Running From Forever

by Ashley Wilcox

  I placed the drink on a napkin in front him. “Seven dollars,” I said, my tone dry and devoid of any feelings I had towards him.

  Instead of handing me cash, he threw down a gold member credit card, telling me to hold onto it. I cursed inwardly. I didn’t want him here, especially for the evening. It was getting late and I had a feeling Kayla would be stopping down any minute. There was no way I wanted her to see him. She needed time away to heal. Whatever the hell he did was enough to make her run and not want to return. Shit like that wasn’t done over just a little spat—he fucked up royally and needed to keep his distance from her. This I would make sure of.

  “Bar’s closing early tonight,” I said, handing the card back to him. It was a Saturday night and I knew I was screwing myself, but I couldn’t chance her seeing him.

  He looked at his Rolex, confused. “It’s eleven o’clock.”

  “Closing at midnight,” I answered confidently.

  He glanced over his shoulder, noticing the mounds of people milling around before looking back to me. “Doesn’t look like the smartest business move.”

  “Probably because it’s a personal move.” This time I couldn’t hold back, putting both hands on the edge of the bar and pushing my weight against it, seriousness in my eyes. He was challenging my decision, so I was handing it right back. The guy didn’t intimidate me. He had money, but didn’t have balls. Not like the ones I had. I’d been around the block more times than he had designer suits. I didn’t give a fuck what he thought of me and I certainly wasn’t afraid to show it.

  His eyes traveled the length of my upper body then back up to my face, tilting back the rest of his drink before placing the empty glass back on the bar and standing. His welcome was worn out and he knew damn well of it, but deepened his glare as he threw a ten dollar bill from his pocket down on the bar before turning to leave.

  I stood there, staring, confirming his exit; it wasn’t until a regular snapped me from my gaze that I tore my eyes away.

  “You really closing up shop early, Merrick?”

  I stepped back, letting my muscles ease from the tense lockdown they had pressed against the bar. “Nah, Paul,” I assured him, pouring him another draft of Coors. “The personal reason took the hint.”

  ***

  Just after twelve, I saw a familiar face sitting at the end of the bar, wearing a clean shirt and a fresh pair of sweats. Relief flooded my body seeing a smile spread across her face, but guilt soon took its place when I got closer and noticed her bloodshot, puffy eyes. I should’ve held to my word and closed early, knowing that she needed me. I was just about to pull the stereo’s power when her hand caught my arm, pulling me back.

  “No, Merrick. I’m fine…really,” she assured me in a low, sweet voice. I turned in question, wondering how she knew what I was doing. “I saw him…and heard you, too.”

  “What?”

  “I was getting something to eat and heard his voice.”

  My confusion was boiling, filling me to the core. “What? Why didn’t you come out after? Tell me you were down here? I would’ve kicked everyone out. I’m about to now.”

  She stood, holding both of my arms, steadying my body. I didn’t realize I was doing it but apparently I was. For some reason I fidget and rock back and forth when I’m angry or confused—both of which I was. It was fucking embarrassing when it happened.

  “Merrick, no! I’m not a baby. You don’t need to drop everything for me. I can handle myself.”

  I let out an exasperated breath. I didn’t want her to think that I was babying her or looking down on her in any way. She was special to me. For what reason I didn’t know, but my caveman instinct was to protect her. I couldn’t help it.

  “I know,” I told her, remorse carrying in my voice. “I just don’t want you to feel alone.”

  A smile tweaked her face, easing my worry that she was mad. I wouldn’t know what to do if she was. As much as I didn’t know what the hell was going on between us, I didn’t want her to leave, or be pissed at me for dealing with her “situation.”

  “Ya know, if you keep spoiling me like you do, you’ll never get rid of me,” she commented like it was the worst thing in the world, giving me more reason to protect her like I was.

  “If I never get rid of you, I’m gonna have to go shopping for more clothes.”

  She laughed, glancing down at her outfit. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m liking this wardrobe. I may have to steal a few things when I go home.”

  Her statement pinged my chest. I didn’t want her to go home. It was fucking weird, I know, but I liked her there. With me. Safe. “I’ll make sure I hide all my favorites then when you do,” I joked before walking away to serve the thirsty mouths that were giving me the universal “beer me” look.

  “Hey!” she shouted from behind, getting my attention. “Can I borrow your cell for a minute?”

  My eyebrows immediately furrowed as I looked at her apprehensively. “You better not be calling that douchebag on my phone,” I kidded. I was completely serious, but she didn’t need to know that. Well, maybe, but I didn’t want to act all testosterone on her and risk pushing her away. When it came down to it, she was right. She wasn’t a baby or mine to take care—even if the caveman inside felt otherwise.

  She rolled her eyes. “Chill. I’m calling my friend Leah—she’s probably freaking out looking for me.”

  I reached into my back pocket and tossed her my phone. She caught it deftly then disappeared into the kitchen, shooting me an appreciative smile first.

  The last couple hours of the night flew by with a packed bar until closing. Normally when it’s that busy it takes hours after flipping the sign for me to get everything stocked and cleaned but with my new barmaid by my side, we had the whole place cleaned and were back upstairs within a half hour of closing.

  “You need a second job by any chance?” I asked. “I could get used to this kind of help.”

  She giggled and winked at me. “I just might.”

  Throwing my keys and phone on the table, I did my usual post-work routine—grabbed a beer from the fridge, pissed, showered and shaved, then joined Kayla in bed. She was a welcome addition to my routine. I waited as she surfed through a zillion channels, not finding anything to watch. I knew she wouldn’t. At this time in the night, it was all infomercials and phone sex ads. When she finally gave up, I took the remote from her hands and powered up the Wii console that housed my Netflix subscription.

  “Movie?” I asked, flicking through the choices.

  “As long as it’s not some blood and guts one.”

  “So, a Quentin Tarantino one is out of the question then?” I asked with a brow raised.

  “Unless you want me up all night scared out of my freaking mind, then yes!”

  “Yeah, no thanks—sleep is a must tonight.”

  I ended up just letting her choose one. Picking a movie for a girl was like ordering for them at a restaurant or picking out shoes for them to wear—no matter what you choose, they always want the opposite. I was sure she’d pick a chick flick of some sort, but was shocked when she clicked on Fight Club. I never would have pegged her to be into those kinds of movies, but again, Kayla wasn’t like any girl I’d ever met.

  “What?” she asked, seeing the surprised expression on my face.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m just impressed. Not many girls would have picked Fight Club over The Vow or some shit like that.”

  “First, The Vow is a good movie. Second, call me crazy, but watching a romantic comedy isn’t something I’m really in the mood for.”

  “Hey. I’m not complaining.” I put my hands up in surrender. “I’d never argue with Fight Club.”

  “Me neither—Brad Pitt is effin’ hot in it.”

  “Ah fuck, is that why we’re watching this? Because if I have to watch you get all hot in the biscuit for the entire movie, I’m going to bed.”

  She laughed out loud. “No, it was just a bonus.”

  With th
e movie over and TV off, we laid down, our backs slightly touching.

  “Night,” I said, fluffing up my pillow and nestling it in between my head and arm.

  She yawned and wrapped the covers around herself before softly responding, “Night.” Not too long later, but almost asleep, I heard a little voice whisper, “Are you sleeping?”

  A smile tugged on my lips, hearing her sweet, innocent voice. “Not yet, why?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Wanna talk about why?”

  “Not really.”

  “Do you want me to turn the TV back on for you?”

  She sighed. “I’m just lost,” she whispered.

  I swallowed hard and thought about how to respond. She was beginning to open up and I didn’t want to ruin it. She needed someone to talk to and I wanted to be that person, I just didn’t know what to say or how to console her.

  “You’re just at a crossroads, not lost.”

  She turned over, prompting me to do the same. We were both in the same position, facing each other with a pillow tucked between our arm and head, the blankets pulled up to our chests.

  “How do you know?” she asked once we were settled, looking hopeless and unsure.

  “Because we’ve all been there at some point,” I told her truthfully.

  “Are you there now?”

  I shook my head slightly. “No, not anymore, but I was for a while.”

  “How did you know what direction to go?”

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded her head for me to continue.

  “I ran. I didn’t care where. I just ran as fast as I could.” She snickered, showing a slight smirk, making me question, “What?”

  “Nothing,” she smiled. “It just makes sense…why we click.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “We’re both runners.”

  I’m not sure at what point we finally fell asleep, but I woke up still in the same position, our bodies facing one another. I kept quiet and didn’t move, not wanting to wake her. She looked so peaceful sleeping, the most peaceful I’ve seen her…ever. Now that it was Sunday, I knew she would probably be leaving since she had to work the next day. She still hadn’t told me what went down on Friday, but we did talk about how similar we were. We both came from fucked up pasts, with shit mothers that didn’t care and rock star fathers that died too young. Dysfunctional was our middle name.

  “What time is it?” she asked, her eyes still not fully open as she stretched her legs out and her arms above her head.

  I glanced over my shoulder, not really sure myself. The sun was fully up so I knew it wasn’t too early. “A little after eleven,” I answered, looking back at her.

  She yawned. “Ugh, why does it have to be so late already?”

  “Well, when you go to bed after three in the morning…”

  “Yeah, that probably doesn’t help,” she agreed, her eyes now fully open and looking back at me. “So what’s on the agenda today, Mr. Extreme Sportsman? Anymore crazy jobs that I don’t know about?”

  I lightly chuckled, grinning at her question. “I’m afraid that’s it.”

  “I wanna learn how to ride,” she said out of nowhere, then jumped up, coming to life, sitting with her legs crossed and a big smile on her face.

  “You’re gonna have to elaborate, sweetheart.” I leaned up onto my elbow with an eyebrow raised. “There are many different types of riding that I’m qualified to teach, but I need to make sure we’re on the same page before I start the lesson.”

  I knew the slap was coming, so I ducked, laughing when she missed.

  “You’re such a fucking pig!” she shouted, climbing out of bed and acting like she was pissed.

  “Takes one to know one, sweetcheeks!” I yelled back at her while she walked into the bathroom, this time getting the finger in response. I laughed. “Remember…we’re like twins!” That time I got nothing but the door slammed in my face, making me laugh even louder. “I hope you’re not taking a shit in there, because I have to take a piss after!”

  “Fuck off!”

  After whipping up a quick breakfast of stale cereal and milk, we got dressed and headed back to the train station. I stored my trailer and bike at Bev and Steve’s, not having any other place to keep it. Their property was so damn big and not to mention, they were never home, so they couldn’t care less about it.

  We had much farther to travel today, so we had to hop on a different train then take a taxi to where they lived.

  “No shit,” she said, hearing me give the address to the driver.

  “What?”

  “We’re in Jersey.”

  “Good observation, pilot.”

  She nudged my arm at my sarcastic remark. “No, my best friend lives not too far from here.”

  “Really? Whereabouts? I’m from here,” I asked, intrigued. I swear, the similarities just kept getting crazier. Granted, I didn’t know who the hell her friend was or if she was from here, but the fact that her best friend lived in the same town of where I grew up was fucking weird. I wouldn’t be surprised if she said my fucking sister’s name next.

  “I don’t know her exact address, but I remember her telling me that is was in East Rutherford, not too far from the stadium.”

  “I take it she’s a new resident?”

  “Yeah, her fiancé just got drafted.”

  “Drafted?”

  “NFL.”

  “No shit!” I didn’t follow football, but the fact that her best friend was engaged to a pro football player was pretty damn cool, making a light bulb go off in my head—I wanted to fucking meet him. “You should call her. We could swing by after.”

  Her face lit up, telling me just how much this friend meant to her. I’d give my left nut for anyone of my best friends, and know when life is pulling a fast one on me, it was always nice to stop in and shoot the shit with them—ground myself again.

  “Really? You don’t care? I haven’t seen her since graduation!”

  “Are you fucking serious? I get to hang out in a pro athlete’s house. Definitely don’t care,” I told her but winked, making sure she knew that wasn’t the only reason.

  “Okay, so, it’s just like a stick shift.” I sat behind her on the bike, my hands on top of hers, gripping the handle bars. “Click it up into first gear with your left foot, give it some gas, then come gently off the clutch while easing in on the gas again,” I demonstrated, making us move forward a little. “Okay, now you try it,” I told her, removing my hands from the bars, gripping her waist instead.

  Taking a deep breath, she glanced down at her left foot, making sure it was in the right place, then flickered the first gear up and revved the engine a little…

  “Okay good, now ease up on the clutch while giving it some gas.”

  We jerked forward then stalled.

  “Too much gas,” I informed her. “Try doing it in sync—come off the clutch with the same pace you twist the gas.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was muffled inside her helmet.

  She did the same as last time—glanced down at her left foot, clicked it into first, revved the engine, then came off the clutch, but this time perfectly in sync with the gas, making her bolt forward instead of stall.

  “Ahh! What do I do now?!” she screamed, going faster than I thought she would, scaring the shit out of herself, but making me laugh hysterically.

  “Keep going!” I shouted back, still holding onto her sides, shocked that she got it on her second try. “That’s my girl!”

  “I’m not gonna lie, you did way better than I thought you would,” I told her once she finally stopped doing circles around the house and attempting to do “jumps” on the track.

  She pulled her helmet from her head and I froze. It’s a different sight seeing a girl pull up next to you on a dirt bike, then see a flow of blonde hair fall after she removes her helmet. It was fucking hot, actually. Again, if it was anyone other than Kayla doing it front of me, I’d be on top of that in seco
nds flat, but it was Kayla. She was different. I didn’t want her like that. She was more than a good lay or someone I’d screw for shits and giggles. She was Kayla.

  She put her hand on her hip and looked at me, insulted. “Why, because I’m a blonde?”

  I rocked my head back and forth, acting like I was contemplating my answer, making her blood level rise. She was so frickin’ easy to irritate, it was almost addicting to do.

  “Eh, I think it’s the blue eyes that accompany the hair color, actually,” I said, like I was torn between the two.

  “You’re such an ass.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.” I smirked, making the smile that she was trying to desperately hide grow into a laugh. “But you can’t help but love me, though.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Something like that.”

  Kayla called her friend and got the address. They had just gotten home from somewhere so it worked out perfectly, timing wise. Instead of calling a taxi, we took one of the cars in Bev and Steve’s garage. Kayla was all gung-ho about calling them and asking first, but I’d seriously been doing it since before I had my license—they would’ve thought I was losing it if I called them for permission, so she let it go and hopped in instead.

  “They just have all those cars sitting in their garage for the hell of it?” she asked as we hopped on the freeway.

  “Pretty much,” I told her, weaving in and out of traffic. “Cars are Steve’s addiction—have been for as long as I can remember.”

  “Well, I guess if you’ve got the money…”

  “Which they do,” I finished for her.

  It wasn’t long before we strolled into their gated community. Given that he was a pro athlete living in New Jersey near the Metlife Stadium, it was almost a given where they lived. The address they gave Kayla just confirmed it. I don’t think you could get a house in that neighborhood for less than a couple million. The people living in that community were definitely sitting pretty and could undeniably give that douchebag Miles Blackwell a run for his money.