I pull a dime from my jean’s pocket and toss it onto the paper. The shiny metal spins around until it lands flat on the state of Michigan. I debate the choice since Michigan is awfully close to Wisconsin, and I don’t want to run into family. However, this is how I decide what my next destination will be and I will continue this method until I find a reason to stay somewhere.
I fold up the map and toss it back into the car when Terrance comes tearing into the parking lot of his apartment. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I’m leaving your ass, Terrance.” I point to the gash on my head. “I’m not putting up with this shit.” I move to get into the car and Terrance intercedes, snatching my arm in his hand, squeezing hard. “Get your fucking hands off me!” My throat burns from my shouting as my body goes on alert.
“You’re not going anywhere. You belong to me!” Terrance’s dark skin glistens with sweat from the humid Louisiana air and his large muscles are noticeably tight with his bare chest on display. He’s a handsome man with deep brown eyes; a large, muscular frame; and he’s as tall as my five foot eleven inch frame.
Our eyes met a year ago when I was bartending at a night club. I thought he’d be the reason I’d stick around. It was a stupid mistake on my part; I fell for his smile and southern charm.
Terrance is a very charismatic person, and until a couple of months ago, he has been the perfect gentlemen. I can safely say I cared for him—well, until he put his hands on me this morning.
A few months ago, his personality flipped a switch and he was angry all the time. He saw me talking to his brother and accused us of doing more. Since that day, he’s made my life hell, becoming super possessive, and then today, physically abusive.
“The only person I belong to is myself, and I’m done with your shit! Now let me GO!”
He raises his arm and slaps me across the cheek with the back of his hand, instantly stinging my face. Blood is oozing down from my lip and I can feel it swelling as it throbs with pain.
Terrance begins yanking my arm, pulling me away from the open door of my car. I need to break free from him immediately, so I turn myself toward him and drive my knee into his groin. It causes Terrance to bend forward in pain, releasing my arm as he grabs his balls. For good measure, I kick him in the gut just as hard and then fall into the driver’s seat.
Firing the engine and tearing out of the parking lot, I say goodbye to Louisiana and head north toward Michigan.
***
It’s dark when I cross the border into Michigan. I’m ready to rest for a couple of days, so I find a small motel along the interstate to crash for the night. After I check in, I pull my suitcase and air mattress from the trunk. I like to stay in cheap motels, but God knows what’s living on the mattresses. I refuse to lie in someone else’s stains.
I inflate my bed, and after a quick shower, I turn on the TV and mindlessly flip through channels. I land on an old movie and stare at it until my lids are heavy and I fall fast asleep. Tomorrow, when I wake, I will decide where in Michigan I will land.
I must have been tired because twelve hours later, I crack my eyes open and stretch my exhausted limbs. I then roll off my air mattress and use the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, my bottom lip is pretty swollen and there’s a small cut on my upper lip. I lift up my hair and study the other wound on my head. The gash looks pretty good; I probably should have gotten stitches. This will definitely leave a scar. The bruise around it is a purplish-blue color, but it’s easily hidden by my bangs. My skin is pale, yet it always is, and my long, chestnut-brown hair is disheveled. I look like I’m strung out on drugs. The sight of myself makes me laugh.
I pull out my cell phone and Google the cheapest places to live in Michigan. I study the list and one city in particular comes into mind, Sulfur Heights. Where do I know this city from? I rack my brain, sorting through memories, but I know I’ve never been there, that I can remember. Still, there is just something about that name…
The curiosity gets the better of me and I decide that’s where I should land for the next few months, or until it’s time to leave. I gather up my clothes, deflate my air mattress and haul myself to the car. I sift through my playlists on my iPod and find the perfect song to start my newest adventure, “Son’s Gonna Rise” by Citizen Cope.
Drake
I accepted a new position at the steel factory where I work. I like the solitude of working in the crane, but the hours were not conducive to my family life. When things started picking up, I found I was away from Mia more and more, and that wasn’t going to fly. I talked to Rich and he said there was an opening as a line supervisor. I would be responsible for managing the part time and seasonal guys working the line—the place I started when I first came to the plant. I would only work fifty hours at the most a week and no weekends. I was sold the minute he said no weekends.
The job is actually not too bad. Initially, I was worried about being around people again—I hate talking to anybody, especially those who know about Presley, but to my surprise, everyone that reports to me is fairly new. Most of them are young—well, younger than me anyway—and it’s their first job anywhere. I’ve had to put a couple of young punks in their place, but all in all, most of the guys are just looking to earn an honest living and are pretty open to my feedback.
I get Mia’s bag packed and then head over to Mrs. Fields’s for their Saturday night sleepover. It’s been a few weeks since they’ve had a slumber party because of my long hours at the plant and the little time I’ve had to see my baby. The nightmares of Presley’s murder have been overwhelming me lately, making me need to drink more than I need air right now. I just want to sleep for a night without seeing her dying in my arms.
I pull into the parking lot and head for Mrs. Fields’s apartment. The summer is in full bloom and the fourth of July is next weekend. I can’t wait to take Mia to see the fireworks; she’s going to love them. She loves anything pretty and sparkly.
I step into the apartment and Mia immediately squirms to get out of my arms. Setting her down, I meet Mrs. Fields in the living room where she is pulling a basket off the coffee table filled with nail polish of all colors. Mia knows exactly what that is and is really excited to get her nails painted. She’s clapping her hands and is as bouncy as a giddy little girl can get.
“Hi, sweet girl,” Mrs. Fields coos as she bends down, kissing the top of Mia’s head. “Say bye to Daddy.”
Mia comes running into my arms and lays her head down on my shoulder, something she always does when we hug, then she sits up and looks right into my eyes. They still stun me every single time. Presley is all I see when I look into Mia’s honey-brown irises, and it always throws me off balance for a second. God, how I miss her, and at times, I wonder if the missing her part will ever fade.
“Bye-bye, Dada.” Mia leans up for a kiss.
I bow my head down and give her a quick peck on the lips then whisper, “Bye, sweet girl. Be good, okay?”
“Tay, Dada.” She puts her hands on my face and says, “Wuv you, Dada.”It melts my heart every time she tells me she loves me.
“Love you, too, baby.” I kiss her forehead then set her down. She forgets about me as she runs to the coffee table, getting ready to get her nails painted. I smile as she sifts through the colors and requests all of them on her nails. Mrs. Fields just smiles and waves me off.
Two hours later, I’m drunk off Jack and Guinness, sitting at the end of the bar, wallowing in my self-loathing. Darcie and Gavin are having a hard time keeping up with customer demand, which causes Reggie to emerge out of his office and help out. He’s like Darcie; never questions what I’m doing or bothers to try to make small talk. Reggie knows this is the only night I get to forget about the pain I have endured in my life and self-medicate with booze.
I erase everything from my mind; the trials of raising a daughter by myself, Presley’s absence and my brother’s betrayal. I rid it all from my mind, one sip at a time. I don’t consider myself a
drunk because I would never drink to excess if I knew I had Mia to care for when I got home. I do it so I can forget for one night a week and actually get some sleep. Maybe I should go to a therapist, perhaps Dr. Redman—the therapist Presley was seeing for her drug addiction. I consider it for a minute, however my thoughts are soon interrupted when Jake mentions Jeremy’s name. I immediately get pissed. Reggie recognizes my anger and fills my shot glass with Jack, knowing how much I hate my brother and anything affiliated with him.
I slam my glass down, and for the first time in over a year, I look up. I’m instantly captivated and shocked where I sit as I take notice of a beautiful woman standing next to me.
Chapter 7
Zoe
I’ve been in Sulfur Heights for a few days. I managed to find a rundown apartment on the Southside of town. Now, I’m on the hunt for a job. I’ve got about three thousand bucks in my pocket, but it won’t last long.
When I rolled through town earlier, a bar on the outskirts grabbed my attention immediately and I’ve decided to see if they’re hiring. When I pull in front of the bar, the name appears in dripping red letters, The Slab. What a weird name for a bar. The outside of the steel building looks rough, however there are ten or so classic cars and tons of motorcycles parked in front of the building. Yep, this is my kind of place! I seem to fit in with the rougher crowd and can usually handle what bikers and gear heads typically dish out.
I pull my car in the back next to another Chevelle and envy how nice it looks. Mine still has rust on the bottom and the motor could use some work. I have yet to find a good body shop to fix it because, for one, I need money; and two, I need to stay at a place more than a few months. Louisiana has been the exception, and it became too distracting. I was soon sucked into Terrance’s world of drug dealing and the nice things his money could buy. I didn’t even consider getting my car fixed. Maybe now that I’m so close to Detroit—motor city itself—I will make time for it.
I flash my ID to the big man at the door and get my first look at the people of Sulfur Heights. The noise level is overwhelming at first; rock music is blasting from the sound system. Several men are gathered around the pool tables and to the left is a long line of customers waiting for drinks. Perfect. Hopefully I can convince the owner to hire me, at least for the weekends. Then I can find a day job during the week.
I make my way through the crowd, turning myself sideways to squeeze through the bodies. After several minutes, I’m able to make my way to the bar and look for an opening. Located at the end and off to the side of the bar, I find an open space to inch up to.
I immediately take notice of a man, probably around my age, sitting all by himself. There is no one around him, not even the waiting crowd is anywhere close by him. He’s definitely in good shape because his arms are very toned, and even through his shirt, his back has slight bumps indicating muscles.
Before I approach, I take the time to study him further. He has short, black hair, slight stubble formed across his jaw, and his skin is the color of rich caramel. I can’t really see his face because he hasn’t raised his head from the mug of dark beer, but I can still tell he’s handsome, his features chiseled and inviting. How could he not be with a body like that? My insides are reacting to the sight of him, melting and aching for more. I immediately get a hold of myself. Getting involved with a man isn’t what I need right now, but fuck, he’s so damn hot.
I move up to the bar and stand next to him. I don’t bother looking over at him as I get a handle on my raging libido while I wait for a bartender to notice me. The three bartenders are scrambling to make drinks and handle cash. This time, I notice the hot guys working behind the bar. One guy is short—well, shorter than me—with a lean body and baby face. The girl working with them yells “Gavin” to get his attention.
I look to the other man working behind the bar and swoon slightly. He’s damn hot, too; tall—at least five inches taller than me—and his arms are covered in tattoos. He has short, sandy blonde hair and the most intense look on his face. I am captivated by his movements and study the way he works behind the bar. It’s clear he’s been doing this for awhile. Then I notice the ring on this left finger—married. I don’t mess around with married men, not since New York and the crazy bitch who tried to cut me with a knife. She should have turned that knife on her husband. He was the one deceiving us both.
My trance is interrupted again when another hot guy comes walking up to the bar and stands on the other side of me. He, too, has tattoos, but in a 1950s style. What I can see of one his tattoos are the feet belonging to a pin up girl on his upper arm. As I raise my eyes to his face, I notice that he is also drop dead gorgeous. My body reacts again.
What the fuck? Have I been sucked into a portal of my own personal Hell where all the men look like gods? This is a punishment. I’m sure of it. This is what I get for swearing off men when I came into Michigan. I have to suffer through being surrounded by hot men everywhere I turn.
The guy to my right has short brown hair, stands a couple inches taller than me and is shouting at the other male bartender. “Reggie! Reggie!”
Reggie, the married bartender, turns and fills a mug of dark beer, passing it to the quiet guy on my right. Neither of these men has yet to notice me standing in front of them and I’m secretly glad. I know it will be impossible for my body to refuse any of these guys if they offered to screw me in the back of my car.
I stand a few inches back from the bar, eavesdropping on the conversation between the two hot men.
“When are you going to start working here, Jake? Can’t you see I need the help?” Reggie asks the man to my right.
“I already fucking told you, man. I’ve got my hands full with the shop. Until Jeremy gets out, I can’t afford to leave anyone else in charge,” the man known as Jake replies and then swiftly takes a drink from his beer.
The man to my right finally makes a noise and mumbles something incoherent under his breath. The anger in his tone doesn’t escape my notice. He pushes at an empty shot glass and without saying a single word Reggie pours him another shot of Jack Daniels. The quiet man on my right slams the shot back as I stare at him, watching his large Adam’s apple move as he swallows the liquor. That’s when he finally looks to me and I’m nearly knocked off my feet.
His eyes suck me in immediately; they are black in color. All the madness and noise surrounding me dissipates. We look at one another, never breaking our gaze. I feel like I’ve fallen into a place where only he and I exist.
The sound of tapping on the bar brings me out of my trance and the man to my right quickly leaves, heading for the back exit. I turn my eyes to the bartender, Reggie, and snap myself back into reality. Shit, I need a drink, but first I need to get a job.
“What can I get ya?”
Fumbling with my speech, I eventually find my words to speak. “Jack and coke, please. Oh…and a job.”
The bartender looks at the man to my left—Jake—and then back to me. “You got experience?”
“I’ve been bartending off and on the last four years. I’ve got pretty good experience,” I say, noticing I have yet to see the man smile, but the weird encounter I’ve had with the mysterious man has thrown me completely off balance.
“Well, you’ll need to speak to my wife, and if she likes you, then you’re in.” He reaches his hand forward, offering me a handshake. “I’m Reggie and my wife,” he points to the auburn haired woman at the other end of the bar, “is Darcie. Come back tomorrow afternoon around one and you can meet with her.”
I put on a smile. “Thanks. See you then.”
I quickly gulp down my Jack and Coke, overhearing them whispering about a guy named Drake. I wonder if that’s the name of the gorgeous, mysterious man who’s left abruptly.
Drake
I’m not near as drunk as I’d like to be when I dash out the back door and walk to my car. I notice a Chevelle parked next to mine and wonder who it belongs to, but when the sexy woman’s blue eyes flash
into my mind, I forget the thought.
I’m not really sure what’s just happened back there. I haven’t thought, felt or even glanced at another woman in eighteen months, however there was an aching voice inside my head that told me to look up. That’s when my eyes collided with hers, causing my body to react for the first time since Presley died.
I studied her translucent blue eyes then a jolting ache traveled straight to my dick. This woman oozes sex and my body has awakened to become in tune with every vibe she’s giving out. It’s too much to take; the thought of another woman turning me on. I feel sick to my stomach.
I pull into the driveway and immediately go into the garage where I slide my hands into my fingerless boxing gloves and start slamming my fists into the hard leather. My shoulders ache when I punch as hard as my arms will allow, using up all the energy in my body. Before I know it, my body is covered in sweat as it burns off the liquor in my system. I grab the back of my shirt and pull it over my head, tossing it to the floor.
Standing in my jeans and boots, I listen to “Crawling” by Linkin Park blasting from the speakers—one of Reggie and my favorite sparring songs. The guitar riffs and intensity of the lyrics gets us amped up to fight. Right now, I’m in a different fight, and that’s trying to get this woman out of my head.
I hit the bag over and over because I can’t stop thinking about what has just happened. I knew I would be confronted by this one day—by my body betraying me, dissolving my will to abstain from sex. I just haven’t been expecting it to happen so soon. I’m not ready to give up my solitude, or my hate toward the world. In fact, I’ve got a lot of hate that remains inside of me. Sometimes, I think that’s what is pumping through my veins instead of blood—pure fucking hate. I’m not ready to give up Presley. I can’t give her up and nothing or no one will ever replace her.
Surviving Love Page 5
