After The Break

by Andrea Joan

  Fucking thank Christ. I release my hold, allowing her to move further down the lounge chair, away from me. Though I know she needs the space, I don’t fucking like it.

  “You’re going to tell me everything, right?”

  “Yes, baby I swear. The reason I—”

  “No, wait!” She throws her hands up quickly to stop me.

  “What?”

  “Can you let me ask questions instead? I ask, you answer.”

  I would ask her why she wants to do it this way, but I’m a fucking expert at what it is Sky is seeking here. “You want to control how this goes?”

  She nods slightly before softly saying please.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because I have a feeling that whatever you’re about to tell me could break my heart, and I just need to be able to regulate the shatter.”

  Fuck if that revelation doesn’t cause my own heart to crack a little. I guess I should be thankful to Skylar in this moment because the pain I’m feeling means I still fucking have one.

  “Okay. You ask, I’ll answer.”

  “So…you killed someone?”

  “We’re just jumping right in then.” I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face.

  “Seems to sort of be the pink T-Rex in the room.”

  The fuck? “I think you mean white elephant, Sky.”

  “No, the white elephant in the room is, ‘Oh hey, I actually have a live-in ex-girlfriend I never mentioned,’ or, ‘I once got arrested for stealing credit cards from my grandma’s friends.’ You just admitted to killing someone. That is a damn pink T-Rex.”

  I bark out an inappropriately timed laugh. How she is making me laugh in this moment, I have no idea. “That logic oddly makes fucking sense. And it was two.”

  “What?”

  “It was two someone’s. I killed two people.”

  “Oh. Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But, I’m assuming you had a reason, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it happen the night of the attack? The night you got the scars?”

  “Yes.”

  “The two you killed, did they hurt you?”

  I only manage to nod, suddenly finding it harder and harder to answer, to confirm what had happened. I hate being reminded that it isn’t just some nightmare I can wake from at any moment.

  “And they killed them?” she asks, pointing to my arm that has the names inked on it.

  “Yes.”

  She begins to move closer. Once she’s sitting right next to me, she reaches over and pulls apart my clasped hands, turning the arm closest to her over.

  “Trevor,” she points to his name, “is your brother. Who were Isabel and Ali?” This time I let her touch the names. I force myself not to pull away or cringe, even though that’s my first instinct.

  “Izzy—Isabel—was my brother’s wife. She was a firecracker, cussed like a fucking sailor. She was the only person I knew that could put Trevor in his place. Ali was my girlfriend.”

  I can’t go into detail about Ali. Not now. Not fucking ever with Sky. It’s not fair to me or to her.

  “How did it happen?” she asks, linking her fingers through mine. The gesture is so fucking gentle and reassuring.

  “Remember when I told you it was a random gang attack?”

  “Yeah, I remember. You said it happened in Atlanta.”

  “It did. But I wasn’t completely honest. It wasn’t a random attack.”

  “I don’t understand. Were you part of a gang or something?”

  I chuckle dryly, brushing the windblown strands of her hair behind her ears. “No, baby. I wasn’t a gang banger. Me, Trev, Isabel, and Ali all went to Atlanta for a fight I had lined up. It was a big one for me. I was actually pretty fucking nervous about it.”

  “Really? I don’t think I could ever picture you being nervous. About anything.”

  “Well, I was. My opponent, Darius Tate, was pure fighter to the core. It wasn’t just about the competition for him. He fought to thrive and survive. The way he competed, shit, I knew not to underestimate him. Darius was unpredictable, fast, and fuck he could hit hard.”

  “You respected him.”

  “I did, and knowing that he’d be a real challenge fucking excited me to no end. I was nervous, but I was also pumped. I trained the hardest I’d ever trained, watched his fights on repeat. I was prepared. And Darius, he respected me too. Neither one of us engaged in any public shit talking or bullshit weigh-in dramatics. My dad said it kind of reminded him of the old days, when boxing was more about the sport than the fucking antics. Anyway, the match went eight extremely bloody rounds. We went at it like goddamn street fighters, just pummeling the hell out of each another. Every time I thought I had him, he countered with something unexpected. By the eighth round, we both just started throwing haymakers, blindly going for a knockout, because at that point I think we both knew that was how it was going to end, how it had to end. Whether it was fucking luck or skill I still don’t know, but I landed a huge left hit to his temple, and before he could shake it off, I caught him with an uppercut.”

  “You knocked him out?”

  “I didn’t just knock him out, Sky. I put him in a fucking coma.”

  “A coma? You put someone in a coma?” I guess she forgot that part of Carl’s debriefing, and the look of shock and disappointment on her face breaks me down just a little more.

  “Yes. It happens sometimes in boxing. Not often, but it can happen.” What I’m telling her is the truth. It’s rare, but not unheard of, and all boxers know the risks before they step into the ring. Broken bones, comas, the possibility of early dementia, and in the rarest of cases, even death. We accept the possibility of these dangerous outcomes because the thought of ignoring our passion, what we were born to do, is far worse.

  “Wait. Hold on. I don’t understand. What does all of this have to do with the attack? With the gang members?”

  “Darius’s piece of shit brother Marcus was a member of a collective gang out of Atlanta—The 187s.” Her gaze quickly shoots to my shirt-covered chest and I see the recognition hit. The scars begin to burn under the weight of her stare, and heat spreads throughout my entire body. My heart pounds against my chest as the images of that night start to ravage my brain.

  I have to release Sky’s hand so I don’t accidentally fucking break it because I recognize that my rage is taking hold of me, but it won’t recognize her. When I stand up, I hear Sky say my name but all I can do is hold a finger, signaling for her to give me a minute. I have to finish telling her everything. I snatch another beer and pop the top with my forearm hoping the bite of pain will do something to distract me from the images, from my anger. It doesn’t, so I take a long pull of the beer, killing half of it in one swig.

  Fuck, I could use something harder than this beer right now.

  “Eleven minutes, Skylar,” I blurt out, digging the palms of my hands into my eyes. “I was only gone from them for eleven fucking minutes.”

  “What?” There is a tremble in her voice that punishes my ears, and she begins to stand up and move towards me, but I can’t have her near me right now, not when I’m explaining how I failed to protect the people I loved.

  “Don’t move! Fuck!” That came out harsher than I meant it to. “I’m sorry. Just stay seated. Please, Sky. It will help me get through this.” She nods and sits back down, but I don’t miss the sheen of tears starting to build in her eyes.

  I blow out a relieved breath. “Thank you.” I swallow hard before I get up the nerve to continue.

  “We were hanging out at this casino two nights after the fight. We decided to stay back in Atlanta a little longer because my guilty ass wanted to make sure I was around when Darius woke up. His doctor told me his recovery was promising. Darius’s mind and body were already responding to stimuli. He was going to wake up. Anyway, it was pretty late when we finally decided to call it a night. Right when we were leaving the casino I got stopped by a few fans for some au
tographs. You have to understand, that was a new thing for me. Being recognized. And I ate that shit up too, like some cocky asshole. I told my brother to take the girls to the car. Kissed Ali and told her I would only be ten minutes behind them. Eleven minutes later I was out that casino door and into the parking lot.” I kill the last half of the beer, grasping the neck of the bottle in my hand as I start to hear the sound all over again, piercing through my ears.

  Over and over.

  Louder and louder.

  On torturous repeat.

  Gutting me and breaking my heart all over again.

  “I heard her screams before I even saw the car in the back of the lot. I took off running. By the time I got close enough to see what was happening, I realized I was too late. Both the rear doors were open. Marcus was on one side holding Ali’s arms down while another guy was on top of her. He-he was fucking raping her.”

  “Oh god, Liam.” The tears start to flow more freely now and she makes no effort to hide them or brush them away.

  “When I finally made it to Ali, I tore the guy off of her and snapped his fucking neck without a thought. I never noticed the eight guys on the other side of the vehicle. By the time the first one reached me, I was so blind with rage that I hit him so hard I actually crushed his nose into his brain. Killed him on impact. But I couldn’t take on the six left no matter how hard I fought. The rest is all a blur, just blurry snapshots of that night mixed with blackness. I kept drifting in and out of consciousness when they started torturing me. Burning me with the barrel of their guns, the ones they used to shoot my brother and Isabel with before I even got there. Marcus carved the 187 tag into my chest with a serrated knife. The same one he used to slit Ali’s throat with right in front of me.”

  “H-how—” she stutters on the cusp of a sob, and seeing her cry almost has me following suit. I can even feel the unwanted moisture gathering in my eyes. “How are you alive? Why didn’t they kill you too?”

  And ain’t that the million-dollar question, the one that has haunted me for years. Why didn’t Marcus kill me? I was the one that put his brother in a coma. His anger should have been directed at me.

  Somewhere between the booze and the drugs and the endless pussy I finally came across the answer, and it was as simple as the question.

  “Because Marcus is a psychopath, and he is well aware that there are some punishments worse than death.”

  THIS IS SO MUCH worse than anything I imagined. I wish I had read whatever Carl put in that stupid file so he wouldn’t have had to relive this nightmare. When he told me he killed two people I was ready to run as far away from him as possible. When he told me why, I wanted nothing more than to run to him, wrap my arms around him, and take his pain away. It was in that moment that I knew I must love Liam, because if I could take on all his pain, even on top of my own, I would have. Even if it meant I could somehow give him Ali back.

  But I can’t, because life just fucking sucks that way. So I lie here in bed, running my fingers through his hair and down his bare back as his head rests on my stomach. He finally fell asleep an hour ago but I can’t even seem to close my eyes for five minutes because I still have yet to process all that he has told me.

  We spent two hours by the pool as he divulged everything. Not only did he tell me about the horrific attack, but he told me about the hell that followed after. The drugs and the constant drinking, the end of his professional boxing career, and the beginning of his uncontrollable violent outbursts.

  Luckily Liam was never charged, let alone sent to jail for killing the two gang members. It was obvious that his actions had been in self-defense. But Marcus and the six other gang members were not so lucky. They were jacked up on a crystal meth and cocaine cocktail when they committed the crime, which somewhat explained the idiocy behind their rash and ridiculous revenge decision. It also meant that on top of the murder and rape charges, they also got charged with possession and intent to distribute. Every single one of them will die behind their prison walls, and rightfully so. But when Liam told me he ended up in the same hospital as Darius, and that Darius had actually apologized on his brother’s behalf, I shed tears for them both. Liam told me that was his final breaking point because he couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive Darius. Despite the fact he wasn’t even close to his brother, Liam was so full of hate and anger that he couldn’t accept an apology from a man that had no obligation to give one.

  “He put his hand over my hand and apologized for everything his brother had done, while I laid there in a hospital bed recovering from my injuries, and what did I do? I fucking hit him, Sky. I totally lost my shit. Didn’t even register my own pain, or the fact I ripped out my IV as I attempted to beat a man I’d put into a coma. A man that had nothing to do with what happened, but I didn’t give a shit. In that moment, all I saw was red. I didn’t care that he was innocent, I just wanted to kill him because his blood took everything from me, and I wanted nothing more than to see that same blood spilled in front of me.”

  Even after Liam cleaned up his act to take care of his family, he still refused to forgive Darius or himself. The hatred and guilt that continues to rot inside him is incredibly destructive, a self-imposed punishment Liam does not deserve, and I will make him realize that even if he hates me for it afterward.

  “You stopped.” A deep rumble vibrates against my stomach and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest as my back shoots off the mattress.

  “Holy shitballs! I thought you were asleep!”

  He laughs lightly and moves to lean against the headboard next to me. “I was until you stopped rubbing my head with these sweet little fingers of yours.” He grabs my hand and lifts it up to his lips, kissing my fingers one by one. “How long was I out?”

  “About an hour.” I rest my head on his shoulder.

  “Weird. Feels like I slept right into the next day.”

  “Nope. Still have about two hours until it’s officially tomorrow.”

  He kisses my temple before saying, “You have that photoshoot and interview pretty early in the morning. You should try and get some sleep, Sky.”

  I almost forgot about that. Time off for me isn’t the same as it is for everyone else. I don’t have to film, but Carl went ahead and booked me for some additional interviews and campaigns. I was able to reschedule most of them, but this one I actually wanted to do. It’s with Fame Magazine and they promised me I could use the interview as a platform to promote the indie I just finished wrapping up. I want to make sure I do everything I can to help this project succeed. I believe in it and finally have a passion project.

  That doesn’t mean I can manage to fall asleep though.

  “I’m not tired yet.”

  “Yeah, me either. Are we good? After everything I told you tonight, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to kick me to the curb.”

  “What are you talking about? What you told me changes nothing about me wanting to be with you. How could you even think that?” I ask, shifting slightly so I can see his face.

  “Skylar, I killed two people.”

  “It was in self-defense, Liam. Jesus, you were protecting your family.”

  “No, I wasn’t. If I was protecting them they would be here right now. They would be alive. Instead, I was off stroking my own fucking ego like an arrogant asshole while my family paid for my mistake.”

  I straddle his lap, wanting to be as close as possible when I tell him this so he really listens to what I’m saying. I ignore the way his whole body tenses, and I grab his chin when he tries to lower his head. “What happened that night was not your fault, Liam.”

  “Don’t—”

  “No. You look at me. I’m sure you’ve heard this a hundred times—from your parents, from Shayla, hell, you’ve probably heard the same mantra from Ali and Isabel’s family.” I can tell by the way his fingers tighten around my waist that I’m right in my assumption. “You refuse to believe it because something you did accidentally set that tragic night in motion, and you
feel responsible. You revel in that guilt because you think it’s deserved. That you earned that penance through their deaths, but that line of thinking is so incredibly misguided.”

  “No, it fucking isn’t! I put Darius in a coma. I stayed inside that casino to sign autographs for people instead of leaving with them. You weren’t there, Skylar, so you don’t get to have an opinion on this. So just back the hell off!”

  I know I may live to regret what I say next, the words will be purposely harsh, but I can’t get through to a guy like Liam with motivational clichés and positive platitudes. So I take a deep breath and just go for it.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Liam. I mean, if you really think about it, this was all your dad’s fault. Those deaths are on him, right?”

  The fuse is lit.

  I don’t move.

  I can’t breathe.

  I watch as the wick burns away, as Liam realizes what I said, and I wait helplessly for the bomb to explode.

  “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  He quickly lifts me off of him and I’m shocked, with the anger radiating off him right now, that he doesn’t just toss me off the bed. God knows I deserve it. He flips the light on and I really wish he hadn’t because the sight of him both scares me and makes me want to get on my knees and beg for his forgiveness. But I can’t. I won’t. I have to get through this so Liam can finally let his guilt go.

  “I asked you a fucking question, Skylar!”

  “I realize that.”

  “Then have the fucking courtesy to answer me!”

  “You forcing me to repeat it won’t change what I said.”

  “Oh, that’s fucking great! So then you really are just a bitch who blamed my dad for the death of his own son.” Okay, ouch. “You listen to me, and you listen well.” His jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised his teeth don’t shatter, then he speaks slowly like I’m a child he’s reprimanding. “Don’t ever try to project your twisted daddy issues on to me. My dad had nothing to do with this, and you damn well know it, so shut your mouth and stop fucking with me.”