shoes. I have a ton of Sourpuss purses in different colors and patterns. I grab the blue Bettie Page Centerfold purse and shove my phone, wallet and taser into it. I snag my keys off their hook and head out the door.
Frankie picks on me for my OCD all the time, but it’s not OCD just a love for organization. If I keep everything organized, I can find what I need quicker, which saves me time. It doesn’t hurt anyone to have my purses lined up by model from smallest to largest. If my pantry has all the cans and boxes facing the right way, organized by purpose, I won’t end up buying multiples of an item thinking I’m out when I’m not. I’m saving up, so I can buy myself one of the fridges that has a camera inside it for Christmas, so that doesn’t happen with perishables.
I cross the few blocks to the shop quickly. I have no idea what has Anthony’s panties in a bunch but I hope I can get him calmed down. I never like him to be mad at me. Most people can go fuck themselves. I have no trouble telling them that too. There’s a small group of people who have my loyalty, and I will go to the ends of the earth to keep them safe and happy.
Big Meat (A Recipe of Love Book 2) Page 5
