by River Savage
I open my mouth but nothing comes out, the shock of his voice disorientating me.
“Liberty, are you okay?” This time his voice rumbles. Calm and tender, but still powerful enough to send chills through my body.
Speak, Liberty.
“It’s one thing to ignore me and walk out of my life, but don’t you dare think I’m going to let you do it to Mitch.” My voice is wobbly and unsure. My head is foggy and confused.
“Sweeth–” My irrational fear doesn’t allow him to finish the word, cutting him off before it’s too late.
“Don’t, Hetch.” It’s not the word that scares me. It’s how I know I will react to hearing it. It’s a reminder of everything he’s ever touched in my life.
“If you’re going to walk out on him, at least be a fucking man about it and tell him why you’ve stopped coming around. I’m not covering for you, Hetch. He’s hurting. Sort your shit out and either show up and be the man I know you are or tell him you’re not coming back.” Still trembling, I hang up the call and stumble to my chair before I fall down.
My cell phone rings back, Hetch’s name flashing on my screen, but before I can answer, the room falls away. Tears sting my eyes, and sobs wrack my body. For the second time in one day, I break down.
Damn you, Hetch.
Twenty-Seven
Hetch
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back,” Mitch casually remarks while he waits for me to make my next move.
“Either show up and be the man I know you are or tell him you’re not coming back.”
“What? And miss out on a good ass kicking in chess?” I move one of my pawns, trying to figure out if he’s pissed, upset, or genuinely curious why I’ve been blowing off our sessions.
“If you’re going to walk out on him, at least be a fucking man about it and tell him why you’ve stopped coming around.”
Mitch stares at me for what feels like forever before he drops his gaze to the board to ask his next question.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Jesus, Liberty was right. He’s hurting.
“Nah, bud. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I try to fix the fucked-up mess I’ve put us in. “I’ve had some issues I’ve had to deal with the last few weeks.” Not wanting to lie to him, I give it to him straight.
“So it has nothing to do with me?” He toys with one of my chess pieces he captured earlier, rolling it between his fingers and thumb. I’ve noticed this trait of his before. Nerves. Frustration. Anger. Whenever overwhelmed by certain emotions, he starts to fidget.
You’re a real fucking asshole, Hetch.
“No, kid. In fact, you’re the only one I’ve been talking to through it all,” I reveal, telling him the truth. I haven’t talked to anyone other than Dr. Anderson in therapy and Mitch via text.
I knew our situation was tricky. I didn’t want to cut off all communication, but I wasn’t ready to come here.
“I am?” He makes his move on the chessboard and for the first time ever, I can see his play forming.
“Yeah, you’re kind of easy to talk to, kid,” I admit, moving my bishop to capture one of his knights.
“I find it easy to talk to you, too,” he admits then somehow captures my bishop.
Fuck me. I’m never going to win a game against this kid.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around, Mitch. I have it all sorted now, and if you still want to keep kicking my ass at chess, I’ll be here.” I wait a couple of beats, thinking I’ve blown it.
Finally, he finally replies, “All good. Just don’t leave me hanging again.” It’s a gentle warning, one I take seriously.
“Got it.” I make a promise to myself not to let him down again. “So, what’s been going on around here the last couple of weeks?” I ask once we’ve gotten the awkwardness over with.
“Nothing much. Same as always.”
“Have you had any problems with your brother?” I know Sterling and the boys haven’t been able to get any more tip-offs on Dominic, but it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. We’ll get him on something. Eventually, he’s going to fuck up.
“Nah, I haven’t heard from him in weeks.” He captures another one of my pieces without a second glance.
“Well, sounds like I haven’t missed too much then.” My eyes do a quick sweep of the backyard for probably the tenth time, taking in my surroundings and hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
“She’s not here.” Mitch catches my spying, even though his eyes remain on the board in front of us. “She went to the store,” he answers my next unasked question.
“I wasn’t looking for her.” I maintain an even tone while I push down the disappointment.
It’s not like I’m expecting to sort things out today with her. My main goal is to make sure Mitch and I are still good.
But I still want to catch a glimpse of her.
Ever since I took her phone call, and had her lay it out for me, I knew I'd fucked up. I mean I knew I fucked up the minute I walked out of her place three weeks ago, but hearing the tremble in her voice, and the finality to her words was enough to wake me up and figure out I couldn’t lose her.
I couldn’t lose them.
“It’s one thing to ignore me and walk out of my life.”
“Sure you weren’t, Hetch.” Mitch grins because he thinks Liberty and I are still hiding our involvement with one another.
Jesus, I wish it were so simple.
It’s so complicated now that I’m not sure we’ll ever get back.
Knowing I can’t keep thinking about Liberty while focusing on Mitch, I keep my head in the clear, and concentrate on him and the game I vow to give my all.
Later I will figure out how to win her back.
Now I have to win this one.
Two minutes later, Mitch calls, “Checkmate,” and issues a rematch. I take it, and the following two, not because I want to but because I need to.
I have a lot of groveling to do. Both with Mitch and with Liberty.
I just hope Liberty is as forgiving.
“To being reinstated.” Sterling holds up his beer in celebration, once we’ve settled into the back booth of a hole-in-a-wall pub just outside of town.
“Thanks, man.” I reach for my water and tap it against his glass.
“Gonna be good to have you back.”
“You have no idea.” I place my glass back on the table and take stock of the pub Fox picked out.
I've never been here before. With a décor older than The Elephant, it’s bigger in size and subsequently louder.
“Why are we here, again?” My eyes find Fox, Hart, and Tate over by the bar. They’re talking to a group of girls, not in the least bit interested in celebrating my new reinstatement.
“You told me you wouldn’t go back to The Elephant. We had to find a new place.” Sterling shrugs as if it’s a perfectly good reason to change our hang out.
While I’m not sure The Elephant is the issue, I just didn’t want to risk falling into bad habits.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him, wondering if we’re going to address the issues between us.
“You’re the team leader. Can’t have team bonding without your ugly mug.” He knocks my shoulder, before taking a pull of his beer.
“Sterling, before the boys come back over, I want to tell you how sorry I am.” The mood becomes somber with the need to get it all out.
The week has been a whirlwind of commotion, between visiting Mitch yesterday, the force shrink clearing me for duty, and having my team welcome me back with open arms, I may as well get it all out and lay it on the line.
“Hetch, you don’t–” He shakes his head, not wanting to hear it.
“Yes, I do.” I cut him off before he can let me off the hook. “I’ve had my head up my ass for so long, and I took our friendship for granted. I know you have my back, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I want you to know I don’t want you to do it anymore. Okay?” I wait fo
r him to respond, hoping he reads between the lines.
“You want me to kick your ass every time you’re an asshole,” he jokes, but I know he’s listening.
“I want you to do whatever it is you need to do, regardless of our friendship.” I don’t plan to find myself so fucked-up again, not now when I’m learning how to deal with my issues. But if it ever came down to it, I don’t want Sterling risking his ass for me.
“Well, considering you’re not gonna find yourself there, we won’t have a problem.” He doesn’t give me the answer I want, but his slight nod tells me he understands.
“Thanks, man.” I knock my water to his beer again as Fox, Tate, and Hart join us back in the booth.
“You won’t fucking believe who’s here.” Hart shakes his head, sliding in across from me.
“Who?” Sterling asks, but I don’t need to wait for them to tell me. I know who by the way all three of them are watching me.
Liberty.
Did the fuckers set this up? What are the chances of meeting her out of town? Who is she here with?
The desperate knot in my stomach tightens. The questions swarming my mind only serve to second-guess my resolve.
“She here alone?” My jaw locks, waiting for the answer.
“She’s with a group of girls.”
Thank God.
“Have you spoken to her yet?” Fox inquires while I search her out.
Fuck, it’s the question of the week.
“I’m working on it,” I tell them, unsure exactly how I’m working on it. After hanging with Mitch yesterday for three hours, I was disappointed to find Liberty didn’t come back from the store. Knowing she wasn’t going to show up while I was there, I gave up waiting and told Mitch I’d be back in a couple of days.
“Well, you have the perfect chance now.” Tate nods toward the booth they’re sitting in, giving up their location.
Not giving one fuck what the boys think of my lack of self-respect, I turn to get a better view and take her in. Chest expanding, pulse quickening.
Fuck me, I almost forgot how beautiful she is.
Her blonde hair is down tonight, just the way I like it. The mess of curls perfected in a tidy way. Red lips that have haunted my dreams are spread into a wide smile as she laughs at something Payton says.
Fuck, I’m the biggest fucking dickhead to walk this earth.
She is mine.
All fucking mine.
And I left her.
I was wrong thinking I was doing the right thing by walking away from her. All I did was delay the inevitable.
She’s it for me, and even if it still scares me a little, as God as my witness, I am prepared to do anything to make it right.
Beg.
Grovel.
Fight dirty.
She is mine, and fuck, I need to claim her back.
Twenty-Eight
Liberty
“Here’s to my sabbatical, take two.” I raise my fifth shot for the night, bring it to my lips, and throw my head back. The amber liquid stopped burning after the third shot, my tongue and throat numb to the elixir.
“Didn’t you learn your lesson last time you subjected yourself to that horrid idea?” Fee slams her glass down on the table and motions the waitress for another round.
“What? Icansooooodoitthistime.” My words roll together in a jumble of barely distinguishable syllables.
“Girl, you’re so drunk, you think you can take on the world.” Sophie nudges beside me, cradling the same drink for over an hour.
She lucked out and was dubbed designated driver.
“I’m not drunk!” I yell. I think I’m offended or maybe winded.
Okay, maybe on my way to being drunk.
Each shot Fee feeds me offers me a new lease on life. A new kind of promise.
No men.
No sex.
No Hetch.
“Lib, you just downed your seventh shot.” Payton giggles and I giggle along with her.
“Shit. Okay, I think I am drunk.” I quickly take stock of my bearings. We’re at some pub Payton dragged me to. What was meant to be one celebratory drink, has turned into not five, like I originally thought, but seven.
“Isn’t it great? You were all tense and uptight, and now you haven’t a care in the world.” Payton, oblivious to my sobering state at the mention of my troubles, wistfully smiles and reaches for her cocktail.
I’m about to tell her I’m still a little tense about my exchange with Hetch yesterday when a tall glass of water is delivered to our table and placed down in front of me.
“Ahh, what’s this?” My curiosity piqued, I look up at the pretty waitress.
“I thought you could do with some water.” She offers a smile, one I don’t know how to read before she turns and walks back toward the bar.
What the heck?
“I think you have an admirer.” Fee’s eyes dance along with her brows, the insinuation the woman has a thing for me dangles in front of me.
“What? No way,” I refute, but still turn my head to see if there is some truth to Fee’s words. The waitress doesn’t pay me any more attention, going about her shift like I’m not even on her radar.
“Well, this is weird.” Payton laughs, confused like me. I eye the glass of water wondering what the hell she’s up to. Why did she only bring me water, and not the rest of them? I mean, sure, I’m a little drunk, but I’m not dancing on the table.
I’m still eyeing the glass when my phone vibrates in front of me. Turning it over, my chest constricts when I see Hetch’s name flash across the screen in a text.
Hetch: Drink the water.
It takes a few calming breaths, and an internal pep talk to realize he sent the water over, and in turn, is here in the same pub.
Crap.
Me: Thanks, but I’m good.
I manage to type back, before casually looking around to find him. See, I’m not that drunk if I can still text efficiently.
A burst of adrenaline rushes through me when three dots dance in the bottom left-hand corner telling me he’s typing.
Hetch: Don’t be difficult. You’re drunk, and there are at least five fuckers around you waiting to pounce.
This time, I don’t hide my blatant searching.
Where the hell is he?
My eyes scan the bar hoping to spot him. When I only find three seedy men eyeing me off, I quickly type out another reply.
Me: Why does it matter to you?
My inner sass comes out full force.
“Who are you talking to?” Fee notices my strange behavior, before Hetch can reply.
“Ahh, Mom. She’s checking in,” I lie, forcing my eyes not to stray. Taking my lie for the truth, the girls go back to talking about a new store they found over in the mall, while I hold my phone in a death grip, bullying it to come to life.
It only takes a few seconds for it to happen.
Hetch: Don’t be a fool.
My fingers tap hard on the touch screen, my head shaking at his audacity.
Me: You did not just call me a fool.
I don’t know how I ever fell in love with this frustrating man. Three weeks of no contact and he calls me a fool.
The ass.
Hetch: I think I did, sweetheart.
Seeing the word has the same loosening effect on my resolve.
A lingering want. A fluttering need.
I have to stay strong.
A few simple text messages are not going to sway me.
Me: Don’t call me that either.
Hetch: Drink your water.
Me: I think I’m good!
Hetch: Liberty
Me: I’m not doing this with you. Leave me alone.
I lock down my phone and my resolve and place them both on the table out of reach.
For a few intense minutes of trying to absorb the conversation happening around me, I manage to hold back from reaching out and checking if he replied. But when compulsion wins out, and curiosity taunts me, I give
in and reach for the phone.
Disappointment clenches my stomach and defeat burns my throat when I find the screen empty.
Seriously, I feel like I have whiplash.
I’m about to shut the damn thing down completely and put it in my purse when it vibrates in my hand.
Hetch: You’re killing me here, sweetheart.
Me: What am I doing?
I type out too eagerly, but clearly, I’m not too concerned about my quick reaction when I hit send. HIs own reply comes back instantly.
Hetch: Drink the water.
Knowing we’re only going to keep going back and forth, I give in. Reaching for the glass and in dramatic fashion, I raise it in the air—high enough for him to see where ever he is—then bring it to my lips and down it in one large gulp.
“Okay, I think we should probably get her home.” Sophie hands me a napkin when I realize I let a little water spill out the side of my mouth.
“What? No, we haven’t danced yet,” Payton sulks. It’s almost identical to one of her daughter’s pouts.
“Yeah, I’m not ready to go,” I tell them, though not because I want to dance like Payton. I’m not ready to stop talking to Hetch.
Even if it’s only via text, he's finally engaging with me now and honestly, I don’t want it to end.
Sophie is about to argue some more when my phone vibrates again.
Hetch: Thank you, sweetheart.
My mouth moves into a grin before I can control it.
“Seriously, who are you talking to?” Fee reaches across the table and snatches the phone out of my hands.
“Fee, give it back!” I react, but she’s too quick. Her body leans back and curves out of my reach.
“Fee,” I try again, stretching my arm out further. Knowing I’m close, she raises the phone at arm’s length above her head and continues to read through my messages.
