by Marie Skye
“I don’t want another door in my face though.”
“But do you want her?”
His query snapped my gaze in his direction.
“Obviously, fucktard.”
“Then that’s a risk you’ll have to be willing to take.”
Fuck my life…
“Think of it this way,” he went on. “If you go see her and she welcomes you with open arms, then good, that’s the goal here. But if she shuts you down and sends you away, at least you’ll have a firm answer rather than being up in the air. Sometimes closure is better than nothing.”
“I don’t want fucking closure, I just want her,” I asserted.
“Then stop moping your ass around here and go get her. I’ll cover for you and tell Betty you started feeling sick or some shit.”
“She’s not gonna buy that.”
“I’ll make her buy it, trust me, go,” he assured me, clapping me on the back.
So I left.
With Sinclair’s help, I jumped in the LC and sped through the streets to Vida’s apartment, feeling more pumped than I had in weeks. He was right. She needed to see how badly I. Needed. Her. When I pulled up to her building, I threw the car in park and hustled my way up to the sixth floor, taking the steps two at a time until I was face to face with her front door. I banged my fist against it frantically, calling her name out in pleading. But the seconds quickly turned into minutes, and all too soon I realized either she wasn’t home or she wasn’t going to answer it.
That is, until I heard the little squeak from the floor board on the other side.
Yes.
“Vida, I can hear you standing there. Answer the door, please!”
“Go away, Jagger,” she said steadily, the sound of her voice skyrocketing my pulse.
Just the fact that she was standing right there gave me a sliver of hope.
“No, not until you hear me out.”
“I’m listening.” That was all she offered, and while it wasn’t exactly how I wanted this go, beggar’s can’t be choosers…
“I just… I just want you to know that I’m sorry, okay? I know I’ve said it a million times already but it’s the truth. I’m sorry for crossing the line. It was unwarranted and inappropriate, especially after our conversation prior to it all. I can do better, Vida, I swear to you.”
Silence.
And silence.
And more silence.
That little sliver of hope shredded into confetti before I could even hold it tight. She wasn’t going to budge, no matter what I said or how hard I tried.
Sometime’s closure is better than nothing.
Sin’s words rung out in my head and although I didn’t want to do it, her resistance in this moment spoke deafening volumes. It had to be done regardless of how painful it might be. Of how much it would fuck me up.
Damn it.
Pressing my forehead to the door, my hand curled in fist on the cool surface, I sighed. “I miss you, Vida. I miss you so fucking much, it hurts. But I won’t keep bothering you or harassing you. I only came here tonight because I wanted you to see I was serious, not that it matters now anyway.”
It was a struggle to get the next bit out but on a deep breath, I forced myself through it.
“I hope you know that in the short time we were together, you lit up my life in ways that, up until now, only Mila had the ability to do. You showed me it was possible to be happy with one person again, that not all women are like Calla. I don’t know that I’ll ever find someone like you…but I do know I’ll never forget you.”
I’ll never, ever forget you, I thought as I pushed myself away from the door and darted down the stairs with a heavy heart. Said heavy heart was completely split in two mangled pieces by the time I slid into the LC and started up the engine. This was over. It was really over this time and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Fucking bullshit tears sprung to my eyes, their unwanted presence filling with me instant rage over my emotions. I slammed my fist down the steering wheel a few times before thrusting myself back into the seat one, two, three times. I’d have kept at it, too, if it wasn’t for my phone blaring in my pocket.
Hoping it might be Vida, I fished it out with a quickness, nearly fumbling it onto the floor in my haste. But the screen didn’t reveal the name I wanted to see. Of course not, because you know, that’d be too good to be fucking true.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Calla said softly. “You got a minute?”
“Yeah.” I replied testily.
“I, um, I realize this is extremely last minute, again, and I’m not sure what your schedule looks like, but…would Mila be able to spend the night with you next weekend?”
Not was I was expecting, but okay…
“I’m off next weekend so yeah, that’s fine.”
She let out a deep breath. “Oh, Jesus, thank God. Thank you, Jagger, seriously.”
“You act like I’d say no.”
“I know… I guess I was just worried because it’s so last minute and I mean, up until recently, you and I weren’t exactly on civil terms.”
“It’s not last minute. You’re giving me a head’s up a week in advance, which I appreciate by the way. And even if I did have to work, had you really needed her to stay with me, I’d take the time off,” I countered, putting the car into park. “And for the record, I much prefer things this way. I know we didn’t work out, Calla, but I don’t think that means we need to hate each other. If anything, I think we need to show Mila we can be friends.”
“I agree, to all of it,” she murmured.
At least one thing in my life seemed to headed in the right direction, right?
10
“Jag?” That was Gio as he poked his dark head into the dressing room the following night.
Taking another sip of my Red Bull, I tipped my chin from the couch not so far away in response, prompting him to step inside. He shut the door behind himself, drowning out the blaring sounds of Pretty Ricky from one of Dare’s routines.
“Sinclair needs your help in VIP. There’s like six of them in there,” he said, looking extremely fucking uncomfortable considering he knew what my answer would be.
“Seriously?” I asked and he nodded thoughtfully.
Damn it.
After Vida…I couldn’t do it.
I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to because now I understood—in great fucking detail—why Betty didn’t want us fucking in there. Not only was this place not licensed for that, it could also make shit very complicated should we decide to get involved with a client. Still, we did, and up until now it’d been easy breezy for all of us.
All good things must come to an end though.
So while I was barely fighting the aftershocks of such chaos, the boys covered for me on the regular, even if they didn’t know why. Betty hadn’t noticed but I knew it was only a matter of time before she did. I’m honestly surprised she hadn’t already. That woman—as batshit crazy as she was—was typically so in tune with everyone and everything. And when she found out, she might fire me for real this time.
I couldn’t afford that.
With a begrudging groan, I shot up to my feet and tossed my can into the trash, following Gio out of the room. He glanced over at me as we fell into step and clapped me on the shoulder, a thoughtful smile hitching one corner of his mouth.
“I’d do it but he says they keep asking for you.”
That was his explanation and I accepted it because honestly, it wasn’t his fault. These chicks might’ve been here to see us, but they called the shots in VIP. They asked, we delivered, and if they were asking for me to join in, Sinclair was going to make sure my ass came into that room, whether they had to drag me in there or not.
Stepping out from the behind the curtain, we waded through the slight mayhem of the main room. It was packed but my vision was a dark tunnel leading to VIP. I brushed past any and every hand reaching out for me, ignored the sounds of my name being
called. I just wanted to get this over with. The faster, the fucking better.
At the mouth of the hallway, Gio and I fist bumped before heading our separate ways. Just being in this corridor held memories I didn’t want to think about. But I pushed them aside and curled a hand around the knob, throwing the door open. I expected to see Sin huddled around six rowdy women.
What I found awaiting me was anything but.
“Vida,” I breathed out.
Idly, I heard the door shut behind me as I stood there, motionless, shocked to absolute shit. My feet rooted to the floor beneath me as I took her in. I couldn’t even possibly tell you what she was wearing because I couldn’t believe this was really happening.
Was this some kind of fucked up nightmare I was about to wake up from any minute now?
“Hi.” She smiled softly, running a hand through her hair.
“What are you doing here?” I asked in a rush, expecting to blink her away any moment now.
“To see you.”
“Why?”
“Because I miss you,” I thought I saw her mouth, her voice so hushed I would’ve missed it had I not been watching her.
“What did you just say?”
“I…miss you.”
There was no mistaking it that time. She missed me. She missed me and I didn’t know what the fuck to do. Was I supposed to just believe her? Was I supposed to go to her, and kiss, and make up, and fucking forget with shitstorm had ever happened?
“Don’t play, girl. Are you serious?” My chest heaved in anticipation.
“Very,” she admitted, wringing her fingers together. “More so than I realized I would when I let you walk away.”
That was it.
That’s all I needed.
I was on the couch, pulling her into my lap before I could convince myself otherwise. And as instantaneous as ever, that fire that burned only in her presence was there, sparking my blood anew.
Snaking an arm around her waist, I thrust a hand into her hair and pulled her close. “Jesus Christ, Vida, you had me out of my right mind.”
“I know, I’m so sorry,” she agreed.
“Do you though? Do you really? I was a mess, woman, all because of you. What have you done to me?”
“Whatever you did to me,” she answered, just as she did the last time I’d asked her that. “I was miserable too, ya know?”
She was?
“So why do this? Why? I could’ve done without going insane.”
“Blame my pride.” She shrugged. “I’m stubborn and hard-headed, set in my ways. I can hold a grudge forever and when I’m angry, I just want to stay angry. It’s easier than feeling hurt, so I kept telling myself I was mad at you even though I wasn’t mad at anyone but myself for doing this to us. Your messages broke me, day in and day out, your voicemails too. All I wanted to do was call you back and tell you everything was okay, that we were okay, but by that point I’d let it go on so long, I figured it’d be better for both of us if I just left it be.”
“What changed your mind,” was flying out of my mouth as I searched the depth of those green orbs.
“You coming to my house last night. I know it’s not what you said, but I couldn’t help but feel like it was more than likely the last time I’d ever hear from you, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let you disappear forever. My heart wouldn’t let me.”
By this point, her arms were around my neck, the tip of her nose brushing against mine. I could feel her lips begging me to claim them, and I was going to, right after I clarified one tiny detail…
“You’re not gonna run off this time, are you? ‘Cause it’ll kill me. I can’t go through that again,” I confessed, with conviction I might add, because fuck if I didn’t make it clear that I was crazy about her.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” she assured me, and I believed her. “It took you walking away from my door for me to realize that I’m never going to find this with anyone else. This is what you read about in books, it’s what you see on TV and in the movies. I’m not letting it go. As crazy-fast as this is, I wanna do crazy-fast with you, Jagger.”
I grinned. “Well, don’t get used to it, cause we’re about to slow the tempo down, baby. I wanna savor this, you, us.”
And savor us I did—everyday, without question, without borders.
Vida’s eyes.
Vida’s lips.
Vida’s tight little body that was made for me.
Vida’s fucking everything.
Mine. For real this time.
#forever
About Dee
Dee Garcia is a voracious fan of romance novels and a long-time lover of the written word. Her mission is to craft unique, compelling stories that will give her readers a place to briefly escape the trials and tribulations of everyday reality. With headstrong heroines who don't need a man to stand on their own two feet, Dee hopes to leave her mark in the Indie world, one plot twist at a time.
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Want to read more by Dee?
The Bloodshed Duet
I Am Lioness (Book 1)
Hear Me Roar (Book 2)
The Scarsi Family Series
X-394 (Book 1)
Copyright 2017 © Derek Adam
All Rights Reserved
1
I rolled over on the couch, squinting at the light from the TV bathing the room. It was stuck on that “are you still watching?” notification shit.
No, I’m not still watching, but fuck you for deciding for me and pausing shit. And thanks for raising the rates again. Sitting up on the couch I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to wipe the fog away. It barely helped. It certainly didn’t do anything for the feeling of fuzzy socks all over my teeth and tongue.
I swiped the remote from the glass top coffee table and punched the screen off, sending the room into near darkness. So, it was night time, or early morning before sunup. The living room of the apartment was barely lit by a street lamp outside, just barely. I didn’t get much light up here on the second floor. It was quiet though, so that meant it was after 11. The shop down stairs was closed.
Fucking crazy how a little oriental gift shop can generate so much damn noise during the day. I never noticed when I was working long shifts at the station. I was never home during the day.
Now I’m home all the fucking time and I have to listen to their chatter through the floor, all day long, non-stop. At least it was quiet now. Leaning a bit I fished my phone from the leg pocket of my cargo pants. God knows how long I’d been out, or what day it was. I stopped paying attention.
Clicking the screen on it was just before midnight. Night time then.
I was fixated on the screen as some images flashed in my mind. Seeing him try to stop me. Thinking I could reach her. My fingers dug into my eyes to crush the thoughts and my phone vibrated in my hand. Squinting at the screen with one eye it was another bill collector.
Wasn’t there some law against calling after eight or some shit?
“Not today, Satan.” I rejected the call and added it to the block list. Not that it did any good. They would just rotate to a new number and call me a dozen more times tomorrow. I’d rather they just come and take the furniture at this point. It was cheap rental shit anyhow.
I chucked the phone to the tabletop, letting it rattle and bounce off the glass. Part of me hoped it would break, or crack, or chip. Then they could just come take their broken shit. I picked up the beer bottle in front of me to take a drink but it was empty. Grimacing I set it down and reached for another.<
br />
The same. There were a half dozen empties sitting there, all bone dry. I didn’t bother counting the ones on the floor, the bathroom, tables, and everywhere else.
Wasn’t any point.
I stood to grab a fresh one from the kitchen when my body groaned and resisted. I had recovered from the accident but not really. My body still argued when I sat too long. My right shoulder and lower back felt like they were deadlocked in a tug of war and I had to twist and bend, gritting my teeth as I bent down slowly to stretch the muscles out. I could feel muscles tug and my spine pop. Every time. It was always the same.
It wasn’t likely to get better either. The body doesn’t recover well from having a building drop on top of you. Each step toward the kitchen took extra effort as I rolled my shoulders and groped at my bare ribs. I only needed a little relief, something to get me back to sleep. I squinted again into the light of the fridge as it opened, like a car coming at me with its high beams on.
Of course it was empty. And not empty like there was nothing I was in the mood for, or empty like there were some bottles of shit and a takeout container or two.
It was fucking empty.
That reminded me of why I went to sleep in the first place. I drained the last beer with a handful of over the counter meds to go to sleep and try to forget that the fridge was empty… among other things. I wandered to the edge of the dining room and stood there, staring at nothing. I left the fridge door open behind me, illuminating the room. There was a long mirror right across from me, next to the door. All the hooks were empty.
They used to hold my gear, and my jump bag, and my pride.
Now there wasn’t shit.
I stared at myself in the mirror. My cargo pants were wrinkled and hanging off my waist a bit more than they used to. I probably cut a few pounds. My short hair was a mess but it looked fine, I suppose. Like the whole lazy haircut shit those metrosexual guys are sporting in GQ. The cropped and buzzed sides and back of my hair made it look intentional. It wasn’t. I just hadn’t done anything with my hair in days.
