by Penny Wylder
My steps are slow, feathered on a fear of what's in that little square window. Closer and closer, I stalk forward, eager and petrified, tense and frail. All while not knowing a fucking thing.
Every nerve in my body is charged, I can feel the electricity as it rushes through my veins, percolating my blood under the skin.
My eyes close instinctively as I pick up the test. Pinching it in my fingertips, I have it by both ends. I'll count it out, I'll give myself the three count, and then I'll look. I can't stand here forever, wondering, questioning, forever trapped in my bathroom afraid to know the truth.
The words come out softly, but I have to say them out loud. I need to hear each number or I might chicken out and never look.
“One. . .”
“Two. . .”
“Three—”
“Fuck.”
16
Phade
“Where is she? Where the hell is she?” Daniel throws his arms up and stalks back and forth, moving between the windows and the door that leads to the hall. He pokes his head out, growling when he still doesn't see her. “She knows she was supposed to be here at seven, it's almost eight-thirty!” His voice is deep and rugged, like he's holding his breath.
The thick vein in his neck is throbbing, like a worm under the skin. His face is flush, his eyes bulging from the sockets. I half expect his head to fly off his neck any second if he doesn't calm down.
“Relax,” I say, looking in the mirror and watching him behind me. “She'll be here. She won't flake on this. She knows it's important.”
Daniel whips around, his face twisting into this melted clown mask of concern and anger. “She better, she better show up.” His teeth drag over each other, nostrils flaring. “If she doesn't, it'll reflect badly on me. I won't have her fucking up my image too. I've had enough of that with you.”
Shrugging him off, I go back to looking at myself in the mirror. “Daniel, we've both been doing everything you asked us to. Sylvia has gone above and beyond for you with this. I think you could have a little more faith in her.”
I'm trying to be calm, relaxed, and not lose my shit on him. He's a user. Even his own family isn't safe. It bothers me, but I don't want to make a scene at the studio. I'm going to behave, reign in this beast of a man that lives inside me, and not run with my fists out all the time.
“Faith?” he chuckles as he runs his hand down his throat. Tipping his head back, he scratches his chin. “Faith is just a mirage people try to grasp when everything around them is falling apart. I don't believe in that shit. I don't look to a higher power to grant me wishes. It comes down to one thing—loyalty. Is she loyal enough to me, to you, to her job, to make the right decision?”
Turning to face him, I tilt my head. “You honestly doubt her loyalty to you?”
A woman with short black hair sticks her head in the door and yells, “Fifteen minutes!”
Daniel nods, waving her away with a hand. “Yes, I know, thank you.” His eyes flutter back to mine, glinting like gunmetal steel. “I doubt everyone's loyalty, Phade. Sylvia included. She isn't special.”
“She's your family.”
I'm actually shocked that he even thinks he has to question what she's willing to do for him. It's more than obvious that Sylvia is willing to walk through fire for this man. He barks and she jumps, he commands and she bows. What more confirmation does he need?
“She's not blood, Phade.” Pulling a comb from his pocket, he drags it through his graying hair, turning to the face mirror behind me. Taking a few steps closer, he eyes himself, pulling his hair tight against the scalp. “I married her mother, that's all. She isn't my child; she'll never be my real child. I don't owe her shit.”
Shaking my head, I'm doing everything in my power not to fucking hit him, except he's making it extremely difficult. Even the look in his eyes deserves a visit from my knuckles.
“You don't owe her? You're really going to stand there and pretend like Sylvia means nothing to you?” My fists clench at my sides, jaw bearing down as I grit my teeth.
Slipping the comb back in his pocket, his lips crinkle up. “Why should she mean anything to me? Like I said, she doesn't belong to me.” Holding out his hand, he bounces it lightly in the air. “Don't get me wrong, I care for her, I do. But that doesn't mean I have to trust her, and it doesn't mean I owe her shit. I've given everything to that girl, handed it to her on a silver fucking platter. The least she can do is be on time.” Plucking the sides of his suit, he tosses it gently and lets if fall back into place.
The corner of his lip twitches, taunting me. He knows what he's doing, I can see it in his eyes. He's toying with me, testing my own loyalty to him. Who would I stand up for, him or her?
Taking a step forward, my arm starts to pull back, ready to fly out and strike that grimace off his face. I stop in my tracks as the door flies open, hitting the wall. Daniel and I both avert our eyes, and stare at the door.
“I'm here! Sorry I'm late, I'm so sorry.” Sylvia comes bumbling through the doorway, frazzled and almost sounding manic. “I made it though, right? I didn't miss the interview?” Her eyes dart around the room, searching, scanning, crazed. “What time is it? When are we going on?”
Her hair is all over the place, frizzy and tousled like she got caught in a windstorm. Her dress is wrinkled like crumpled paper. There are papers sticking out of her bag, stuffed carelessly in place.
She's a mess. What the hell happened to her?
“You're late. Where the hell have you been?” Daniel asks, his brows dropping in anger.
“I—”
“Forget it,” he says, not giving her a chance to explain. “It doesn't matter right now. We'll discuss that later. Right now we need to get you ready.” Taking her by the shoulders, he guides her deeper into the room, and sits her down at the small vanity against the back wall. “I'll go get Jennifer, don't move.”
He quickly disappears out the door, and she looks up at me from the mirror. There's a look on her face that I haven't seen yet. Her eyes gloss over on the verge of tears. She isn't blinking, maybe for fear that the bubbles of water will break free.
There's panic and anxiousness, fear and uncertainty all balled up into one giant frown. Walking up behind her, I place my hands on her shoulders and tuck my chin into the crook of her neck.
“You all right?”
Swallowing hard, her eyes jump away, and she starts to pull some of the papers out of her bag. “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” Tapping the papers on the tabletop, she looks at me through the reflection. “I didn't sleep well, that's all.”
“That's all?” I ask, standing up straight and massaging her shoulders. “You're sure?”
Nodding quickly, she bites her lip. “Mm hm, that's it. I'm good.” Her eyes move down the top piece of paper, reading it in her head. “You ready for this?” I open my mouth to answer, but she cuts me off. “Of course you think you're ready, you're in front of large crowds all the time. But this is different, Phade.” Snapping her eyes wide open up to mine, she gives me a serious stare. “This isn't a group of drunk fans.”
“I know. You think I've never done an interview before?” Dropping my hands to my sides, I pull up a chair, and sit down next to her. Grabbing the legs of the chair, I twist her to face me. Boxing her legs with mine, I hold the outside of her thighs. “Are you sure you're okay? You seem off, this isn't like you at all.”
“Yes, Phade, I'm fine.” Sylvia is short with me, jerking her entire body back to the mirror. Picking up a brush, she starts to detangle her hair. “I just hope you realize this isn't one of your after the fight, testosterone filled, question and answer sessions. This is live television, it's the news, not a platform for you to gloat about yourself.”
Wow, this woman is angry. And it seems like she's angry at me, but I haven't clue why.
Did I do something?
“I get it.” Pushing back, I stand up and walk to the window. “Daniel's pissed you're late just so you know. I don't want you to fe
el like you're being attacked later by him because you didn't see it coming.”
“Thank you, but I don't need advice from you on how to handle Daniel or what to expect from him. I know he's pissed, and I know he's going to give me an earful.”
“What's gotten into you?” Cocking a brow, I drag a hand through my hair, letting it settle on my nape.
I wait for her to tell me the truth, or at least some lie she wants me to believe. Even if she wants to fill my head with nonsense, I'm ready to listen. I'm sure there's some nugget of truth in whatever she says.
Her lips thin, parting slightly. Her throat starts to move, and her eyes soften. My ears perk. The hair on my arms stand up, and my skin bristles impatiently, needy and restless, eager to hear her speak.
Her voice is music to my ears, even if she's angry. I never want her to top talking. I'll listen to her all day; it doesn't matter what she's saying. But I'm left hanging, void of her sweet tones as the door opens swiftly, and Daniel strolls in with the makeup artist rolling her cart of TV magic.
“Here, she's right here. We don't have any time left, so do what you can with her.” Daniel flips his finger in Sylvia's direction. He's not discrete about his anger, he isn't trying to hide that he really wants to scream at her and throw her across the room.
The woman moves to Sylvia's side. I can see her discomfort with Daniel hovering over her. She starts to take things out of her cart, laying them out on the top of the vanity with a shake in her hands. She doesn’t speak to Sylvia. She just gets to work. Daniel probably gave her an earful, and now even she feels like it's somehow her fault.
“I told her what to do already, Syl, so just let her do her job. Some of us understand the importance of this work.”
Sylvia's eyes turn to pinpricks as the woman starts dabbing foundation on the purple rings under her eyes with a white sponge. She bites her tongue. She doesn't say a word, simply letting her eyes settle on the ceiling instead, pupils expanding back to normal size as she forces the anger away.
She gave up before she even began the fight. Years of verbal assaults and directives, manipulation and mind fucking has made Daniel her kryptonite. Even if she wanted to speak, she wouldn’t.
It infuriates me. I make a metal note to ream him later once we're done. If she won't stand up for herself, I will. It might cost me my job, but I don't give a shit.
Jennifer spreads thick purple eye shadow across Sylvia's lids, and bright pink blush on the apples of her cheeks. Sylvia stares blankly in the mirror. Her head is yanked back as the woman tugs at her hair, pulling it into a tight ponytail, and slicking it to a shine with some clear gel.
Jennifer pulls Sylvia to her feet, pinching the hem of her dress and yanking it down. Holding it in her hand, she draws flat palms over the wrinkles, trying to create a crisp, flawless look.
Sylvia grunts, taking a step back, and drags her hands down the skirt of her dress herself. “I got it, thank you.” Her eyes widen, annoyance plaguing her face.
She has a short fuse this morning, like tempered glass ready to crack. I can see it in everything she does, in her expression and movements. I can hear it in her tone, and the way the words roll off her tongue like she's spitting them out one at a time because they taste bad.
Suddenly, from what seems like nowhere, the room turns into a flurry of movement. People wearing headsets, talking quickly, speaking to everyone and no one all at once come rushing in.
Hands are on my shoulders, pushing me out the door. Sylvia is behind me, with her own set of hands moving her along like a child being ushered out of a store.
“We're moving,” one guy says into the bulb of his microphone. “One minute out.”
We're quickly swept down the hall and shoved into another larger room. There's a couch in the middle of the room and a chair beside it. Video cameras on dollies are speckled throughout the room. We're standing in the middle of a bustling hive, all the worker bees are running around us, barking out orders and time frames at one another.
“Two minutes!” someone yells from my left.
“Mic check, we're good,” another person says behind my back.
Chatter is everywhere. The room is alive, teaming with life, movement, sounds.
“Hello there, Phade, Sylvia, I'm Kerri Lonogin.” Holding out her hand toward us, Sylvia takes it first, then I shake. “So glad you're both here, this is great. I've been hoping to get the first chance to sit down with you two. Pick your brains a little, give our audience a taste of Sylade.” She giggles and waggles her brows.
Sylvia thins her lips. “Sylade?” she asks, cocking a brow high.
“Yeah, you know, Brangelina, TomCat, we thought Sylade could be the start of something. It's catchy, your fans will adore it.” Smiling, she clasps her hands together. “All right, we're about to go on, so why don't you two go have a seat on the couch. Sylvia you'll be on the outside, Phade you're next to me.”
We don't get a chance to walk on our own, again we're whisked away like cardboard cutouts. More hands grab my arm, pulling in the direction Kerri, the host of Sun Daily, told us to go.
Someone pushes down on my shoulders, sitting me down. I look over to my right, and see a team of people fluffing Sylvia's hair, and touching up her makeup. Bright lights pop on behind the scenes, blinding me momentarily.
Blinking wildly, I reach over and take her hand. The past few days it feels like she's been avoiding me. I call and she doesn't answer, or she gives me some lame excuse for not being able to see each other.
I've let her have this space she obviously needs but is afraid to ask for. She's probably nervous, maybe afraid about what she's feeling. I know I am.
I'm trying to get her attention, hoping she'll look at me, but she doesn't. Her eyes move over the people surrounding her, poking her face with sponges, and running a comb through her hair.
But she squeezes my hand, and that's enough to let me know she's there with me.
As quickly as all the noise sprouted to life, it dissipates just as fast. The room falls quiet as music plays from the speakers and the teleprompter pops on. I can see the words on the screen as they begin to roll slowly.
“Good morning, I'm Kerri Lonogin, and this is Sun Daily.” She goes through a burst of unimportant news, from a car accident on the freeway, to a local woman who donated four cakes to the animal shelter for the unwanted pets.
Turning her attention to me, she smiles and dances her eyes between the camera and me. “I've got a very special guest this morning, Phade—Brass Knuckles—Manson and his fiancée, Sylvia Fontain. Hello and welcome,” she says, turning to face us straight on.
“Hello,” Sylvia and I both say at the same time.
“Awe! How you cute you two are, answering together.” Kerri gives a huge, exaggerated grin that shows all her bright white teeth. “So, Phade, you had a big win this weekend, how do you feel?”
A red light pops on above the camera to my left, and there's a man behind it rolling his arm to let me know that's the camera to look into.
I can see Daniel in my peripheral vision, arms crossed over his chest, chin resting on a fist. He's carefully and methodically there. Watching, observing, making sure we do this exactly how he wants it.
“I feel like it's deserved. I work hard, I train hard, and that shows when I get a win.”
Kerri holds a small stack of papers in her hands, looking down at her predetermined list of questions. “You sure do train hard. I think every woman in this city knows how hard you train.” She winks at the camera and lets out a joking laugh. “Your abs aside, I think what every woman really wants to know is how did you two meet?” Her eyes move to Sylvia, the question now directed at her.
“Well,” Sylvia says, her voice shaky, “we, uh, we met. . .” Pausing, she forces a smile as her hand comes up to pluck at her bottom lip. “We met a few months back, it was, uh, well, it was—”
“It was a nice accident, that's what it was.” Answering for her, I squeeze her hand harder, letting her know
I'm here. “We met at a dance club one night.”
That wasn't a lie. It wasn't how Sylvia had it laid out in her binder, but it was the truth. That was the first time we hooked up.
“A nightclub, huh?” Kerri's eyes veer slyly. “You and nightclubs don't usually mix according to People Magazine and every other newspaper out there. Didn't you run into some legal trouble because of partying?”
I can feel Sylvia's eyes on me, waiting to see how I handle this question. She's worried, afraid I'm going to blow this whole thing.
She needs to have faith in me. And if she doesn't, she will once we're done here.
“Well, that's the problem with newspapers, they don't get the real story, not like you and this station. If I had legal troubles, I wouldn't be here, now would I?”
Kerri laughs, tapping her papers on the top of her thigh. “Can't argue that,” she says, her lips rolling into a pleased smile. “Do we have a date for the wedding?”
I look over at Sylvia, our eyes meet, and hers are huge as saucers. Her skin is pale, and her bottom lip is trembling subtly.
“Summer, we don't have a set date, but we're thinking this summer. Sylvia really loves when the calla lilies bloom, and she wants to use them in our ceremony.”
Shock coats Sylvia's gaze, and her hand tightens around mine. Kerri goes on to ask a few more questions about my next big fight, and if Sylvia has found a dress yet. The entire interview is over in ten minutes.
The second the cameras power down, a man yells that we're off air for a commercial break, and Sylvia jumps from her seat, taking off out the double doors.
Kerri tries to grab my arm and talk to me, but I shrug her off. “Excuse me, I need to go see if my fiancée is all right.”
Throwing the doors open, I have no idea which way she's gone. There are a few random people in the hall, so I ask if anyone has seen her. A young guy, most likely an intern, points to the women's bathroom around the corner.
