Slow Burn

by Autumn Jones Lake

  One day bleeds into another, and before I realize it, weeks and weeks have gone by. I barely eat. I barely get out of bed. The pain is relentless. I almost wish I drank so I could dull the agony. I keep telling myself tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll do something. Go back to work? Buy some groceries? Wash my hair? Tomorrow I'll do something. I just don't know what that something is.

  For months, I exist like this. Then one afternoon, out of the blue, Sophie stops by. Dear, sweet, patient Sophie who just can't take a hint and leave me the fuck alone. The look on her face tells me how appalled she is by what she finds.

  "Oh, honey."

  I don't even care enough to be embarrassed.

  She cooks a simple dinner of spaghetti. It's the first real meal I've eaten in months. I know it's good because she’s a wonderful cook, but I barely taste anything.

  "Honey, you need to see a doctor."

  I grit my teeth and push my plate away. "I'm fine."

  She purses her lips but, bless her soul, doesn't push me any further.

  After her visit, I try a little harder. I pull myself out of bed each day before noon for an entire week. The first trip I make to the supermarket is loud, bright, and makes me want to curl up in a ball on the floor. As I drag the groceries into the empty house, I burst into tears.

  I want to check on Hope, but I also know she needs space.

  One year.

  I said I’d give it a year, but it’s the longest damn year of my life.

  The MC lacks the excitement of the previous year. Earnings are good all around. Even in a bad economy, or perhaps because of the bad economy, people are desperate for any escape. My clubs provide that escape for many people.

  For some ridiculous reason, I tell myself I'm not going to be with any other woman until I can be with Hope. I guess I want to see if I'm still cut out for monogamy? I don’t want to waste her time or mine if I can’t learn to control my dick. Besides, I peg her for the type of girl who would rip mine off if she ever caught me with another woman.

  There is this piece of me that demands if I can't have Hope, I won’t have anyone. I don't discuss my decision to only self love for the foreseeable future with any of my brothers because they'd probably strip my patch. This decision creates all sorts of new opportunities for me. Once my mind isn't clouded by an endless parade of available pussy, I find I have a lot of time to get shit done. I grow my custom bike business. I spend a lot of time training at Wrath’s gym punching things.

  It’s an oddly freeing feeling, to not have my dick make all the decisions for a change.

  My plan could be for nothing. For all I know, Hope’s out banging guys left and right to ease her pain. Except…I know her. She loves hard. The likelier scenario is she’s still reeling from her husband’s death. It’s part of why I want her so bad. The decent guy inside of me recognizes that a year may not be enough time for her to deal with her grief. I ignore that guy—he’s a dick.

  After asking around, I determine she hasn't gone back to work. She appears to be off the grid entirely. Oddly enough, I don't drive by her house anymore. I'm afraid I won't be able to stop myself from doing something stupid like knocking on the door. Or kidnapping her. I do have one of the prospects check on her from a distance to make sure she’s safe.

  Over the last six months or so, I’ve scaled back my role at Crystal Ball dramatically. Since I’ve imposed this bizarre vow of celibacy on myself, being surrounded by hot, naked, down-to-fuck chicks all the time is a hazard I don’t have patience for. But, there are things that need to be done, so I still spend time there once or twice a week. I choose the busiest nights because I figure there will be less downtime to give in to any temptation.

  An interesting guest comes into Crystal Ball one night. I almost don't recognize her at first. She's so fucking hot I think she must be here to audition for a job, but she and her boyfriend take a seat in the back corner of the club. Lots of couples come into Crystal Ball to add some spice to their relationship. Usually the woman is completely freaked out and nervous. Not this girl. She’s not catty toward the dancers either. She seems secure in her relationship. This isn’t some last-ditch effort to keep her man.

  It bugs me that she looks so familiar, though. Maybe they’ve been in here before, but, that doesn’t feel right. I’ve met her in a different situation. Then I realize it's Hope's friend, Sophie. My eyes scan the dude, and I realize he looks familiar too.

  How's your rock star? Hope’s words pop into my head, and now it's clear why he looks familiar. He's the singer for a semi-famous rock band. Heck, some of the girls even dance to his songs from time to time.

  My feet are headed in their direction before my head knows what’s on the agenda.

  "Sophie, right?"

  She looks up, instant recognition crossing her face. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t tell me to fuck off either. It doesn’t dawn on me right away, but she’s not surprised to see me.

  She turns toward her boyfriend. "Jonny, this is a friend of Hope’s. Rock."

  Jonny nods but doesn’t offer to shake my hand, which is fine with me.

  "Hope’s in a bad place right now," Sophie says with no other niceties. This girl is no bullshit, a quality I appreciate.

  I pull a chair over and sit at their table. One of the waitresses—Willow, I think—sashays over to ask what I want.

  "Scotch neat, babe." I pull her close and whisper, "Whatever they’re drinking tonight is on the house, got it?"

  Her eyes dart to the couple and back to mine. "Sure, boss."

  After Willow drops off my drink, I tug her close again. "Have Lexi dance to ‘Hold On,’ okay?" Willow, bless her heart, looks confused but agrees.

  When she leaves, I nod at Sophie. "I imagine things are tough for Hope."

  "No. Not tough. She won’t get out of bed. She’s not eating. Won’t talk to any of her friends. I wanted to respect her wishes and give her time to grieve, but I finally muscled my way in to see her Friday, and she’s in a bad way."

  It’s distressing to hear this, but I’m not sure what Sophie expects me to do. I know what I want her to ask me to do, but I’m not about to suggest it first.

  "Where’s her family?" I ask.

  Sophie snorts out a laugh. "Her mother is useless. And you remember her sister-in-law?"

  Yeah, I remember the bitch wailing at the funeral as if everything revolved around her.

  "Okay, why are you telling me this?"

  Sophie tilts her head and pins me with a sharp but not unkind stare. "Don’t dick me around about this, okay? Do you care about Hope at all? If you don’t, just say so and I’ll figure something else out. No judgment."

  I flick a glance at Jonny. While his gaze is focused on the stage, I get the impression he’s still invested in our conversation.

  Fuck it.

  "Yes, I care about her. It kind of seems like an inappropriate time to do anything about it, though."

  She twirls a chunk of hair around her finger while she seems to contemplate what she wants to say next. "I’m not saying you need to proposition her or anything gross. Look, I know what you did for her after the funeral. Taking her mind off things for a little bit. I also know what went down between you two before that." She pins me again with her perceptive blue eyes before shifting her gaze slightly to the right of me and raising her eyebrows.

  What she’s focused on is the hallway that leads to my office. So, apparently Hope told her about our encounter—the searing kiss that even a year and a half later I can’t get out of my fucking head.

  Jonny eyes my cut, specifically the President patch, and puts his hand over Sophie’s. "Babe," he warns.

  Shaking my head, I hold up my hand. "We’re good, man."

  The opening notes of "Hold On" blast through the speakers. Jonny lets out a groan and shakes his head. "Fuck," he mutters. Sophie bursts into a fit of giggles.

  I’m coiled so tight with tension I can’t stand the distraction, even though I caused it. We were close to something hug
e, and I need Sophie to focus on what she came here to do. "What’s on your mind, Sophie?"

  Ignoring her boyfriend’s discomfort, she leans toward me. "You’re right. It’s still too soon for her. But the one year anniversary is in a few months, and I don’t want her to be alone."

  Sophie’s pretty, red lips curl into a smile.

  Something is brewing in this chick’s head, and fuck if I don’t like how her mind works.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bless Sophie’s heart, but she’s relentless. Even though she travels for work a lot, we manage to have dinner almost once a week. I sort of drift in and out in between her visits, but over time I begin to feel like myself again. Some days there is this gaping, empty hole in my heart, and I can’t figure out why. Then it hits me. Clay’s gone.

  One day, a few months after Sophie first barged in my door, I find myself remembering this crazy, impromptu trip we took to Rhode Island one Labor Day weekend, and I smile. Since we drove there on a whim, on a holiday, it took us hours to find a room. The one we finally found smelled like stale seawater, but we didn’t care.

  I unpack some of the photos I’d hidden away after the funeral. Remembering the story behind each one has me in tears.

  The buzz of my phone stirs me from my melancholy. I’ve started turning it on again. If I don’t and Sophie can’t reach me, she shows up on my doorstep. Or worse, when she’s out of town, she sends one of our friends or her brother to check on me. As a result, I’ve learned it’s easier to leave the damn thing turned on. When my friend Mara calls, she regales me with stories about her baby, Cora, that make me chuckle in a sad way. Clay and I hadn’t decided if we’d wanted kids yet. He would have been a wonderful father.

  Sophie is on the other end of the call. We chat about superficial things for a few minutes before she turns serious.

  "I know the one-year anniversary of his death is soon, sweetie."

  Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath. I’ve been dreading Thursday.

  "Yes," I breathe out.

  "Let me take you out to dinner. You shouldn’t be alone."

  "No."

  "Hope—"

  Even Sophie isn’t going to strong-arm me into changing my mind. "No. I appreciate it, Sophie, but I need to be alone that day."

  Even over the phone, I can tell she’s not happy with my answer. I take a deep breath. "But, why don’t we do happy hour on Friday?" The words come out in a rush before I change my mind.

  "Okay! That’s great. Do you want me to come pick you up?"

  Although her office is about ten minutes from the bar we normally go to for happy hour, Sophie lives roughly forty-five minutes in the opposite direction. Asking her to drive out to get me and then drive me home seems rather obnoxious.

  "Nah, I’ll be okay."

  "If you change your mind, let me know."

  I do change my mind about fifty times before Friday night. Thursday is cold and dark. Seems fitting for sitting at the cemetery, which is exactly what I do.

  I have to circle the block five or six times before I find a parking spot in front of Hamilton’s. This is why I hate hanging out downtown so damn much. I’m flustered when I enter the bar, but as soon as I spot my friends hogging up their usual corner, I feel better. Afraid the greetings will be awkward, I cringe as my friend Ross stands up to give me his seat. But, he simply hugs me.

  "It’s good to see you, girl," he whispers against my hair.

  "You too."

  "Take my chair. I’m gonna chat with Brian."

  I sit, and Sophie reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "I’m glad you made it."

  "Me too." And I realize I actually mean it.

  Lilly waves at me and gives me a big, warm smile. She’s the only non-lawyer at the table and one of the most fun people I’ve ever met. In small doses. She and Sophie have been friends forever, so I’ve naturally gotten to know Lilly pretty well over the years. Lilly is a knockout and crazy smart. She paid for graduate school by working as a stripper and has no regrets. She’s been on the prowl for a rich husband for as long as I’ve known her and makes no apologies for it. Her love of one-night stands and bad boys keeps getting in the way of her long-term goal to be a trophy wife.

  "We are getting pitchers of margaritas, baby!" Lilly shouts. "Mara is still nursing, so she’s DD."

  Mara flips Lilly off and leans over to give me a big hug. She looks fantastic, and I glance down at my hastily thrown on jeans and blouse. Since I’ve mostly lived on a diet of air and water this past year, I’ve lost a lot of weight. I didn’t notice until I tried to find something to wear tonight. My hair has also suffered. I haven’t been to a stylist in over a year. My bangs have long grown out, and the rest of it is long, wild, and messy. It seemed like a waste of time to bother with makeup, so I didn’t. Looking at my friends, I kind of wish I had put more effort into my appearance tonight. But, I’m actually here and that was a big step, so I mentally pat myself on the back, push aside my unease and try to join in the conversation.

  After my second margarita, I’m hammered. I never had a high tolerance for alcohol to begin with, so the two drinks hit me hard. We order food, and I actually find myself salivating at the thought of a plate of Hamilton’s famous loaded nachos. It’s the first time I’ve cared about food in so long it surprises me. The alcohol has done its job.

  The yuppie bar Zero and I are sitting in is exactly the type of place I normally avoid. Young urban professionals surround us with their obnoxious chatter until I want to put my fist through the wall. Z is amused I even stepped in the front door and is enjoying my suffering.

  The second I spot Hope walking over the threshold, it’s all worth it, though. She doesn’t notice us up on the second level, but I see her right away. I cringe at how skinny she’s gotten. Her creamy skin is pale, except for the dark rings under her eyes. Her clothes swallow her whole, and her normally lustrous hair hangs lank and messy. She’s still gorgeous, and I still want her so fucking bad I ache.

  One of the guys at Sophie’s table stands up and hugs her. Rubs her back, and whispers in her ear while he’s at it. My fists clench under the table seeing this guy all over my woman. But as I watch him go up to the bar and flirt with the bartender, I manage to unclench.

  "Your girl’s here now," Z says.

  "Yeah, she’s here."

  "Gonna go talk to her, or sit there like a stump all night drooling over her tight ass?"

  "Not yet." I flick my gaze at him. "And keep your eyes off her ass."

  He shrugs and drains his Corona.

  Sophie said she’d get Hope tipsy so I’d have an excuse to drive her home, and from what I can see, her plan is working a little too well. Seems my girl can’t hold her liquor worth a damn.

  We pay the bill but continue to sit there. Z has taken an interest in one of Hope’s friends, and since we don’t know her name yet, he just keeps referring to her as "Big Tits." Part of me hopes when we go downstairs in a little while, he says it to her face and she knees him in the nuts.

  After two margaritas, Hope is staring glassy-eyed out the front window. Sophie lifts her head and gives me a pointed look, and I take that as my cue to haul my ass down there.

  "Let’s go."

  We amble down the stairs, and I smother a grin at the way people can’t get out of our way fast enough. We’re easily the biggest guys in the bar and certainly the only ones wearing colors. This is the furthest place from a biker bar that I can imagine, and the clientele doesn’t know what to make of us. Since Hope’s back is to me, Sophie waves us over with a wild swing of her arm.

  "Hey, Rock!" she shouts. Hope’s not the only one swimming in a tequila haze.

  As I get closer to their table, I spot Hope’s reflection in the window she’s facing. Her eyes widen as she sees me coming up behind her. She turns around and stares up at me with her rosy lips slightly parted. It’s a fight not to crush my mouth against hers and carry her out of the bar comic-book-villain style.

  For some in
explicable reason, she reaches up and extends her hand to me. Not in a handshake sort of way, but in a lifeline sort of way. The gesture floors me, and I stand there like an idiot for a couple beats before wrapping my fingers around hers.

  "What are you doing here?" Her breathy voice ripples over me. I can’t think of one good reason Z and I would ever set foot in this type of place, so I hesitate.

  "Just in the area and got hungry. How you doin’, Hope?" Z asks.

  Her eyes widen, and she cranes her neck to get a look at Z. I can’t remember if they’ve ever officially met, and I think even in her alcohol daze, Hope realizes that.

  "Who are your friends, Hope?" Big Tits asks.

  Hope shakes her head and turns toward her friends. "Rock, you've met Sophie, this is Lilly, Mara, and Ross is over at the bar. Guys, this is a former client of mine, Rock, and—"

  "Z," he adds helpfully.

  Hope’s eyes are glassy, her cheeks are flushed, and she sways slightly in her seat. "How much have you ladies had to drink?" I ask.

  Mara curls her lips in a smug smile. "I haven’t had a drop. These bitches are making me drive them all home."

  Z snorts. Sophie gives me a not-so-subtle wink. Time to shine.

  "Hope, I’m headed out in your direction. I can bring you home."

  "No, I can’t leave my car down here."

  "Doll, you can’t drive like this. I’ll have someone come get your car."

  "Where you headed, sugar?" Z directs the question to Lilly. I’ll admit, I’m mildly annoyed he didn’t use the other nickname for her. She looks like a firecracker.

  She cocks her head, and the corners of her mouth twist into a seductive smile. Z’s gonna have his hands full with this one. "You gonna give me a lift all the way up to Lake George?" she asks in a throaty voice.