He was her perfect beast, and she, his imperfect beauty…
He sat wide legged on his immense black leather living room couch listening to the Talking Heads’ Greatest Hits on repeat. The alluring scent of cigarette smoke wafted through his partially cracked window, making his nose twist with familiarity. Slowly turning towards his coffee table, he took a slow gander at his cell phone, as if a mere glance would make sense of it all…
His boss had dialed him up, congratulated him on his recovery, and jumped right into the thick of it all. They wanted him back, and they wanted him back sooner rather than later. For the first time in his career, he was scared that he may not live up to the captain’s high expectations, that he’d somehow let the guy down. The weight of his worries made him slump in his seat, unable to predict his next thought, and the one following that. He looked to the left and to the right of the place, taking note of all of the neatly labeled boxes piled sky high. Taryn and one of her girlfriends were taking care of her transition, and she appeared to be in rather high spirits that morning, for she’d received a call about an engagement she so desperately needed. He was proud of his angel, wanted her to be happy, and believed she’d excel at anything she put her crafty mind to. He talked to her once more, and then again, about her plans and aspirations.
As usual, she was vague, as if not certain where she was going—as if her deliberations were still swirling aimlessly in the air. Bullshit. The woman planned everything well in advance. Even breakfast had a damn itinerary. He knew she was not being on the up and up, keeping secrets, and though it unnerved him—they’d vowed honesty after all—he got the sense that, in some way, she didn’t want to look like a fool before him… just in case it really didn’t work out. Nevertheless, he was determined to get to the bottom of it, to get the 411 from the woman, although his immediate priority was simply to get her under the same damn roof.
Just then, his townhouse’s front door swung open, revealing a gorgeous woman donning a chocolate brown baseball cap, a cropped gold sweater, and brown yoga pants, pulled high upon her narrow waist.
“Just a few more to go,” she huffed as she grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator, out of breath and glistening with freshly drawn sweat. He nodded in her direction, forced a grin, but the attempt must’ve sucked for she reached him in seconds, concern etched upon her face.
“What’s wrong?” She took another sip of the frosty bottled water.
He looked away, out the window, his ears listening to the sounds of the passing cars and the sidewalks filled with people walking fast to arrive nowhere.
“Gotta call from Captain O’Sullivan… He wants me to come back sooner than I thought…a week earlier.”
“That’s great, Nick! You wanted to get back into the swing of things, right?”
He looked in her direction, leaned back in his seat, and briefly closed his eyes as if he could barely muster the strength to answer her right then, and possibly never.
“Yeah, you know that I do…”
She sat right beside him, lifting her hip up a bit and covering part of his leg. “Nick, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but this is what you wanted. I’d even go as far as to say that this is what you need. What is the problem?” She wrapped her arm around his own, tugging at him, bringing him closer as he continued to stare off into the distance.
“I’m afraid I’ll let them all down, Taryn.”
He sighed, hating how the words sounded coming out of his mouth. Frailty was a monster with a huge mouth that enjoyed exploiting its prey, making a mockery of all his best intentions.
“Oh, I see.” She nodded, leaned back in her seat and tucked her foot underneath herself. “Because you are a perfectionist when it comes to your job, you actually are concerned about the stigma, that people won’t think you’ve got what it takes.”
He slowly turned towards her, his brows bunched ever so slightly. The woman was picking at him… picking hard.
“That’s not what I said.”
“You didn’t have to. I’m just reading between the lines.”
He stared at the lady a good while.
“That’s not it…” He turned back away and melted into a series of daydreams, leaving her in a way, putting space between them. Those sticky, icky feelings began to creep and crawl up his spine until they surrounded his heart in preparation of taking the bastard down.
“What is it then? I don’t mind being wrong.”
He could hear the air of confidence in her voice.
Is she right?
He pondered it briefly, then threw her a glance over his shoulder. “It’s possible that you’re right,” was all he offered, catching her expression morph into a smirk.
“Look, Nick, you are just as capable, actually more so now post treatment. All of these doubts floating around in your head—you gotta push those out of the way! You can’t let all that negative shit inside of here,” she said, pointing to her temple. “Stop it. You’re beyond it. You’re over and above it. You said yourself that your boss is a tough guy, doesn’t mess around. If he is saying he wants you back,” she shrugged, her brows bunched, “then hell! Believe him!”
“You’re right.” With a sigh, he leaned back further onto the couch and crossed his arms, looking straight ahead at a black flat screen television. “You’re absolutely right.” Crossing his legs, he slid his index finger under his nose and fell upon more deliberations…
“I’ll tell you what another thing is, you know, the big thing that has me a little screwed up. I think they’ll just keep me on my beat.”
“Okay, and why is that a problem?” She gently caressed his ear, causing a tickling sensation mixed with a bit of soothing, too.
He turned towards her, his expression lazy, his heart guarded, though it beat somewhat faster.
“I want it so bad, baby… I’m pretty sure I was about to be promoted to homicide detective. That’s what I really want to do. I was on my way. I knew I’d never make it at the rate I was going though; I’d flush my chance right down the damn toilet. It takes a certain type of person to work homicide day in and day out. You’ve got families depending on you; you’ve got a D.O.A. that you can’t interview, but you better try and get justice for them, and that’s an adrenaline rush for me. I like chasing, hunting.” His eyes narrowed. “I like finding answers. I like for a mothafucker to hide, and for me to seek them out. I love that shit…I live for it. But, no matter how you cut it, I’m going to be looked at with suspicion, like, ‘Is he usin’ again? Is he getting drunk again?’ I can’t worry about that though… You’re right. I can’t control another man’s thoughts.” He shrugged as he turned away from her, only to be drawn back into her magic touch with a caress from her hand on his shoulder.
“Nick, they can think whatever they want. As my grandfather used to say, ‘I can show you better than tell you.’ I refuse to sit back and watch you stab your dream in the face.”
He looked at her and cracked a smile. A faint wisp of a laugh escaped his mouth and he had no idea where it originated from, but it felt good.
“Stab a dream in the face, huh?” He leaned over to her, gripped the back of her head, and brought her in for a kiss…
Damn, her lips taste sweet, like sugar cookies…
Reluctantly releasing her, he hooked her gaze. “Let’s go get the rest of your stuff,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Sit your ass down.” She chuckled as she stood, pulled her sweater down, and yawned. “I told you I’ve got this.”
“You don’t have shit.” He laughed as he pointed to all of the boxes. “You’re not going to fill this place with a bunch of designer clothes and girly shit. Why in hell do you have so much stuff?” He walked to his hallway closet to hang up his jacket, and prepared to help the woman regardless of her continued protests.
“You’re just jealous!” She grinned as she trailed behind him. “You have a nice place here, but it has no flair. What would you do without me?”
“Oh yeah? You are sooooo funny.” She rolled her eyes as she sauntered past him. Grabbing his keys, he stuffed them in his back pocket as he closed the door behind them.
“Where is this truck at, huh? I’m going to charge you five dollars a box, you hoarder.”
“You’ll end up taking my ass to court.” She giggled as they made their way outside to the moving truck parked right in front of the place.
“You know you aren’t supposed to be parked there; you’ll get towed. We better hurry up.” He opened the back of the thing and was relieved to see only a few more items. Reaching for what appeared to be the largest and heaviest box, he grunted as he bear hugged the thing and made his way back towards his place. “What the hell is in here, Taryn?!”
“My hopes and dreams…”
“Well, in that case, I’ll help you carry them no matter how long it takes you…”
He couldn’t help but like what she’d said, love it real tight and strong.
I can dig that… hopes and dreams should always be big and bulky, taking over every damned thing. Yeah, dream big, baby… Warrior Princess dreams, they sparkle yet cut. They are weapons of mass construction. Construct it, baby… build it, and I’ll help you… You’re going to tell me what it is you want. You’re going to tell me and we’ll build it brick by brick; we’ll build each other back up from ground zero all the way until we reach the top…
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was one of those days when odd yet familiar scents floated about in the air, taking him to a place filled with well-worn memories of yesteryear. The aroma of maple syrup wafted in the wind as he tugged at his dark green hoodie, hiding himself from the world in a strange sort of way. Taryn had finally landed a small gig after she’d already decided to switch directions. She finally admitted that she did have a firm plan, but it required a presentation of sorts, and she’d be sure to share it with him. He rolled his eyes at her stalling methods, but found it comical all the same. Funny how things turned out…
Wanting the money, she went on and conceded, did the advertisements. He was so damn proud of her that he bought her a large bouquet of red roses, yet that didn’t explain the pink bouquet he’d bought her the day before he knew… He didn’t need an excuse to spoil her; he simply loved doing it. Parking a block away to ensure he got a bit of fresh air, he made his way toward Livonia Avenue. Keeping his head a bit down, he contemplated buying a bottle of ice cold water and made a mental grocery list, when he saw someone humped over in the distance, sitting on the steps of an old, light blue row house.
He looks familiar…
He wasn’t certain if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but as his sneakers continued to smack the concrete to an uneven beat, and he gained leverage, his vision proved to be 20/20…
“Diego? Oh shit!” His mouth split into a big grin as he reached the house. “Diego! Man!”
The guy immediately looked up, stopped speaking on his cell phone, and stared him in the eye.
“Oh shit, I gotta go, man. You won’t believe who I’m looking at!” The short guy in an over-sized light brown T-shirt and slouchy jeans disconnected his call and got to his feet, standing on green and white sneakers. Nick opened the lopsided gate that squeaked as he pushed it forward and they raced towards one another, slapped hands, and held tight in a warm embrace.
“What tha hell you doing out here, man?! I ain’t seen you in like five years, man!” Diego cracked a smile, exposing several missing teeth. Nick’s smile gradually faded as he looked deep into the man’s dark, haunting eyes…
Oh no, he’s on some shit…
His heart sank down low, drowned in a pool of pity.
He exhaled, pushed past it, and kept on.
“I was just taking a walk, believe it or not. I try to get a little exercise every now and again.”
“Seems to me you’d be getting plenty of exercise chasin’ mothafuckas up and down the block.” The guy laughed heartily.
“Actually man, I’ve been outta work for a while.” He swallowed, deciding to bite the bullet and tell the guy. Hell, pride had no room here, and though he wasn’t trying to be anyone’s savior, monsters simply weren’t allowed; the least he could do is share his story. “Some shit happened… some real messed up shit.”
“Word? You get fired, man?”
“Not quite. I had a problem with alcohol and drugs.” He paused, scratched the back of his head, and continued. “I was in rehab, man. Just got out not too long ago and I start work again in a few weeks.”
“For real, man?” Diego’s eyes glistened as he observed him, no doubt making assessments and forming opinions, some of which may have been accurate, others that begged for correction. Nevertheless, it didn’t matter. He’d told the truth.
“I’m not ashamed of it, man. I just needed to get some help is all, before things got even worse.”
Diego slumped back down on the porch, almost as if the wind had been knocked out of him, as if he couldn’t afford to stand any longer. The man rolled his tongue around in his mouth as if tasting something sour. He ran his grimy hand along the side of his face, his fingernails caked with dirt. Diego was Jonathan’s little brother… the little boy they ran from, told to shoo… He used to follow Jonathan everywhere, making himself a damn pest, but he was as much a part of their clan as all the other official members.
“Diego, I want you to know that I think about Jonathan every damn day. I mean that. The shit haunted me, man. I loved him so much.” His eyes watered.
The man nodded, a sad smile on his face.
“You were his best friend, Nick. Ma would say, ‘If you can’t find Jonathan, go to Nick’s house. If you can’t find Nick, come to our house.’”
They both chuckled as he nodded in full agreement. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and rolled in the uncomfortable waves of discovery, recovery, and potential healing.
“I remember that. Uh…” He looked down, then back up again. “That you felt responsible for his death. We never blamed you, Nick,” he said, his bloodshot eyes sincere. “When I saw you breaking down at his funeral, you remember who lifted you up?”
Nick lowered his head, nodded and sniffed away a sign of weakness better known a motherfucking tear drop.
“Yeah, you, Javier, Edgar, your mother, your uncle Teyo, and Brian. You all came and got me off the floor… picked me up and hugged me.” He kept his head down as one of the fuckers got away, fell from his eye and landed on the concrete step. He sniffed once again. “I could barely look at him in that casket… It really messed me up, man…messed me up real bad.”
“When I heard you’d became a cop, Ma and everybody here was proud of you. She always said you were smart.”
He slowly lifted his head, stared at the man in confusion.
“Your mother called me a trouble maker, and I was!” He laughed sadly.
Diego nodded, slicked a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it. A swirly cluster of smolder soon framed his full face then faded away with the grayness of the day.
“She did, but she loved you like a son, man. When you stopped hanging around in the street just before it happened, Jonathan told ’er you’d changed. He said you wasn’t no fun anymore, but we knew he was still proud of you…still saw you as his best friend. We missed you. You ain’t come around as much. He said you had your head in some books, was trying to pass, to graduate. It was so strange, man,” he said. “I remember that shit like it was yesterday. I didn’t imagine you like that though, but after a while, it made sense.”
“What do you mean, it made sense?”
“Maaaan.” He smirked as he watched a car pass by then turned his attention back towards Nick. “You were smart, that’s why. I used to watch you and my brother doin’ shit, and I was so impressed by you. You were so smooth. People never saw you coming. Maybe it was because you were littl
e.”
Nick lifted his head and cracked a smile. “Yeah, I was a late bloomer…”
“Kinda short and skinny… Who tha fuck grows like six inches their senior year in high school? That was so funny, man.” He cackled.
“I know, right? I was thankful for it though…coulda ended up a runt.”
“Yeah…yeah.” The guy’s eyes narrowed on him as he took another puff of his cigarette. “But like I was saying, you could get in and out of somewhere just like that. You had a slick way about you. You were what the bitches would call a charming mothafucka.”
They both burst out laughing.
“I’m serious, though. You had people convinced of shit.”
“I was just a good liar is all… That was nothing to be proud of, but yeah,” he said with a shrug. “I lied pretty good and if lying could have been a career, I would have been the CEO of the company.”
Diego grinned. “But you know, people that have a way with others can make people believe shit, make them feel good even though it’s a bunch of bullshit. Guess you could call it a gift.” He paused, neither of them saying another word for a spell. “So.” The man took a toke of his cigarette and continued. “You used your powers for good instead of evil.” He laughed lightly. “That’s good. That’s real good.”
“A, Diego, where did you go? Like you said, last time I saw you was like five years ago. I even stopped by your mom’s house once a long time ago, but no one answered.”
“Oh, man.” The man drew on his cigarette once more, cocked a lazy smile. “I was in and out of jail.” He tapped his cigarette, forcing ashes to fall alongside his foot. “Then Palm Partners.”
“The rehabilitation center?” Nick raised his chin a bit higher. “Okay.”
“Yeah… so uh…” The guy shifted his weight. “I understand the predicament you were speaking of earlier… Yeah, I get that…”
Nick wanted to barrage him with a bunch of questions, sit down beside him, hug him real hard, and drive him to a detox facility immediately. But, those were simply pipe dreams and that wasn’t how this shit worked. He had no say over Diego’s life and furthermore, it would have been a twisted attempt to once again somehow redeem himself regarding Jonathan. No, he couldn’t be impulsive, not think the shit through, make rash decisions when he knew better.
In the Nick of Time Page 44
