Travis's Stand

by A. C. Bextor

  I don’t ever like to make a woman feel uncomfortable, but after all the shit she’s put me through the last few weeks I consider it payback.

  “What?” she snaps, questioning my grin.

  “My favorite fuckin’ shirt again, Sarah. Why are you wearin’ it?”

  “Couple of reasons. One, I’m not getting your blood on my clothes. Two, you aren’t in a position to do anything about it.”

  “I’m not?”

  “Nope,” she states, putting the bandage on my knuckle. “My ass isn’t at risk of getting slapped again if your hand is broken.” She digs her fingernail into the only uninjured knuckle I’ve got left on my right hand.

  I rest the beer bottle between my thighs and bring up my left palm. “I still have a good hand.”

  She inhales, her eyes grow wide, and then she asks quietly, “Didn’t think that through, did I?”

  “Nope.”

  She sighs and stands, my shirt draping to mid-thigh; her tan legs stand between my knees as she looks down at me. “Now your face.”

  “My eye and lip,” I correct.

  “Well, yeah. You can’t expect me to fix the whole thing.”

  “You’re a pain.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  As she starts to use the fresh cotton ball to clean around my eye, I close them both to avoid hurricane Sarah getting alcohol in them and accidentally, or probably not, blinding me.

  “Speaking of your foul mouth, thanks for picking up the swear jar disaster.”

  “No problem. It was a fucking mess, but as you can see I got through it.”

  My left hand comes around to swat her ass but she catches the intent before I’m able and giggles as her arm darts out to stop me. Instead of slapping her on the ass, I place my hand on the back of her thigh and she inhales a quick breath. I don’t look at her; I just look ahead and smile at how my big shirt swallows her small body.

  “Are you going to finish?” I ask when she continues to remain frozen at my touch.

  “Suppose I could be if you’d stop thinking about slapping me.”

  “I’ll stop.”

  “There’s a fucking first.”

  After she’s done, she starts to pick up her mess and carries it to the bathroom. I flip the television on and find a show I know she enjoys watching. A rerun of Gilmore Girls just started. I know she likes this shit. Not as much as Snapped, but it’ll do.

  “You don’t have to watch that,” she tells me as she comes back to the couch with a beer for me, and water for her. She situates herself at the other end, laying her legs out to cover the distance between us. The bottoms of her feet are lying against my thigh.

  Reaching over my body with my left hand, I grab her foot and put it on my lap. She doesn’t refuse, only continues staring at the television.

  As the ending credits to Gilmore Girls start scrolling along the screen, with flashes of the upcoming episode, I look over and find Sarah sleeping. I give myself a few added seconds to look at her.

  Her hands lie under her face and her mouth is open slightly, drawing in breath. She looks at peace when she’s this quiet and this still. The ever-in-motion Sarah really does rest when her eyes are closed.

  Putting down the empty beer bottle I’ve been holding for a while now, I gently move her legs from my lap and start to stand. I realize my ribs took the worst of the beating.

  Leaning down, I rest my knee on the floor and let my fingers brush through her hair. She doesn’t move, but her eyes flutter then settle. I bend down and kiss her forehead before making a move to stand. My back foot rocks the table and the bottles shake against the glass top.

  “Trav?” I see her eyes open; the beautiful blue irises that change color with her mood look up, but can’t yet focus on me.

  “I’m goin’ to bed. I’d carry you there, but . . .”

  Sitting up, wiping the hair from her face and neck, her eyes narrow as she takes in the room. “I fell asleep.”

  “You did.”

  “I’ll go to bed if you are.”

  Offering my good hand, she takes it and sits up to gather her balance then stands. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she tells me as she starts to walk away.

  When she hits the mouth of the hall, she turns back and stands alone in contemplation.

  She’s not sure where she’s supposed to sleep.

  She makes a move to go in her room, so I stop her. “Sleep in my bed, Sarah.”

  “What?”

  “If you want to.”

  “Yeah,” she answers and heads in the opposite direction and into my room.

  * * *

  For the rest of the night I lie beside her, my front against her back, and hold her to me as she rocks us both to sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sarah

  PULLING UP TO the apartment, I spot Trav’s Jeep in its usual place. Ellie, however, has parked her yellow VW bug in mine.

  She’s inside my house and I’m pissed.

  When I walk in, I see them both sitting in the living room. Trav’s dressed in a Devil’s Despair tee and a pair of worn dark blue jeans. She’s in her nursing uniform so I’m assuming she stopped by on her way home from work.

  I swallow the pang of heartache, remembering the gentle care she always gave to Bean.

  Travis turns to look at me and a small smirk makes its way to his lips. Ellie’s face goes blank at my arrival. The room feels small and I feel as though I’m not wanted in my own house.

  “Sarah,” she greets, clearing her throat.

  “Ellie,” I return in the same sullen tone.

  “Your dinner is in the fridge,” Trav informs me casually. “I made it.”

  The shock of Travis making dinner wins out over my insecurities overseeing the two of them together. “You made dinner?”

  “Yep,” he replies with a full smile, although the cut on his lip still looks angry.

  “What’d you make?”

  “Mac-n-cheese.”

  My fucking favorite.

  Ellie starts to stand and when she does, Trav moves to his feet as well. Feeling the need to get out their presence, I pass them and make my way into my room to change. I smell like leftovers from the restaurant.

  As I close the door behind me, I again swallow my emotions. Travis has Ellie in our apartment, he’s in a good mood, and he’s made me dinner. The only thought racing through my mind is that he’s done this to ease my heartache in knowing he’s changed his mind. Maybe his reaction to Devon caused him to rethink what we’re doing.

  I hear the small voices echoing off the walls. The front door opens and then there’s nothing but silence. I’m not sure if Travis left with her or not. My heart hurts too much to dwell on it for long and thankfully I don’t have to.

  Just as I’m finished changing, I hear a soft knock on my bedroom door. I stand from the bed, straighten Trav’s shirt, and open it. I don’t chance a look at him. Using my hands, I press his chest to get him out of the way.

  Grabbing my wrists, he stops me. “What are you doin?” he asks quietly, his voice somewhat nervous.

  Ignoring his question and still avoiding his eyes, I rip my wrists from his hold and slip past him through the door and make my way to the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything as he comes in and stands at the mouth of the hall, leaning his broad body against the wall. Even with a cut lip and faintly bruised face he has the audacity to look confident.

  “Sarah?” he calls out, but I ignore him. My blood is starting to boil.

  I hear him moving toward me from behind as I pop the dish from the fridge to the microwave and start it. I’m tired, hungry, hurt, and pissed. This isn’t a good combination for anyone, but add the fact it’s happening to me, and it furthers my rushing anger.

  Turning around and bracing my hands on the counter, I pin Travis with a “don’t fuck with me” look. His eyes grow wide in response and his eyebrows lift in question.

  “So you’re done with me?” I ask tersely, starting an argument that
I already know can’t end well. “’Cause it seems you changed your mind pretty fucking quickly.”

  His neck pulls back and his wide eyes start to narrow. He looks as though I’ve physically struck him.

  “What?”

  “You’re done with me,” I answer my own question. “What the fuck was all this until now?”

  “Sarah, stop.” He shakes his head and looks down.

  “You’re a fucking asshole.”

  “Stop,” he says again, this time louder and with more irritation. “Calm the fuck down.”

  After pulling the food out of the microwave, I take one look at it and lose my appetite. I throw it in the sink and hear the dish shatter with the force I used.

  “Sarah!” he calls, but I ignore him. Grabbing me around my waist, he pulls me close. My body is shaking with anger and fear. “Why was Ellie here?” I ask.

  “Sarah.”

  “God damn it. I’m an idiot!” I pull from him and brace my back against the counter; my hands clutch the edges at either side.

  “You’re not.”

  “Why was she here? I don’t want her here! If you want to be with her, okay! But wait ’til I’m fucking gone!”

  “Sarah,” he says my name again. This tone is the one he uses to calm me.

  “Stop saying my fucking name!”

  Trav’s voice is level, completely opposite to how I hear my own. “God, you make me fuckin’ crazy, woman.”

  “You’ve fucking said that before,” I sharply return.

  Walking to me, I watch his body tense. If he’s about to break bad news, I decide then that I don’t want to hear it.

  Pushing off the counter, I hate that I have to get past him to get to my room. I have no other choice. His large frame stops me before I can escape the kitchen.

  “Don’t walk away from me.”

  “I’m not,” I lie.

  “Really? ’Cause I’m feelin’ like I’m about to get another view of your ass as it walks out.”

  “What was she doing here?”

  “Bench that, we’ll get to it in a minute,” he says, his eyes smiling. “You’re jealous.”

  My blood, already hot and boiling, flows through my body in a fury of added anger. Turning, I grab the first thing I see and send it flying into the air beside us. The coffee pot, thankfully empty, hits the wall with a loud crash.

  Travis doesn’t even flinch.

  “You’re impossible,” he states, watching me stew in my anger. “And you’re really fuckin’ jealous.”

  I seethe, wondering how I am supposed to answer his accusation. “I’m not jealous. You’re an ass, she can have you.”

  I push past him; this time he allows it, and I head into my room for a few minutes alone.

  * * *

  Travis

  That didn’t go as I had expected. Welcome to what my relationship with Sarah will be like.

  Maddening as fuck.

  Ellie took the news of the breakup hard. A few times she pleaded her case, that she was exactly what I needed, citing she could take care of me. She said she understood my past, but truly she has no idea. Only a few people do, and even those who think they know don’t truly understand.

  Her accusation about Sarah living with me pissed me the fuck off. She tried to explain her version of Sarah’s crush and it took great effort on my part to keep seated and not throw her out.

  Obviously Ellie has a jealous side that I’d not recognized until tonight. I didn’t care for it.

  Right now, hearing Sarah in her room tearing through shit, I’m forced to smile. Now, she is jealous, but it’s a different type of jealousy. Sarah doesn’t have it in her to attempt to brand me as hers. I don’t think she wants that anyway, but her eyes were angry and I knew why.

  She thought Ellie was here for a different reason.

  After I’ve cleaned up the majority of Sarah’s ridiculous fit, I grab two beers from the fridge and make my way to Sarah’s room. I don’t bother knocking.

  When I open the door, I see her sitting on her bed, legs crossed with a pillow on her lap. She’s not crying, but she may as well be. Her face is bright red and angry.

  Her head lifts and her eyes meet mine and I’ll admit I almost turn around and walk away. She’s fucking furious.

  I’m an asshole, but her fury ignites me. Being the one to calm her, quiet her, tame her, affects me in a way I’m not sure it should.

  “Get out,” she snaps even before I enter.

  “No.”

  “Get the fuck out of here!”

  “Got anything left to throw at me?” I ask, trying to hide my smile in regards to her crazy, mad way of releasing anger.

  “Fuck you,” she hisses back and starts on a rant but as a sign of peace I lift the beer bottle I brought her and walk to her slowly. She could use a drink.

  Her eyes light up when I stretch my arm to offer her one. “You’re not gonna throw this at me, are you?”

  “Fuck, that would hurt, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I might but since you’re giving me beer, I’ll drink it first then decide.”

  “Drink it slow,” I demand. Sarah’s difficult enough to handle sober; add too much alcohol and she’s nearly impossible. Believe me, I’d know.

  Resting my ass on her dresser, I set my beer down and brace my arms at my sides and cross my ankles. She doesn’t look at me, but takes a few drinks and exhales with calm relief.

  “Sarah.”

  Her eyes close and she sighs her words. “When you say my name like that I know you’re trying to calm me.”

  “I’m always trying to calm you, aren’t I?”

  Opening her eyes and looking directly at me she answers, “Yeah. Women need to be mad sometimes, Travis. I want to be pissed. Let me.”

  “You should channel that anger,” I say. Her eyes hold mine, waiting for me to continue. “I mean, there are other ways to work out. And it’s a fuck of a lot more fun than throwing shit.”

  “You’re talking about having sex with me right now? Are you serious?”

  My voice lowers and I can’t look away from her taut body, so full of anger . . . and jealousy.

  “Very serious.”

  “Oh my God! You fucking piss me off,” she exclaims.

  “You’re pissed off more than any women I know,” I counter.

  “You piss me off more than any men I know,” she returns.

  “Always,” I say to myself more than her, but she catches on and her eyes narrow, again.

  “Do you have a point in being here?”

  “I ended it with Ellie. It’s done,” I tell her. Her body jolts and she moves her eyes to mine; her features are marked with an unnamed expression, so I continue. “That’s what you walked in on earlier.”

  She takes a breath. “That’s why you smiled at me when I got here.”

  “Yes. I was happy to see you.” I sigh. “Until you went fucking nuts.”

  “That’s why you weren’t sitting with her on the couch.”

  Finally, she’s putting aside her anger and getting a fucking clue. “Yes. It was important Ellie know whatever we had was over and I wanted her to hear it from me, face to face. She deserved that.”

  Sarah rolls her red eyes at me, then states in a mocking tone, “Well, you were fucking her, I’m sure she deserved the very best.”

  “I never fucked her.” It’s hard to admit this and Sarah will question if it’s true or not, but I’ve never lied to her.

  “Right.”

  Keeping my tone level, I say again, “We didn’t have sex.”

  Her nostrils flare, just briefly, before she asks, “If she was here for you to break up with her, why the hell didn’t you say that right after she left then? Damn it, Travis!”

  I keep my calm posture, but my hands clutch the dresser in case I need to be braced for the bottle in her hand to come my way. “Because seeing your reaction to Ellie was what I wanted.”

  “What you wanted? Travis, you sa
y I make you crazy, right?” I nod so she keeps going. “I don’t do that on purpose! What you did was on purpose and it was mean!”

  “No,” I stop her from continuing. “I did it to see how upset you’d get.”

  “Mean!” she reiterates.

  “I did it to get your gut reaction and I got it.”

  Shifting the beer bottle between her legs, she crosses her arms over her chest and leans against her headboard. “What reaction was that?”

  “You want us. I wasn’t absolutely sure before now, but you’ve confirmed it. You want this too.”

  “I threw my coffee pot!”

  “You only throw paperclips, though, remember?”

  She ignores my comment and presses what she feels is more important. “I need coffee in the morning, Travis!”

  “You do.”

  Moving the bottle from her legs, she places it on her nightstand and starts to stand.

  “I cleaned the mess,” I tell her in case that’s what’s on her mind.

  “Good. You should’ve. It was your fault.”

  She’s standing only three feet from me and my hands want to reach out, grab her, and bring her to me, but I can’t. This has to be her move. She has to claim whatever it is she wants and if she doesn’t I will, but I’d like her to own this moment. It’s important she does.

  “Now what?” she asks with confusion.

  “Now, I tell Ace.”

  “So, this is for sure what you want?”

  “That’s not obvious?”

  “I’m Sarah, Travis. You know you have to explain shit to me.”

  “You’re ridiculous and a little crazy, yes. But I shouldn’t have to explain us. You’ve known me for-fucking-ever. When have you ever known me to not to know what I want?”

  She stands still, her arms at her sides. Her face is still red, and her hair has fallen down on each shoulder; her small body is drowning in my clothes.

  “Never,” she utters.

  “What do you want, Sarah?” I ask, breaking into her thoughts.

  “You,” she whispers and bites her bottom lip in worry.

  I feel her answer hit my chest with a familiar ease. I close my eyes briefly and commit this moment to memory.