by Ashley Love
And we weren’t in a hurry now to get back to the hotel. Only a few hours of the night were even left for sleep.
“Leala, I’m going to the room.” I barely heard Sam up ahead of us as she and Adam disappeared through the sliding glass doors. Lex and I stopped under the covered front drive of the hotel, my eyes still fixed on the front doors.
“You can come to my room…if you want.” He dropped my hand nervously and I snapped my head around to look at him, a slight panic setting into my gut.
“Uh…” I started nervously and didn’t really know how to finish. I had been expecting this all week, every single night after we’d closed down the bar and stumbled back to this same front drive, I’d been expecting him to ask. I always had some witty comeback ready on my tipsy tongue, but he’d always just disappeared inside alone, not even turning to give me a second look. But shit, I’d kissed him out on the beach not even two hours ago. I should’ve known it was coming tonight. “Lex, I…”
“That’s not what I mean,” he finally said, a chuckle in his voice at my failed attempt to address my fears in what he’d asked me. “It just looks like you’re not gonna be alone in your room tonight.” He gestured back to the front doors with his head and it finally sank in. When Sam said she was going to the room, she meant with Adam. Great.
“Oh. Right,” I said nervously, feeling a flush creep up my neck. In a way, I was kind of stuck.
“So…?” he said slowly, giving me a bit of an imploring look but trying not to push. Trying not to, but I knew he wanted me to come up. Hell, I wanted to come up, but what could happen in that room…I didn’t know if I was ready for that. While part of him seemed safe, there was that other part that seemed dangerous, wild even, and I’d never experienced anything like that before. I wasn’t about to make an ass of myself.
But something told me it wasn’t about sex, that night, me going up to his room. “Okay.”
We took the elevator up to the third floor. It was a little awkward, standing against opposite walls of the elevator, just looking at each other, looking away, smiling. When the doors slid open he let me step out first, his hand coming up against my lower back when we stepped into the narrow hall, his chair still tucked awkwardly under his other arm.
“Right there, on the left.”
I stopped at the next door when I heard him. His hand came away from my back to dig in his pocket, pulling out the key and sliding it easily into the door. The lock clicked and he opened it, stepping into the room before me and I followed him, nerves still jumping in my stomach.
“You’re staying by yourself?” I asked, a little stutter in my voice as I looked around and realized he was in a single room, one desk, one bed…just him. Now, just us.
“I was a last minute add-on. Besides, I’m a big boy, I don’t need a roommate.” He grinned at me playfully over his shoulder as he leaned the folded chair against the wall and slipped his sneakers from his feet, leaving them against the wall as well. He fell back on the bed with a sigh, removing his hat, and I stayed by the door, watching him, unsure exactly what to do, unsure exactly what we were about to do.
“You can come sit. It’s cool, see…I’m gonna stay all the way over here,” he said after a minute. He slid over to the edge of the bed and eyed the space next to him before looking at me again sort of hopefully, which was cute if not a little endearing.
It’s not that I was afraid of him. More like afraid of what I would do to him, sprawled out on the bed, socked feet propped up against the edge of the mattress, hands folded across his stomach. He was being quiet now, and even a little shy, but he was still that same sexy guy that I’d expected to drag me up to this very room long before tonight.
“I’m not afraid of you.” I fixed my hands on my hips as I came over to the foot of the bed and he looked down his body at me, peering around his steepled knees with a lazy grin.
“Yeah, I’m still trying to figure that one out.” His smile pulled into a barely-there smirk as I slowly crawled onto the bed. He probably thought I couldn’t tell the difference, but I could. “I just figured…a girl like you…guy like me…probably wouldn’t—”
“A guy like you?” I cut him off, something resembling challenge in my voice. “What, are you some serial killer rapist or something? Is this the part where you kill me?”
“No.” He laughed, his eyes flitting to me as he watched me lay down on my stomach. “It’s just…”
“What?” I cut him off again, pulling my elbows up under me, a little confidence building in my behavior. Apparently it was my mission to push him, if nothing else.
He bristled slightly and his eyes fixed back on the ceiling. “Nothing…conversation for another time,” he sighed.
I let my eyes rove over him as we layed there in the thick silence, waiting for the other to speak. His backwards ballcap had been discarded to the nightstand, and I could see a few small jagged scars etched randomly into his closely shaved hair. I was sure a guy like him had a lot of scars, and a lot of stories. I let my eyes wander over the skin of his neck, the patterns of his tattoos, a few barely visible through his thin white T-shirt. He was like nothing I’d ever seen, but laying there, right then, he didn’t feel any different than any of the other guys I’d grown up with. It felt good, being with him, better, even, because he wasn’t judging me. Well, of course he was judging me, but probably only thinking how completely different we were from each other.
“You think you’re some big badass guy and I’m this innocent little girl, and we could never be cool because I couldn’t hang with your crew and shit, and you probably look terrible in a polo shirt,” I spoke suddenly before I could stop myself, turning onto my side, head propped in my hand, settling in comfortably next to him, and I lowered my voice in confidence, “but if I thought you were gonna hurt me, I would’ve told you no down there.”
His head lolled over toward me, his blue eyes dulled with exhaustion, and he licked his lips leisurely before asking me, “How do you know I wouldn’t?”
“I just know,” was the only explanation I could offer. And it was true…I just knew.
He nodded, and we laid there, looking at each other. He wasn’t thinking that I wasn’t enough, or thinking he knew what I should do with my life. He wasn’t that kind of guy. He let me do what I pleased, and if we happened to cross paths, so be it, he just let it come as it would. He was free, and he let me be just that as well. I liked him. I liked him a lot.
“So…how many girlfriends do you have back in L.A. who don’t know you’re down here?” I smiled and it made him smile.
“None. You?”
“No girlfriends.” I raised an eyebrow at him and his smile gave way to a laugh. “But no boyfriends either.”
“Uh oh, I know what that means,” he taunted, raising his arms to rest his hands behind his head and my cheeks reddened slightly. I didn’t realize that I’d let my voice give it away…that I’d been hurt.
“Yeah, well, you know…” I trailed, picking at the comforter to distract my thoughts, but they went back to Tyler. I tried to stop them.
“Don’t tell me you wanted to be one of those people who meets someone in high school and grows up and marries them and has a buncha kids and shit.”
The way he said it made it sound so stupid, but if you’d asked me a month ago I’d have said I could absolutely see myself with Tyler. But laying there with Lex it made me sick to think that I wanted that for myself. Where was my freedom? Where was my wild adolescence? I was sick of having my life planned out, and this Lex guy made that feeling stronger everytime I was with him.
“Well, obviously, I’m not gonna be one of those people now,” I spat, my eyes still not meeting his.
“C’mon...I didn’t mean it like that.” He reached across his chest to cover my hand with his, and I looked down at them laying against the comforter, before I looked up at him again. “For real, it sucks that you’re all heartbroken and shit, whatever. But if you wer
e supposed to be with the guy, things would’ve worked out. You know…all part of that big plan and shit.”
“Wow. Who wouldve thought Mr. Tough Guy is a romantic at heart.” I smirked, giving his hand a playful push but he held on to mine, tugging me a little closer.
“Am not. I'm just saying, you're all bummed about your ex...but there's other people out there and you've got your whole life to figure that crap out.”
“Oh, so now it’s crap?” I giggled as he pulled my arm across his body, pressing my chest to his chest, bringing our faces closer, our mouths closer, our smiles, eyes, breaths closer.
He smirked up at me cockily. “Yeah, it’s crap.”
I shook my head at him. “You think you’re so tough.”
“I am. I gotta be,” he said, something in his eyes and his voice telling me that he was hiding something, something big. Something had happened to him. Maybe he’d been hurt, just like me, and there we were, two broken kids trying to find something in each other, if only for that night.
I kissed him and there was something electric about it, laying there with him, against him, his hands not moving to work under my clothes or slip them off. He just laid there, letting me rest against him, one hand behind his head, the fingers of his other curling around and between mine, holding my hand tighter, keeping us together, keeping us close as his mouth kissed mine. And we laid there, broken and trying to heal ourselves, trying to heal each other.
“Someday you’re gonna meet somebody that’s not a fucking loser and it’s gonna work out,” he finally said when we pulled apart, looking at each other through heavy eyes, licking our lips, tasting each other on them with small knowing smiles.
“And if not?”
“Then you fail at life.” He kept a straight face for as long as he could before it cracked into a smile, a laugh suddenly pushing past his lips.
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes, laughing with him.
“I’m kidding. Don’t sweat it. Who knows, maybe you’ll get back with him.”
“Doubt it.” I shrugged, pushing back slightly and laying next to him.
His eyes followed me curiously. “Hurt you that bad?”
“Things just…didn’t work out.”
“Well, they’re gonna work out…with somebody. Even if it’s not perfect, somebody’s gonna be worth it.”
28
“Where’d you go?” Lex asks as soon as I walk in the door.
All of my progress for the day seems to melt away as I remember what he did, what he brought into this house, right here in my living room. Sometimes I wonder how I manage to forgive him, to not hate him, as Evan put it. I say nothing, just shrug my coat off and lay it on the back of the armchair in the living room.
“Where’d you go?”
“Out,” I snap, throwing my purse down onto the chair’s cushion. I’m in no mood for him to be a broken record right now.
“Where?” He regards me curiously as I storm into the kitchen. Can’t he just give me a minute to fucking breathe?
“If I wanted you to know I would’ve told you just now, ya think?” I ask sarcastically, harshly, over the bar, and he shrinks back, turning back to the TV. I open the empty dishwasher and begin to load it noisily, letting my frustration manifest in the task. Damn you, cups and plates.
“Hey…Fight Club is on…you wanna watch?” I hear him ask, but I’m still in no mood to speak. Call me shallow but I get a sick pleasure in it, something about this silence thing passes off to me as the first steps to standing up to him for a change. “Leala?” he calls out, making sure I heard him. I still don’t answer. “Fine. Just fuck it.”
“What is it?!” I finally snap again, slamming my palms down onto the counter top.
“Look, I know you don’t wanna talk to me and shit, but you’re the one walking around here being fucking mad. I’m ready to bury the hatchet and you’re walking around playing the fucking quiet game,” he replies defensively, whipping around to face me. He raises his voice as he continues, “I’m sitting right fucking here and you won’t even talk to me! If you want me to leave, just tell me, Leala!” He throws his hands up and his voice echoes loudly in the room and he lets it linger, the tension between us too thick for the proverbial knife. He finally sighs, a little defeated when I still say nothing, not even letting his words rile me into a response, which I’m sure he’d been hoping for. “Just…tell me…and I’ll go.” He turns back to the TV and mutters, “And I guess you can just come see my ass in prison when you’re done playing this fucking game.”
Fuck that. Fuck that and fuck him for turning this around on me. Bringing up prison? How juvenile, what a fucking low blow. I march out of the kitchen before he can see the tears in my eyes. I won’t even give him the satisfaction.
“Hey!” He jumps up suddenly before I can reach the hallway, and grabs me by the arm. I struggle against him, a strangled sound coming from my throat and I just want to scream at him but I can’t, I won’t let myself. He just grips me tighter until I give in, both of my elbows in his grasp, my hands up in defense and my head turned away, still hiding those fucking tears.
“Hey…I shouldn’t have said that…” His voice is softer now. “I didn’t mean it, I just…” He sighs, trying to find the words and I don’t want him to say them, I don’t want this to come out right because I think it might just be easier to be angry and just let him go away tomorrow. Please don’t say the right thing.
“I know I fucked up. I know that, okay? But I just…have so much other shit on my mind, and…this is the last thing I wanna do tonight…fight with you.” He drops my elbows and I don’t run away from him, but I don’t look at him yet. I just wait. I wait and I hear him out because if this is as close to an apology as I’m going to get out of him I at least want to hear it once in my lifetime before he’s gone for good. My tears pool deeper at the thought.
“I don’t want it to end like this…us not talking, and…I just don’t want it to be like that.” His voice is pleading, begging me, and when I look at him finally his eyes are too. He wants to make it right, but part of me knows it’s too little too late. Maybe all of this is. It takes everything in me to not break down and cling to him, to just tell him that it’s okay and I love him and I don’t want things to end this way either. I don’t want them to end at all.
“Say something,” he begs me after I still haven’t said a word.
But I just can’t keep telling him what he wants to hear.
“Goodnight.”
29
I’m trying to keep myself occupied with this book, anything to keep my mind from wandering to Lex sleeping on the couch in the living room, and in the morning…in the morning…
My thoughts don’t get much farther than that.
I just can’t bring myself to think about it. I know he has other options for sentencing, but after years of running the streets in L.A. and never getting what was coming to him, David Starke and the court are going to stick it to him, and he may have Robson Blair on his side with his big rehab plans, but I still doubt that’s enough to keep him out of an orange jumpsuit.
Convicted felon. The words play over and over and I’ve been staring at this same page for twenty minutes and I don’t even know what word I stopped on or what the last two chapters have been about. I just keep hearing my mother’s words from our conversation on the phone. Just consider this little affair over between the two of you.
What other option do I really have? My life can’t go on hold for this, not this time. Not for him to get out of…prison. There, I said it. Prison. Prisonprisonprison.
Fuck.
I glance at the clock. 1:26 a.m. With a defeated sigh I close my book and drop it on the nightstand and reach for the lamp.
“Hey.”
I don’t know how long he’s been standing there in the doorway but when I look up there he is, shoulder leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, feet crossed a
t the ankles. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of long red basketball shorts hanging on his hips, a wide strip of his black boxers exposed above the waistband and my stomach tightens when I see the bruises decorating his ribs and chest. They’re beginning to fade and the black under his eyes is now only a weak red. He looks exhausted…exhausted and sick and I know he hasn’t been sleeping well on that couch. Shit, he hasn’t truly slept well in years, and I know all of this court date shit running through his head can’t be helping.
We just stare at each other for a moment and I have no idea what to say because we haven’t spoken two goddamn words since the fight yesterday. Well, he’s talked, but I haven’t said much in the way of a response. I want to say something, anything, but I just can’t because I truly have no answers and because tomorrow…tomorrow…everything will be over anyway.
“I hate this,” he says, and I barely make out his words because I was lost in some other place in my mind, turning my thoughts over and over. His voice is sad and it hurts me, it hurts me to think I’ve hurt him. But I can’t just run to him and let everything be okay when I know he’s rarely given me the same courtesy, to know that what he’s done or said has really, really more than I would ever admit to him, hurt me. He has to realize that he’s been wrong.
And more than anything he has to want to make it right.
“Are you gonna talk to me?” he speaks again because I’ve just been sitting here staring at him, thinking. I just…I can’t keep bending to his will. This isn’t gonna be some big apology from me. In fact I don’t owe him one at all.
But he’s just trying so damn hard, and I…I should at least talk to him.
I nod wordlessly before beckoning him over softly. “Come here.”
He steps into the room and a look of relief washes over him as he nears the bedside. I push the covers off my lap and sit up more, crossing my legs and tucking the blankets under my feet so he can sit atop the smoothed comforter. He folds one leg up onto the bed so that he’s facing me and lets the other dangle, his knee almost touching mine, a somber look on his face, questions in his steel blue eyes.
