by A. M. Jones
“Mom, it’s just…” I place the snapshot on the desk in secret hope she doesn’t take it.
“I know, but it’s not fair to keep going like you are now. Not fair to you, Taylor, or Madison. I thought I’d never live through that scene in the kitchen this morning.”
“You like Taylor,” I state.
“Yes, I do. When I met her, it was exciting. Her writing is vivid and engaging.” She shrugs. “But she’s different and not someone I’d think is your type.”
My phone buzzes, saving me from responding. “It’s been vibrating all morning. I’ll get out of your hair.”
Waving as she leaves, I look at the caller ID and suppress a groan. “Hey,” I answer.
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling.”
“The shop. Mom just brought my phone, left it there this morning.” Not that I owe her an explanation.
“I need to discuss something with you. Will you be home tonight?”
What better time to tell her and get this over with? “Yeah, same here. See you tonight.”
She lets out a, “Hmmph! I bet you do,” and hangs up. Trepidation ruins the rest of my day.
Flopping over in my bed, I can’t get to sleep. I can’t write. I can’t eat. Turning on the bedside lamp, I get out my sketchbook and sketch special designs for the gay pride event. I’d already booked an exhibitor table, which cost me and arm and a leg considering how small the event is. This is more about supporting Crockett than anything else, so I don’t mind the expense. He’ll be over tomorrow night for dinner to make concrete plans.
The event isn’t like the huge parade held here in Nashville every year. It’s smaller and less advertised, but Crockett says it grows every year because it runs at a club and well into the wee hours of the morning. It’s all about collecting money for several charities—an idea I love. A lot.
I voiced concerns to Crockett about not being a gay author, and he reassured me that all support of the LGBT community is welcome.
A soft tap sounds through my apartment. The clock on my nightstand glows with 3:34 am. Electricity sparks inside my body and goose bumps erupt. I know who it is before I open the door. Eli leans against the doorframe with both hands like he’s blocking me from leaving.
“You hung up on me.” His lips brush mine as he invites himself into my apartment, smelling of citrus.
I knot my hands into my long t-shirt, feeling the air on my bare legs. “I don’t want to have an affair. And why do you always smell like you’ve bathed in orange peels?”
He doesn’t answer as he checks out blu-rays on my wall unit. Pulling one from the pile, he pops it into the player and grabs the remote. “I don’t want to put you in that position. And the orange smell is Fast Orange. It’s a degreasing soap. A staple in my line of work. I even use Fast Orange laundry detergent.” He goes to sit on the couch, but trips on his way. With a body as big as his, I’m surprised he didn’t fall. A smile forms on his face as he raises one of my boots. “You have an addiction. This could’ve been fatal.”
“How?”
“I could’ve hit my head on the way down. Swelling of the brain.” I laugh and jerk my boot from his hand and toss it across the room. He laughs and I flinch when it lands in the middle of a traffic area. “You are trying to kill me.”
“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”
He pats the couch beside him and leans back. “It’s been an interesting day and I can’t sleep. I want to watch a movie with you. I want to hear about your day. But…” He raises his hands. “I promise to keep these to myself.”
Now he’s the one who wants to avoid the big elephant in the room. I move toward the couch to squat in front of him and push up his athletic pants, removing his tennis shoes. “I thought about you,” I tell him. It’s obvious by his thrown-on clothing and messy hair, he tried to sleep at some point. He watches me with dark circles lining his eyes, but he looks pleased at my admission.
“I know what you mean.”
My chest warms. “And Crockett asked me to do Winter Pride Night.”
“Oh yeah? Tainted District is playing a show for it. We do every year.”
Plucking the remote from his hand, I sit and move him to lay his head in my lap. I turn on the movie as he situates himself, sliding his arm under one of my thighs as if it’s an actual pillow.
“What made your day so interesting?”
The glow from the TV lights his face. He smiles at me which erases lingering guilt and unease. Not being able to help myself, I run my fingers through his hair. “I spent the night with a woman who rocks my world.”
“Are you sure it’s not just the thought of fucking? You know, anticipation?”
He frowns. “Taylor, just because we didn’t have intercourse, doesn’t mean what we did was anything less intimate. But in answer to your question, I’m sure my world was rocked before I even thought about sliding between your legs.”
At his words, a dull throb starts and his hand under my thigh becomes more obvious. He feels me squeeze my legs together and raises his eyebrows. “Stop it or you’ll make it hard for me to keep my promise of keeping my hands to myself. Ravishing you isn’t any different from us lying here on this couch and watching a movie together with the intention of falling asleep, you know?”
He’s right—us talking about our day is just as personal—just as intimate. We sit in comfortable silence through the previews. The menu for a classic slasher film pops up, blaring heavy metal music.
I smile. “I thought you were trying to get some sleep?” When I look down, his eyes are closed and his breathing is even. My body tenses from the shock of it, but I relax and grab the throw blanket to cover him. The movements cause the orange scent to fill the space, and I breathe it in. Only this guy can make the mixture of motor oil and oranges sexy. Guilt hounds me at cutting off my phone. All he wants is reassurance I’m in his corner. That I won’t give up on him.
What a mess.
I wake to daylight next to a very warm, soft body. Luckily, her couch is made for these things because she’s sunken into the back pillow. Her hair spreads across it and her fingers are laced with mine. I untangle myself and sit up. A dozen or so cheeseburger wrappers litter the coffee table. Biting my lips together, I keep myself from laughing at the telltale sign of Crockett’s hangover. The only times he ever allows himself to eat anything bad for him.
Taylor slumps to the side more, looking uncomfortable. I carry her to the bed, watching out for boot landmines. She’s heavy, but nothing I can’t handle. For a second I think she’ll come to, but she doesn’t as her body relaxes into the mattress. Colored pencils and a sketchbook encumber the top of her white, puffy comforter. I remove them so she doesn’t stab herself, checking out her sketches.
I head to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. The sky outside is dreary, like it’ll rain. Madison never made it home last night. It only makes me worry more on what she has to say, and being the selfish bastard I am, I found myself here. It isn’t fair for me to drag Taylor in the middle of my mess, but hopefully, I can keep her out of it. I wanted one more night with her before I tell Madison I want to go through with the divorce. Somehow, I know she’ll fight me tooth and nail. Until it’s over and done, I’ll try to keep contact with Taylor to a minimum, but it’ll be tough.
My phone buzzes and automatic anxiety settles in my system, thinking it’s Madison.
Did you carry me to bed like a caveman? Taylor. I grin as my body relaxes. She thinks I left. How long have I been standing in this spot?
If I were a caveman, I would have carried you to my bed.
Her response is instant. Still a caveman, but a sexy one.
I like where this is going. Do you want to know what other wicked things I did?
She doesn’t reply because a knock comes from her door. She fumbles into the living room, releasing a hissed curse. I hold in laughter when she stumbles over her own damn boots. Frozen to the spot, I feel like a moron hiding in
the kitchen. I’m about to make myself known, when Taylor’s vehemence comes out.
“What are you doing here?” she spits at whoever is in the hallway.
“Tay, I—I need to say something, and if you never want to talk after that, I’ll understand.” Savannah. And she sounds on the verge of tears. Oh, shit. I shouldn’t be here. “I made a mistake. We both did. We were drunk, and if it’s any consolation, it was terrible.”
There’s a long moment of silence. What the fuck is going on? Taylor’s laugh cuts off any more thoughts.
“It’s not funny, Taylor.” Savannah’s voice is thick.
“Yes, it is. I don’t care to know the specifics. Which is funny, considering if I ever told you any intimate details, you would’ve saved yourself the trouble because Adrian is a horrid lay when he’s drunk.”
Going into view, I lean against the breakfast bar because I can’t contain my laughter at the absurdity of this situation. Savannah’s eyes go wide as saucers, and Taylor swivels—her mouth an ‘O’ shape at her surprise.
She turns bright red as she smacks her hands over her face before she laughs. “I thought you left.”
“I know, I’m sorry… I was getting ready to, but then you texted me, and… well.” I wave to Savannah. “I really am leaving now. Not much on hearing about sex with Adrian, no matter how bad the experience was.”
Her face falls, so I pull her into the kitchen by her t-shirt. Something teeters in the back of my mind in a feeling of doom. She must sense it, too. Her hands fist in my shirt and she jerks me forward. Meeting my gaze, she holds it. Pain slices through my chest at the vulnerability in her big blue eyes. I wrap my arm around her in a hug. Her head is against my beating heart like a soothing balm.
“You’ll hear from me soon, okay?”
She nods and squeezes for a second before stepping back. The openness is gone from her face, replaced by a small smile.
When I get to my apartment, Madison still isn’t here. I opt for a sweat-inducing workout from my pull-out bench, to relieve stress and sexual tension. When that doesn’t work, I jerk one out in the shower before getting ready to go into the shop. Normally, I wouldn’t work on a Sunday, but one of my regulars called with a bent rim and no other form of transportation. I told him I’d come in to change it. Luckily, I have a rim, but it needs to be removed from the junkyard.
I’m drinking a coffee-laced protein shake when she waltzes through the door.
“Whatever you had to discuss must not have been very important.” I slam my shaker bottle on the counter and squeeze it in my palm.
“Oh, it is. I have great news. Dash Top’s giving us complete creative freedom for a single.” Her eyes shine with excitement. “Madison Hart-Gregor featuring Tainted District.” She spreads her arms out as if she can see it splashed on a billboard.
My head gets light and I have to blink as this sinks in. I force myself to shake my head. “I don’t want to do it. In fact, I’m done with our separation. You can have a hundred percent of whatever songs you want from before you went solo.” I tick off my fingers. “I want nothing from you and I’ll buy you out of the shop business.” My jaw twitches as I say this. I don’t know if I can do that or not. Maybe I can take out a loan? I don’t know. I almost rub my forehead, so I cross my arms not wanting to show her any weakness.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right? Because this is the opportunity you and the band have been looking for.”
I hold up a finger which happens to be the same lucky finger that was inside Taylor two nights ago. “Wrong. It used to be the opportunity we were looking for until someone split our dreams in half when we weren’t of use anymore. We’re doing great without you, Madison. Better, I’d say. Even if we weren’t, I can tell you, it’s no longer my dream to become a sellout.”
She ignores my dig. “What about the band? Will they want to turn it down?”
I clench my jaw so hard it pops. They won’t, but the lie comes easy. “If it has anything to do with you, yes.”
“Fuck you, Eli,” she seethes, breathing harder than I’ve ever seen. “Don’t make this ugly.”
“You’ve only got yourself to blame for that.”
Her smirk is damn near a sneer. She steps toe to toe. I don’t budge, meeting her eyes even though they’re scary as hell right now. She’s turned into someone I don’t recognize right before my eyes. “Be sure to have all the fun with the white trash bitch while you can. It won’t last.” She turns, click-clacking her way to the door. “She’ll hate you when it’s all said and done.” Fear shoots ice down my spine. She catches my stricken expression and shrugs. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The next day, Crockett comes into the shop office late, looking about in disgust. I called the guys for an emergency meeting and here he is even though he hates it because it’s grimy. Grease smudges everything in my office, but it’s not as if I can hire someone to clean. “I do the best I can.”
Flipping over a chair cushion, he sits. “I love a filthy man, but it doesn’t mean I want to be one.” He keeps his back straight, glancing at the arms of the chair. I cringe. They have black fingerprints all over them.
Jack snorts something that sounds a lot like pussy.
I ignore him. “Madison’s pissed off.”
Crockett laughs. “Yeah, she seems to be in a constant state of PMS, so what’s new?”
I rub my neck. “She wants to do a collaboration with Tainted District under her label. That’s why she’s been sniffing around. I think she got the hint I don’t want to do it when I told her I wanted to go through with the divorce.”
Shocked silence fills the room.
Jack speaks first. “Since when?”
I thumb flip a stack invoices. “Uh, June?”
“Dude, man.” Milo breaks the silence with a hurt tone of voice. “That could be what we need to get our name out there.”
“We don’t need Madison to do it.” I stand firm with my decision. They knew when she went solo things could get messy. We’ve put it off for long enough. “We’re fucking gettin’ there. On our own. Look at how far we’ve come already? Does that not mean anything?”
“Fuck you, Eli, you selfish son of a bitch,” Jack spits. The ligaments in his neck pop from his taut posture. “We’ve been patient with you because she left us to live the dream and she’s been trying to talk you into something that could change our lives, too?” He looks at Crockett, who only sits with a stoic expression. I think he forgot about the grease. Jack snorts when Crockett doesn’t back him up. “Fuck this. I’m out.”
He stalks from my office. Milo’s face pinches at me and then follows. When I open my mouth to call them, Crockett gestures for me to stop.
I slump. “You gonna walk out on me, too?”
He takes a deep breath. “I agree with you. We are making it on our own. They’re mad we weren’t included in the decision. Give ‘em some cool off time.” We sit a contemplative silence for a few moments. “So what’s this really about?”
“I’m sure she’s threatening Taylor.”
His eyes widen as his head jerks back. “What? How?”
I look at my hands. Grease lines the crevices of my fingerprints. Hardened calluses mark the grip of my palm and fingers from the guitar and mechanic work. Scars all over. I have the ugliest fucking hands known to man. “Your guess is as good as mine.” And I’m sure our divorce hasn’t even begun to get messy.
When I realize I’m holding myself upright with a wall or maybe it’s two, I close one eye and try to stand straight. As my knuckles tap the door, I peek in the peephole, but it’s dark. It opens and I stumble forward, bracing on the frame. “Shit. Sorry.” I take in the two women but remember to close one eye and it’s only one woman. “I got… the wrong apartment.”
“I don’t think so. You looking for Taylor?” I hope my nod is understandable. “What business do you have with my daughter?”
I laugh. Business? Daughter? Shiiiiiiit. “The business… is… your dau
ghter… fuckin’… ink slapped me. You know… like bitch slapped, but with all her tattoos?” I like that. “Ink slapped by loooove,” I drawl.
“Oh, Jesus. Come in here and sit down before you break something.”
She guides me to the couch, but I stumble over stuff. When I focus, I take in the boots in Taylor’s organized clutter all over the floor. “Attack of the… killer shit-kickers!” I release a chuckle. “Not a bad way to go, if I say so… myself.” I fall on the couch.
“You in love with her?”
“Ooooh yeeeaah.” I hold my head in my hands. “But I’m an asshole.”
She sighs, exaggerating the sound. “Aren’t you all? Just sleep it off. She’ll be here in a few. She’s bringing a friend back.”
“Friend?” The pain in my chest strengthens when it should be numb.
I think she smiles, but when I close one eye, she’s just watching me. “Yes, a friend.”
Heaving in a long breath, I close my eyes and sing, “Given up is more than surrender,
not unexpected,
the biggest offender,
is only dejected.” Feeling sick, I stand and groan with the movement. “I should… go.”
“Are you sure nothing is wrong?”
Crockett smiles as we wait for our to-go orders. “Positive, luscious. Just a long day.”
“Great. I have some superb designs going, and I’m going to let you pick.”
Our order gets placed on the counter. He digs through to make sure everything is there. “Can’t wait to see. You got a big-ass table. I called today, pulled strings.”
“Really? How big?”
“Eight feet, in a good spot.”
That’s double the space I’m used to having. “Nice. I'll need a bigger banner.”
We walk the couple of blocks to my apartment building. The smell of tacos wafts around us and fills the hall. When we walk in, my mother comes out of my bedroom. “Stop snooping,” I tell her on my way into the kitchen. I grab plates from the cabinet. Crockett unloads the bag on the bar.
