Then, of course, you had the owners themselves.
King Henry Price and Tyson Bonnie.
They were never on the floor and would only come outside for a conversation if Prunella buzzed them. Always inside a closed off backroom, busy all day and much of the night too. Detective Ribera had also been allowed backdoors, a personal tour by the owners to assure her nothing illegal was afoot.
Many had been sure she would find explosives or narcotics or something nefarious.
Yet she found only a small office and a slightly larger room loaded with computers. Tyson Bonnie was quick to hand her a card for his cyber-security business and then off she was sent, empty-handed and frustrated.
King Henry’s Nerd Nirvana.
Something was wrong with that store.
[CLICK]
It happened on Valentine’s Day.
I’d blame Fate for the most thorough buggering of my life, but this convergent disaster was all down to mortal choices. Strings pulling on other strings. People choosing how and what to cut all the way on up the chain of tangled puppets and oiled cogs.
Mortal choice. Mostly mortal choice. Also another of Ceinwyn Dale’s tests to see which way her favorites would jump if given enough of a push off the cliff.
Valentine’s Day.
Her birthday was the day before, hence the obvious name Ronnie Ward had bestowed on the poor thing. Christmas was the same, December 24th. Let’s hope there ain’t no late 40s surprises in store for the world. Halloween Ward or Easter Ward, or especially Labor Day Ward might just be a bit too much absurdity for even me to handle.
It was Val’s birthday. We became a couple just after mine, she spent Thanksgiving with her family and the holidays chasing after some kid in South Africa of all places, so it was the first bit of real romance I had to try to produce as a boyfriend.
Never one of my strong points I don’t think. Unless you counted stolen magazines for Sally as romantic. Or cooking dinner for Eva. Or motorboating Naomi . . .
Yup, I’m really bad at this shit.
I chose a few days on the beach as my battle arena. Cayucos. Pocket told me about the town. Nice little retreat town that don’t have the crowds like Pismo or Santa Cruz, or the annoying ass rich people like Monterey. Just nice and quiet and relaxing. Bit cold and a bit foggy in the morning, but compared against a Fresno winter it was downright chipper.
Whole thing was a surprise.
She came into Fresno on the 12th, late at night. She looked tired, unusually tired for Val. She shared that with Ceinwyn, that force of nature vibe of a mancer woman kicking the world’s ass for trying to hold her down, for daring to have preconceptions about her gender and institutional glass ceilings. Force of nature. Burn that glass ceiling to a liquid and fly right on by.
But that night she looked tired. Said it was just the last recruit she was after, tough run after a kid in Ukraine that the St. Petersburg Worker’s Council of United Elementalism didn’t want to give up no matter what the kid’s choice in the matter was. She spent the night telling me how they’d snuck the kid to an airport, all the bribes paid out and the close calls with her Worker’s Council counterparts.
I made her dinner—curry kebabs. We watched a movie from my collection that had the vast variety of either Marvel or DC movies—Avengers: Infinity War: Part 1: Revenge of the Colons. We went to bed. Just some cuddling and spooning, no sex.
Not my usual, but Val looked exhausted and I’m a surprisingly caring boyfriend when I love a woman. Not that she knew it. Not that I told her. Keep that foul mouth shut. Don’t think it would have changed anything. Just would’ve made it harder. Not by then. If I told her when I first knew . . . maybe. But not by then. Some words can come too late to help, no matter how powerful.
For as long as we’d been playing the weekend-every-couple-weeks game—almost eight months now—our time together wasn’t that massive when all tallied up on an accountant’s ledger. Few weeks really. We still learned things about each other, still picked up the little details only people in a relationship or living together can. Me . . . I thought Val was just exhausted. We had our Asylum time together to call upon too. I can remember her nervous for tests. I can remember her giddy with excitement over Winter War plans and sullen over rainy days, in a laughing fit when her favorite movies came over the television, even her casual easy-going empathy when a friend was hurting.
But I’d never seen this emotion. Never seen Val feel . . . melancholy. Melancholy . . . such a sad word should never sound so pretty.
Took it all for exhaustion.
Was wrong.
Very wrong.
The next morning came and I drove her to Cayucos like planned. She seemed to perk up. Had us a great day at the beach. Had us a nice romantic dinner by the sea. Finally some good ol’ passionate sex, that I imagine had the couple next door most annoyed about how hard that headboard hit the wall . . . or that the headboard seemed to be hitting to the tune of Danger Zone.
Whole day that felt good.
That felt blissful.
I’ve talked about that trap before.
But all my worries: Ceinwyn, Paine, Annie B, the Divine Court . . . they all felt far away.
Wasn’t no one around to hurt me.
Just me and Val.
Val’s the person I trust most in the world.
Boomworm.
That’s why it hit me so hard. I mean, it would’ve hit me regardless . . . but so sudden, just when I thought . . . don’t know what I thought.
Whatever I thought, it was all over.
I woke up the next day to see her frowning down at me. “Whasa maer?” I murmured sleepily.
“We have to break up,” she said. Her words were slow, careful, scared even.
I blinked my eyes farther awake. Every piece of spare emotion I’d had for the last eight months gathered in my chest, feeling like this great big boulder that even geo-anima couldn’t move. “What?”
Her eyes-without-irises flicked to the ceiling. Didn’t help the psychological horror of the moment that there was a tacky seashore mural up there. “We have to break up,” she repeated . . . fast, emotional, squeaky.
“What did I do?” I immediately asked, rightly assuming somehow King Henry Price broke something along the way.
Still not meeting my eyes, she smiled. A creation of that beautiful word ‘melancholy,’ but a smile. “You did nothing. You were perfect. You’ve been kind and gentle and . . . so many things that I know don’t come easy for you, King Henry.”
“But . . .” I finally scooted up on the bed, grabbed her hands. We were half naked from the night before and it really didn’t help lend the gravity that the situation desired. Rule One of Breaking Up: clothes, fucking have them on. “What . . . Val? What’s going on?”
“I’ve received a promotion,” she explained, smile snuffed out counter to the meaning of the phrase. “It’s been coming, but . . . I didn’t know if I wanted it and then I thought about putting Ceinwyn off on the idea. To stay at the Asylum and near you and Miranda and my parents, but . . . this is really important, King Henry. I can’t say ‘no.’ I can’t turn her down.”
My face spoke for me. Before I could even rebut the idea, her dark eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare say this is some evil, convoluted plan by Ceinwyn to break us up and pay you back for what you did at the Guild of Artificers.”
Anger clouded my judgment. Not an uncommon occurrence. “It is!” I growled.
“Do you have any idea how insulting that idea is to me?” Val shot back, mad herself now. “That Ceinwyn would only give me an assignment to get me away from you? Next you’ll carry on through and just tell me to quit it all and stay here for you!”
And how many guys had done just that over the years? Millions of them. Pay for my medical school, baby, then I’ll pay for yours. I make enough for both of us, so why you have to work? Or the eternal: get in the kitchen and make me some pie!
She was right. Wasn’t fair to think all that or as
k all that. King Henry Price will happily objectify a fine-looking specimen of the female sex, but he’s never been high on ordering them around. When I try to they papercut my balls or eat my blood or light my ass on fire.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m an asshole to think it’s about me and of course the promotion is based on merit.”
“Thank you,” Val whispered, fidgeting.
Awkward breakup, half-naked silence.
“But she’s told me herself that she doesn’t like us together,” I sullenly added eventually.
“She didn’t like Russell Quilt with Audrey Foster either and now they have two kids,” Val reminded me sharply. “Ceinwyn’s not omnipotent. How many times have I told you that in the last three months while you were ranting about some unfortunate happenstance with your business?”
It was my turn to get pissy as our fight stopped being about its original topic, as fights have a way of doing. “We ain’t having this discussion again, not when you’re trying to break up with me.”
“I am breaking up with you,” Val pointed out. “There’s no try in this one.”
Angry breakup, half-naked silence.
“Why?” I said. “Okay, promotion. We’ll make it work, just like we made my business uptick the last few months work.”
Her smile reappeared, again melancholy. “I’m the Assistant Director of International Recruiting. At the London office . . . London, England. The one across the Atlantic. Half a day away from Fresno. On airplanes. Which you don’t like.”
“Oh,” was my only response.
Depressed breakup, half-naked silence.
Her hands reached up to cup my face, her thumb absently tracing the scar on my cheek. “I’m not dumping you; I’m not saying you were horrible. I’ll miss our weekends . . . I . . . this wasn’t easy to agree to, King Henry. You . . . we work.”
“What if I visit every—” I tried.
But she kept on talking over me, bubbling words to get them out quickly before emotions shut the both of us up once again. “It’s important. What Boleyn said and then what Ceinwyn’s told me since. It’s important, King Henry. The politics, the children, all of it. Maybe as important as what you’re doing.”
“I could move—” I tried again, really willing to go that far to keep her with me.
“I have to do this,” Val said, eyes-without-irises rimmed with tears, “and you have to do what you’re doing. We can’t be selfish, we can’t . . . I thought about being selfish, I did. But that’s not me. I can’t settle while people need me and Ceinwyn needs me. The Lady is getting old and whoever’s the next Dean could decide the next century of the Asylum’s direction. It’s Ceinwyn or Root and you know what those outcomes represent.”
“Can’t see much difference really,” I grumbled.
“Between the woman who has loved you and cared for you and mentored you for a decade and the man who tried to kill you?” Val scolded me.
“Not. Having. This. Conversation. Again,” I gritted out of my teeth.
We stared at each other.
I barely kept it together.
So did Val.
“You can’t . . .” I whispered. “I can’t lose you like this.”
“It’s not forever,” she said.
“We could try phone calls and—”
But she cut me off by putting a finger on my lips. “That’s selfish of me in a different way.”
Tell her. Tell her you love her. Last desperate shot, you fucktard.
But what if it sounds like a lie? What if it sounds like I’m trying to trap her? What if it does work?
“You’re breaking up with me and you’re moving to London,” I recapped.
She nodded.
“I did nothing wrong . . . we work together, but still . . .”
“It’s not forever,” she repeated.
“You’re just not dumping me and letting me go back to being the Foul Mouth? What do you think will happen, Val? Think I’m gonna just sit around? You know me. You know how I deal with us breaking up and now it’s really a breakup, not no stupid misunderstanding thanks to Isabel Fucking Soto. I’m only good because—”
Again her finger stopped the words. “You’re not only good because of my influence. You’re good because you’re brave enough to see the world, realize how broken it is, and still want to fix it. You’ll still be good, even if I’m in London—instead of around to keep you monogamous, well-behaved, and slightly civilized.”
She threw her arms around me.
Desolated breakup, half-naked silence . . . broken only by sobs.
“We still have today,” she eventually whispered into my shoulder. “Why don’t we see how many memories we can make?”
There went the star out of my life.
Winked out.
Off to London, where she could brighten the night sky even more. Kind enough to free me of obligation, to not string me down in her absence.
But I wanted that string . . .
It’s the only one I wanted . . .
[CLICK]
Predictably, I drank myself stupid for the next three days in a row.
I think it was three days.
Might have been four.
Or five.
That was some brutal shit for Val to pull on a naturally distrustful person like me, Mr. Damaged-Beyond-All-Repair. I understand her side of it. I do. Even then, even in the fume of all that booze, I understood it. I just couldn’t deal with accepting it so close to that much pain. Like breaking some kid’s arm and then telling him to ace his SATs. I couldn’t deal with the morality of the situation until I had myself a nice solid splint on my arm.
Coming home to Fresno, Val getting in her car and taking off, giving me that goodbye wave for the last time in . . . I didn’t know. Maybe forever. Into my house I went, sitting down at my dining room table I almost never used. I looked around the room. Forget the table, I barely used the house. I slept at the shop most of the time and after that I crashed in T-Bone’s spare bed after our business meetings. Only time I used the house was when Val was around.
Let me pretend.
Awesome girlfriend.
House of my own.
Just a normal guy.
I looked over the house, at the walls, at the television, at the refrigerator. I felt like a stranger in a strange land. Removed. Decided I had to put on that splint. Had a few options on how to do it. I could either beat some douchebag’s face in, grunt and hump myself stupid, tear the house to the ground metal piece by metal piece, or drink . . . a lot.
So I drank.
Given my family’s problems with alcoholism, it was probably the most dangerous path to take. But I’d never shown a sign of dependency on the booze before, so guess I got lucky with that one defect. Just got anger and trust issues in spades.
Lucky me.
Dangerous, yes, but it wasn’t as destructive as the other choices. Couple of them would’ve landed my ass in jail, Detective Ribera getting another chat with me to try to figure out my secret. As for the pussy, well . . . accepting Val’s humanitarian freedom felt like surrender.
So I drank.
Forget a broken arm, I felt like I was missing a limb all of a sudden. For almost eight months my life had been measured by Valentine Ward, split up into time when I was with her and time when I wanted to be with her again. Now there was nothing.
Just a big huge Gap in my life.
Again.
Not in my mom’s anima-devoid, cancer-ridden chest, but in my future.
No Val.
Off in England.
Doing Recruiter stuff.
Doing . . . stuff . . . without me.
Jealous? Damn right I was jealous, especially by my second drink. One thing that pissed me off about our breakup was how little jealousy she showed about it all. Great to be with a woman who takes the high road when you’re with her, but not when she’s throwing you away. Setting me free. Being fair.
Why couldn’t you be jealous? Be selfish? I would
’ve tried. I would’ve waited for you to come back . . . would’ve screwed it all up, but I would’ve tried.
That didn’t infuriate her? That I could be with someone else right this moment? It infuriated me. Idea of Val with another guy . . . images of Heinrich Fucking Von Fucking Welf flying into London on his family jet to visit with his old classmate. And all them English lads with them accents. I saw the way she sized up Nigel Rowland at the Asylum!
It would be okay if she let me screw it up. No way I would’ve lasted with her in London for months or years or whatever. I’d have broken it, like usual. Could’ve got over that. Just the way I am. Just the way the world is.
King Henry Price breaks things.
Simple really.
But this time it was Valentine Ward who broke us.
Who broke me.
I wasn’t the least bit jealous when we were together. I knew Val. She wouldn’t do that to a person. I trusted her. Trusted her as I trusted no one else. Not even Ceinwyn. These people, I thought at some point in that alcohol haze, decade to learn how to trust them even a little and they just break me.
Wasn’t a rational thought.
Wasn’t a rational jealousy either.
But then . . . wasn’t a rational moment in my life.
Was an emotional moment in my life.
Like Mom dying or . . . yeah, that was pretty much it.
Comparing breaking up with a woman to your mom dying and you couldn’t even say you loved her? How much you have to love a woman for those two events to have any equality, Price?
I threw up.
More than once.
Then I drank some more.
Three or four or . . . maybe five days.
Can’t be sure.
All a blur.
Next day, I thought I’d finally be an asshole about it all. Val wanted to ‘free’ me and be ‘fair’? Fine. I’d go find some college girl to have copious amounts of unsafe, emotion-free sex with. Just like before Val. Maybe I was trying to prove our relationship hadn’t affected me. So I went out to a club, all pissed at the world, ready to grunt and hump brains out of their skulls!
The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5) Page 2
