by Roya Carmen
I have too much stuff. I wish I didn’t have so much. I brought all this as an insurance policy but I haven’t sold anything yet. That will be one of the first things to do on my list. I need lots of cash. I need to find a place to sleep. I need—
God, I don’t even have a car. I’ll need to call a cab to pick me up and bring me who knows where. I haven’t planned this out well at all. I’m usually so much more organized than this but my brain is a complete mess.
I have almost everything packed but there’s still my toiletries, my books, and my jackets and shoes. I pull out the dresser drawers one more time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
“What the hell are you doing, Jade?”
I jerk around to see Flynn in my doorway, breathless. He looks devastated, absolutely wrecked. I haven’t even stepped out of my room yet and I’ve already hurt him. “I’m sorry… it’s for the best, Flynn,” I cry. God, this is so hard.
He closes the distance between us and pulls me to him. “You can’t leave, Jade. You can’t.”
“I’ll come back,” I promise. “I love you, Flynn.”
“Where are you going?”
“I-I’m not sure…”
“Why are you leaving?”
“It’s not safe for me here anymore,” I try to explain. “He knows I’m here. It’s not safe for you. I don’t want to—”
He cups my face in his hands, the gesture forceful and hard. “This is the safest place for you, Jade. He’ll find you anywhere you go. And if I’m not by your side when he finds you, who knows what he’ll do to you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about… it’s you. And everyone else.”
His gaze falls to the floor.
“You know what he’s capable of. I told you our story.”
He wraps his hand around my waist. “I can’t let you go. I won’t let you go.”
He pulls me into his arms, and he doesn’t let me go. As much as I want to pull away, I can’t. I can’t be away from him. We stand in a tight embrace, clinging to each other.
When he finally reluctantly tears himself from me, he says quietly, “Please, see my father’s friend and talk to him before you leave.”
I nod up at him. “I will.” Maybe Amber is right. Maybe I’m being paranoid. Everything will be fine, I’m sure. Michael will eventually accept my decision and slowly, he’ll back off. I can’t imagine being without Flynn.
And I know that if I leave, I’ll break both our hearts.
The office I sit in is ordinary in every way, gloomy even. A gray desk, covered with a stack of papers, a few pens scattered about. A sleek computer monitor. There’s a photo of a family in a frame sitting on a bookshelf, and books, stacks of books. A file cabinet sits in the opposite corner. A fernlike plant sits atop the bookcase – I think it’s fake. The walls are a dark blue. My eye is drawn to the only colour in the room; a bright inspiration poster framed in glass. A fall scene; trees lining a forest trail on a fall day; oranges, yellows and greens. It reminds me of the hike Flynn and I and Trevor took – that was the most perfect day. I read the words below the image:
Believe
When you believe something can be done, your mind will find the way to do it. Believing in a solution paves the way for a solution. – David Schwartz
I like the thought of that. If only it were that easy. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to come up with a solution to this problem. How can we end this divorce amicably? How can we get Michael out of my life? How can I forget all about him?
Maybe this lawyer will be able to help. Flynn got me in touch with him. He was a dear friend of his father’s. This is our first meeting. I’m so nervous.
Introductions are quick. He seems like a nice man, but also very busy.
“We’ll keep this short,” I reassure him. “I just have a few questions.”
He leans back into his chair. “No worries. Anything you need to know, ask.”
I feel instantly comfortable with him, and we quickly go through the basics. His answers are not too winded, but complete enough to reassure me. He goes over the basics of what has already been put in motion, and what still needs doing. He doesn’t mention fees, and when I ask, he tells me it’s being handled. I can’t believe The Riverstones are doing this for me. I promised that I would pay them back and I will work until the end of my days to be good on my word.
“Since the divorce is clearly contested, we’ll need to go further,” he explains. “We’ll need to delve into discovery and gather information. This will involve various subpoenas, statements and depositions, from family, friends, and acquaintances, including your own testimony. My understanding is that there’s a lot to work with.”
“Yes… there’s been quite a few incidents.”
“We will need to negotiate with his attorney and if settlement proposals fail... we may have to go to trial.”
He’s speaking too fast… I can barely keep up with him. All I know is that I really don’t want to go to trial, and I don’t even want to think about all that right now. I have enough on my plate. At the moment, I’m much more concerned with my safety and the safety of those around me. “What… what about a restraining order? Is that something that could be done?”
His eyes widen. “Is that a concern? Has he harassed you?”
I mull over his question. Yes. “Not exactly. Not yet.”
“Well, if you feel threatened in any way, please contact me,” he says. “Keep all evidence, threatening emails, texts… record phone calls.”
I nod, trying to take all this in. I never imagined this day nine years ago. I was so happy to marry him – I naively thought that we would be married forever, that he would love, cherish and protect me until the day I died.
Amber hands me a bottle. I cock a brow as I take it – it looks like a beer and I told her to get me anything but beer. As I study the bottle further, I realize it’s not a beer at all, but some kind of Long Island Iced Tea drink. This, I like. I want to get tipsy tonight. I want to let go and forget everything.
Amber and Aiden have been back from their honeymoon for almost two weeks, and I haven’t seen Michael in that long – things are looking up. Amber and Flynn have convinced me to stay at the Inn so I’m still there despite my concerns. I’ve been so stressed lately, wound as tight as a grandfather clock. This is my first drink of the night, but it won’t be my last.
I like this bar. It’s dark and moody and everyone seems friendly. The woman at the bar flashes us a wide grin as she hands Amber her beer. It’s the four of us tonight; Amber and I and Aiden and Flynn, a double date of sorts. This is exciting for me since I haven’t been out in forever, and certainly not to a cool happening bar. AC/DC blasts on the speakers. I struggle to place the song – it’s not one of their most popular ones. Wow, it’s been ages since I’ve listened to this band. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. That’s what it is. I love it.
A few days ago, Flynn suggested that we all go out and paint the town red. I really don’t know if this had anything to do with me telling him I haven’t been to a bar since that night. Either way, I’m glad I’m here tonight. I get a little excited at the sight of the pool table in the corner. It’s a standard coin bar table, smaller than regulation. I could kick some serious ass on that table. Michael and I had a table in our basement; regulation size, and he taught me all the tricks.
“You guys want to find a table and order some wings,” Aiden asks. I swear, every time I see that man, he’s eating. Men are so lucky – they can eat as much as they want and never gain an ounce.
“Sure,” Amber cheers. “Let’s go sit.”
We all take a seat at a high bar table. I need to hoist myself up to crane my rear up on the stool, and I feel like a kid. I press my heeled Louboutins against the bottom of the stool – I don’t know why I chose these particular shoes to wear to come to this dingy bar. With my designer skinny jeans and four inch heels, I stick out like a sore thumb. Flynn shoots me a wink – I think he likes the outfit.
For the first time in a long time, I feel normal. Sitting here with the three of them, chatting and laughing, I feel ordinary. I like ordinary.
Flynn nudges me on the shoulder. “Up for a game of pool,” he asks, nodding to the table.
I’m all over that but I keep my cool. “Uh… sure… I guess.”
“You ever play?”
“A little… I know how to hold a cue.”
He smiles. “Here… come with me. I’ll show you how to play.”
I laugh quietly and take his hand. He pulls me off the stool and I land on my tall heels. I don’t usually play in heels but it shouldn’t affect my game.
I ogle him as I follow him to the table. He looks hot tonight; a slim black turtleneck and dark jeans. His ass is fine in those jeans. Damn. Suddenly, I wish everyone would disappear so the two of us could get wild on that table.
He sticks a few coins into the table and pulls the lever. The thump-thump of balls excites me. I help him throw the balls on the table. He racks them up into the triangle – we’re playing eight ball. I still ogle him as he presses his fingers into the rack to make the balls tighter. I’m having way too much fun already. Once he’s done with that, he checks out the cues and selects two for us.
“Here,” he hands me a cue. “These are the best I could find. Don’t forget to chalk up.”
I hold the cue in my hand, feeling the weight of it, and I study the tip – this cue is a piece of shit. But then again, I’m sure his is equally horrid. “Uh… so, should we put money on this game?” I ask, my tone innocent.
“Nah, I don’t want to take your money… I mean,” he’s quick to correct himself. “I mean playing for money is kind of stupid.”
“Pleaaase,” I beg. “It would be more fun.”
He grins. “If you insist. Let’s make it ten bucks. And just so you know, I won’t take it any easier on you, gorgeous.”
I blush a little. “Fair enough.”
“Can we practice a little before we play a real game?” I ask. “You could show me how to properly shoot. I’m usually all thumbs with a cue.”
He smiles wide. “That sounds like fun… sure.”
“Go ahead and break,” I urge. I want to enjoy the sight of him breaking, throwing the strength of his body into it.
He breaks and sinks the cue ball... I laugh at him and he turns to me, sheepish. He grabs the cue ball and lines up a shot for me.
“Let’s do this.” He stands right behind me, the delicious scent of him fills my nostrils and I’m in heaven. Who knew my heaven would ever be a dark bar? But right now, it is. I bend over in front of him, and the erotic nature of our position is not lost on me. He presses his hand on my hips. “You look amazing in those jeans and heels, by the way,” he whispers against my ear.
I bite down a laugh. “Thank you. You’re looking quite fine in your jeans too.”
His laughter vibrates in my ear as he leans closer into me. “Bend lower, and stick out your ass.”
I bite my lip. “You dirty boy.”
He laughs again. “It’s for the game, gorgeous. You need to be in proper position, your head low, chin right against the cue.”
“Oh, I see,” I say, bending down. He slides his arm against mine, positions my hand just so, altering my bridge into something I’m not sure I can manage. “Now just aim straight in the centre of the ball, right for the pocket.”
I pot the ball easily and fake enthusiasm, jumping to my feet. “I did it!”
He beams as he takes me in. I know he wants to fuck me right there and then on the table. “There you go… you’re a natural.”
“Maybe I am. I think I’m good to go.”
“You sure?”
I start to gather the balls. “Yep. You can just teach me as we play.”
“Do you mind if I break again?” he asks politely.
I know this gives him the advantage but I don’t care. “Oh no… you go ahead.”
He winks at me as he slams the cue ball into the rack. Damn, that is a mighty fine break... better than the first. He sinks a low ball right off the bat. Predictably, he goes for a low ball on his next shot, and he makes it. The next ball up is a straight shot and he makes that one too. He shoots me another wink – the little devil is totally showing off. “The thing with pool is… you need to always think ahead to the next shot and control the cue ball into position.”
“Uh-huh,” I nod with a grin – he’s not telling me anything I don’t know already. What I’d like to see is an amazing combo shot or see him curve a ball with a little English, and then I’d be impressed. He goes for another shot, a pretty easy bank shot, but he misses it.
“You can’t get ‘em all,” he says with a shrug.
My turn.
The table is wide open – he’s set me up and he doesn’t even know it. I chalk up my cue and study the table carefully. He’s right – it’s all about planning with this game.
“Go for the eleven in the corner,” he suggests. The obvious shot. A good player never goes for a shot just to pot a ball, never goes for the easy shot right off the bat, unless that’s part of the plan. The eleven is in the plan all right, but it’s my third ball. I’ve got all my balls lined up and I position myself right behind the nine. I feel tall, powerful and sexy in my heels, like I could take over the world. I shoot a look up at Flynn who cocks his brow in confusion. He doesn’t understand why I’m going for this shot; a hard rail shot at the other end of the table, but I always ace that shot. I position my cue and aim my shot carefully, standing in a proper stance, elbow angled just right. I shoot, nice and soft, careful to carry through – it’s been a while.
The ball goes in, just as expected.
“Wow, nice shot,” Flynn says, clearly impressed.
I line up my next shot and shoot him a wink – I can be cocky too. The next shot is an easy straight shot but I need to draw the ball across the table – that’s the tricky part. I pocket the ball again and study the cue ball as it travels to exactly where I had planned.
“Nice shot,” Flynn cheers again.
“Wow… I’m on a roll,” I quip, feigning excitement as I line up for my next shot – an easy one. It goes in but the cue ball doesn’t line up exactly as I would have liked.
“Damn, you’re a shark,” Flynn says. I think he’s starting to be suspicious.
I smile at him, completely focused on my game. I have nothing – I’m hooked. Balls are blocking me everywhere. There’s just one possibility but it’s an almost impossible shot.
I go for it, left with no other choice. I position myself perfectly and calculate my angle carefully. I call the last shot and hold the cue perfectly, sliding it through my fingers a few times to perfect my aim and I go for it. It goes in and I jump to my feet.
Flynn shakes his head. “You played me, you little devil. You’re a total player.”
I laugh hysterically. “It sure took you long enough to figure it out.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a fool. I completely bought your whole ‘please, I can barely hold a cue…can you teach me, Flynn’ shtick.”
I bounce over to him and give him the biggest hug. “You owe me ten dollars.”
“What?! But the game isn’t over. I could redeem myself… you never know.”
I grin playfully. “I doubt it but you can always try.”
His smile presses against my lips when he goes in for a kiss.
“Well, looks like you can still kick some serious ass at a pool table, princess.”
I jerk away from Flynn at the sound of Michael’s voice. My heart has gone into overdrive. How does he keep doing that?! He keeps popping up like a fucki
ng crazy jack-in-the box – the terrifying kind. I want to ask him what the hell he’s doing here but I’m rendered completely speechless again.
Jade
“How have you been, Jade?” he asks, his words slow and smooth, his tone eerily ominous. He’s being completely creepy.
Flynn positions himself in front of me. “She’s fine, Michael. Now, if you’d let us finish our game.”
“Sure, I was enjoying seeing her destroy you.”
Flynn smirks. “Me too.”
Michael cocks a brow. I don’t think he enjoys Flynn’s snarky laisser-faire attitude. He wants to rile him up. He wants to cause trouble. I know him. I know how his mind works.
I go for my next shot, but with Michael’s eyes on me, I completely choke.
Flynn’s turn is up and he seems undisturbed by Michael as he pockets two more balls. I shoot him a grin. He’s right – why should I get all worked up over Michael being here. He’s just watching, drinking a beer.
I sink three more balls. Flynn claps – he’s a good sport and I love that about him. It doesn’t bother him in the least that I’m a better player than he is. Michael on the other hand, used to get so moody and angry when I beat him. I actually started to miss some shots on purpose, always keeping the game close, but almost always losing, winning the odd one to keep suspicions at bay.
As I aim my shot to pocket the eight, I see them in my peripheral vision; Michael’s thugs. There are two of them; huge ugly guys. One of them sports a long jagged scar along the side of his face – I don’t even want to know the story behind that one. He’s had those guys around for a while; Jimmy and JP. They do all his dirty work.
Now I’m really getting worried.
I sink the eight, and nod over at Michael. “The table’s all yours, boys.”
Michael leans casually against the wall. “But I was so enjoying watching you play, princess.” He inches closer to me, dangerously close. “You’re wearing the shoes I got you,” he says. “Remember the last time you wore those for me?”
