Our Muted Recklessness (Muted Hopelessness Book 2)

by Love Belvin

  I shook my head, shrugging with my lips, having nothing more to say.

  “So that’s it?”

  I repeated the act, shrugging, and not being an asshole either. It was because there was nothing to say.

  “On her birthday?” I heard a deep voice beyond Aivery’s wavy hair. “Real grand, Spence.”

  I blinked a few times, unable to trust my eyes. In my peripheral, Aivery turned to see Pettiford in the middle of her hallway, having just come out of her bedroom.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my room?” she trilled.

  The bright colors of a bouquet from the corner of my eye had me gazing all around the small common area. These weren’t a collective group of bouquets sent by several people. They were all roses—a romantic gesture. Pettiford was here wooing Aivery on her birthday. They’d both taken this “friendship” too far.

  He wouldn’t address her, his heated eyes were on me. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?” His short frame, which was short to me considering my height versus his five feet, ten-inch frame, ambled toward me. “You can’t grow the fuck up about her life before you with a real man, and you expect her to explain for it?”

  “I expect for you not to sniff up her ass, you fuckin’ alumni-employee.” I scoffed, seeing red. “What the fuck are you, one of them niggas from the block who can’t let go of school-aged girls? Is this a goddamn fetish?”

  He leaped toward me but didn’t swing. I didn’t flinch either. I’d wash Pettiford’s ass without fucking blinking. Should have a long time ago. “Watch who the fuck you’re talking to.”

  I snorted, grabbing my sac. “Or the fuck what? You gone tell on me? Tell who? A big…Byron Jones? Not until you explain how you missed in the employee handbook that you’re not supposed to consort romantically with students.”

  “Who said anything romantic has happened?” Aivery’s face contorted tightly.

  “He’s in your apartment, with dozens of roses, waiting for you in your bedroom. The fuck you think romance is?”

  “It’s what she would’ve had if you would’ve dropped the line two years ago.” His brows lifted and he murmured, “Or you would’ve let me drop you.”

  The atmosphere shifted, turning electrical. A bolt of rage imploded and my sense of awareness became abstract. With a metallic tang on my tongue from sudden excitement, I cocked my arm back and discharged my fist with a speed and power I hadn’t used in a long while for other than the ball. Pettiford’s head bounced back before his body did, and a sheet of blood splattered in the air.

  The sharp pitch of Aivery’s scream speared my bubble of rage. That’s when I realized he was on the floor. I was ready for him to get up so I could finish his ass. But Pettiford didn’t move. Aivery pushed me from over him and went to his aid.

  “What the hell, Ashton!” she screamed while patting his bloodied face. “I think he’s out!” She turned to me while on her haunches. “Are you happy now? Are you?”

  “Fuck you!” Turning to the door, I had not a fucking ounce of compunction for her or his punk ass.

  Karmen stood in the little foyer; her expression was frozen, part in shock, and I could swear humor was in her eyes, too. I had no time to consider it. I had to go. I was on the edge of violent precipice, and if Pettiford acted like he wanted heat, no good would come of it for me. That’s when I knew my awareness had returned. As I skipped down the stairs of the stairwell, I knew this was me walking away. I could seriously kill more than that motherfucker’s pride. I could kill my career fucking around with him and Aivery.

  Enraged, I left before I did real damage. I felt fucking explosive and I didn’t understand why. Maybe because each time Pettiford would come for me since the start of the semester—shit, since I learned he’d fucked Aivery last spring—I suppressed, trying to be level-headed. I focused my betrayal on her, not wanting to show him how it fucked with me. I wouldn’t jeopardize my shot at the League for his mediocre ass. But tonight, he’d cut too close. Tonight was the night I’d finally mustered the balls to call it quits to the farce Aivery wanted to continue with. He should have waited just ten more fucking minutes.

  I pushed the lobby door open, rattling the frame. Once outside of her dorm, I noticed it was completely dark out. My chest was still tight, fire surging through each muscle of my body. I was tweaking from the adrenaline. It was so bad, I couldn’t think, so I ran. Threading through people standing or walking the campus, I sprinted, burning the endless fuel that tripled from my anger. The darkness of the night sky couldn’t conceal my identity, not that I tried. But I moved hard with fiery speed. Within minutes, I had an involuntary destination. I ran downhill and across the walkway of a pond.

  I dashed through it all until I made it to the back of the Greener dormitory. Non-residents were supposed to check in at the front entrance with security, but I didn’t have the patience for that shit. And as luck would have it, someone was coming out of the backdoor, carrying a big ass box. I managed to catch it a second before the door closed, and slipped inside. The stairwell was to my right and I hauled ass upstairs until I made it to the right floor. I willed my body to stop once inside the hallway. Passing by three freshmen lounging in the hall, they pulled up their legs when I trudged past them.

  My knocks were violent, and with the hand I used on Pettiford. It now ached. I shook it, futilely, attempting to wring out the pain. Even that shit instigated my already agitated state. But when the door flew open and she stood there with a sloppy damp ponytail, short biker shorts, a fitted t-shirt, and nothing else on, all the pain numbed and my fucking chest swelled with an unfamiliar sensation.

  “You don’t know how to punch. You could’ve busted up your knuckles.”

  She managed a sandwich bag and ice cubes here in her room, and held it over my swelling hand as we sat cross-legged on her bed facing each other.

  Angry, my head bounced back. “I don’t know how to throw a punch? Do you know how crazy you sound?” Not to mention how tender my fucking ego is right now?

  She shook her head. “Flesh on flesh impact is dangerous. Gloves protect your bones in a fight. When you don’t have them, you gotta space your knuckles apart before landing your punch.” Her eyes roved up to me, natural lashes curled like a baby’s. “You see why I don’t lose my shit on loser humans? If I did, my hands would look like a man’s.”

  She flexed her hand open and I noticed the light pink nail polish from her birthday manicure. Inexplicably, that soothed my raging ego. Tori was so damn beautiful…tough and smart.

  “But I didn’t.” Still, I argued like a damn child. “As you can see, it ain’t broken.”

  Her hand brushed down my beard and landed in the middle of my chest. “But you are.”

  “No, I ain’t!” I spat, face tight.

  She took me at the sides of my face. “You love her. She betrayed you. That hurts.” Then I lost her eyes and hands, and she shrugged. “You’re human. Shit happens.”

  “Shit happens,” I repeated, not understanding what that meant.

  “I mean, I guess in relationships. People get hurt.”

  “How do you know? You ever had a boyfriend?”

  She gazed at me with narrowed eyes. “You know I haven’t.”

  “Then what do you know?”

  Her eyes flashed wide, clearly offended by what I said. That’s not why I was here. It was not who I was to Tori. Anymore.

  “Fuck it,” I grated. “I’m mad.”

  “Good.” She pushed me at the shoulders, and I was reminded of her strength. My body swung back farther than I was used to coming from a girl. But it was Tori’s version of “gentle.” “Glad you can cop to it.”

  Then I had a stupid urge to say, “I ain’t no pussy. I can say what I mean.”

  Her head bounced back and she blinked. “Okaaaaay,” she uttered lowly. “Glad you can—”

  “Tomorrow’s my birthday,” I announced unexpectedly.

  “Oh.” She blinked, confused as hell.

  “Y
ou forgot.”

  She nodded. “Kinda.”

  I knew it. It was all good, though. “I’ve got two tickets to a book release event happening tomorrow afternoon, about two hours away.” Tori stared right at me, giving me her undivided attention, but no reaction. It’s what she did when stuck, I noticed. “I want you to come with me.” My voice faded and eyes fell to her folded legs.

  And then, “Because you can’t go with Aivery now?” Her voice so innocent.

  I shook my head. “I was never going with her.” I tried to explain and got nothing back from her. “The tickets came in the mail yesterday. I made my decision when you were in my bed last night and I opened the box.”

  “Then why can’t you look at me?”

  Finally, I did meet her eyes. “Because I don’t want you to say no.”

  “Why would I say no?”

  “Because it’ll be an overnight trip.” Then I thought. “Unless you train tomorrow night or this weekend.”

  She shook her head. “My next training day is Sunday. I fight next week.”

  Good. “Mine, too.” Then I thought. “Well, I have practice Sunday morning then a meeting with my team. After that…”

  She nodded, lashes beating successively. Tori licked her lips, clearly uncomfortable. “But I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “It’s just a book tour. Jeans, shoes, and a blazer would work.” I shrugged, nervous as hell. “I know you have those.” Her eyes bounced below as she considered it. “You don’t want to come.” I could tell. Feared.

  “It’s not that.” She sighed and scooted back to the pillows on her headboard.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s all of it. Today…you breaking up with Aivery, for real. And last night when I tried to get you to…” Fuck. Tori wanted to fuck last night, and I wouldn’t take the bait. “It’s all confusing.”

  “We’re friends, right?”

  She scoffed. “We’re not friends, Ashton.”

  “Then what are we?”

  She wouldn’t look at me, eyes cast out the window. “That’s what I don’t get.”

  I reached over for her leg. “You deserve better than what I could have given you last night, KaToria. You deserve something pure and not fuckin’ messy,” I tried explaining, still feeling tender my damn self.

  With her eyes bouncing out of the window, Tori twisted her lips and nodded. I felt exhausted and fucking vulnerable. I woke up feeling anxious about the day. It was Aivery’s birthday, the girl I once thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. It was also the day I dreaded telling her we were officially over. And I did. And right after, I snuffed Benjamin Pettiford. That wasn’t a part of the plan, no matter how much he had it coming.

  When I didn’t know if I could endure her usual contented silence, she heaved a deep breath. “Samantha went home. You wanna stay the night?”

  “It’s Thursday. How did she go home?”

  Tori yawned. “Her only class is canceled for tomorrow, so she went home for an early weekend.”

  Oh…

  My gaze traveled the room. Suddenly, my eyes felt heavy. It wasn’t all that late, but my day felt long as hell.

  “Only since you’ve begged me to.”

  Tori rolled her eyes and murmured, “You’re a controlling, bossy, and delusional human, I see.”

  “Yeah.” I yawned this time while pulling up the hem of my shirt. “A fuckin’ exhausted one.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  -THEN-

  “Now that the birthday salutations are done, you did the Mike and Mike interview…yesterday?” Jones asked, his face to the conference table while writing notes on a legal pad.

  My Panthers admin team went all out with jumbo balloons spelling out my football name, an image cake with one of my highlighted plays here at BSU, and a big ass spread of food. It was thoughtful and I was grateful. I couldn’t imagine any other institution giving me this type of support. It was love. For real.

  “They’re on…” Dana, one of the staffers in the athletic department, interrupted to ask.

  Several at the table answered, “ESPN2.”

  “Oh. Right.” Dana nodded, recording notes, too. “Okay. I’ll make sure they send us the transcript for our records this week.”

  “What do you have, Green?” A.D. Jones offered the floor as he scribbled away.

  “Well,” Coach exhaled. “We have one more game to go, which is next week. And I’m confident we can win and head to the Division I Football FCS Playoffs.”

  “We will,” I concurred. “And we’ll be at the championship, too.”

  “That’s what I like to hear, Spence.” A.D. Jones nodded with pride.

  Green mirrored his response, but with a fist pump. “That’s what the hell I’m talking about, son.”

  “And where are we academically?” A.D. Jones progressed the itinerary.

  “Uhhh…” Lenny, the department’s Academic Liaison, flipped through documents. “Pretty good! I have the response from Barbara Jordan, Spence’s Strategy and Corporate Sustainability course, printed out here. Hers was the last one I’d been waiting on today. Ahhh!” He stopped on a particular sheet. “It seems Mr. Spencer will be achieving Dean’s List again this semester.” The room murmured their approval. Academics had never been a challenge to me, so I wasn’t surprised at all. And this semester, especially, had involved lots of writing. That was a constant in these final business courses, which I oddly had no problem with. “But…we still have the Independent Study course, which is worth the last three credits you can’t leave on the table.”

  “Is that the mandatory BSU course Provost Vester is determined to leave on the books after a gazillion years?” Derrick, the nutritionist, asked over his reading glasses.

  “That would be the one.” Lenny nodded.

  “That bitch,” A.D. Jones whispered into his hand.

  My eyes blew the hell up, and several heads flew toward the head of the conference table. Word was, Jones and Vester had a fling that didn’t end well back in the ‘90s. I’d always wondered how true it was. She’d often come around the complex, talking with the athletes about the importance of taking their studies seriously. Jones would glare at her from his panoramic gym view windows above. It was hilarious.

  “What’s this course about?”

  Lenny explained, “It’s more or less, independent research guided by an assigned professor. The student gets to pick the topic, in which case, Spencer chose inter-familial discrimination. Essentially, it’s a conversation about how, in some families, there is one person among the generation who is favored. This ‘favoritism’ could be due to parental success, the person’s proclivity for achievement, or a myriad of other reasons. This dynamic, however, results in a political structure where there are inequities in the treatment between the favored relative compared to others in their generation.”

  Yup. Brick’s and my plight…

  “So where are we?” Jones asked.

  “Spencer needs to submit the required essay on it by December fifteenth.” Lenny’s regard brushed across me. “It’s pretty much a semester-long timetable for the paper. The research and all the mandatory meetings with the advisor, a professor in the Sociology department, have been met.”

  He was right. I needed to finish the paper that, at this point, seemed to be twenty or more pages. But I’d had plenty of material, using my family as the subjects of my proposed theory. The project was inspired by Brick’s reputation and dynamic with our family versus mine. As tight as we were, we were labeled differently. He was the black sheep while I was the golden promise, even to my paternal grandmother, unrelated to him. This was a topic I was passionate about at the start, but had lost inspiration for when he was arrested in the spring. It was just a matter of buckling down over the next two weeks and getting it done. The project was in the bag.

  “Okay,” Jones exhaled. “I don’t foresee there being an issue with a simple paper, given your academic ethic.” His tone was short of dism
issive. My team understood I handled my business on the field and off. I was no jock, but a young Black man with drive. “What’s next?” Jones flipped over the printed meeting agenda.

  My attention went to my Blackberry, where I was typing up instructions to Rashid Coleman, my AOPsi Vice President. It was one of several menial details in my day to prepare for my weekend.

  “I would like to know how you’re feeling, Spencer,” Marilyn, the Panthers’ house psychologist, posed. “The undertaking of your schedule: academics, games, practices, independent conditioning, press-relations…just a whole gamut of things on top of your personal affairs with Aivery. How are you feeling about this last academic point in your life?”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie, our public relations point person I’d grown fond of over the years, asked with pinched brows. “are you two still together? There have been talks to the contrary.”

  At first, my lips pushed out and I exhaled deeply. I was pretty much over yesterday’s fiasco in Aivery’s dorm. She called me last night, but I’d turned my ringer off after stripping down to my boxers and tank to get in bed with Tori. We fell out well before eleven, both exhausted from the day. When I made it to my apartment before the sun came up this morning, I checked my voicemail and heard Aivery’s brief message of call her, and ignored it. At this point, I still wasn’t worried about Pettiford reporting what happened. If he did, this meeting would have gone very differently.

  So, yeah, I was mostly over finding another dude waiting in Aivery’s bedroom on her birthday. Right now, I was anxious about something entirely different. Once this meeting was over, I’d be heading to my apartment to pack, shower, dress, and head out to Springdale for the Tyler Thomas’ Black Arms event. The silhouette of a tomboy with a big wooly ponytail sprouted from the crown of her head came to mind in a flash.

  An unbridled smile split my fucking face. “Life’s perfect.”