Once in her robe, Alyssa went back downstairs, toweling herself dry as she went. She would fix herself a quick lunch, she decided, and then she would spend a well-deserved lazy day while she waited for Prince to come over that night.
Once in the kitchen, it didn’t take her long to notice the note stuck to the refrigerator. It was a bright yellow post-it, but once she had picked it up to read she discovered that there was nothing bright about what it had to say. Initially, she had thought the note might be from Lynn, who happened to have an extra set of keys to the house just in case, but she was surprised to discover that it was actually from Prince.
It was a short, curt note:
I won’t be there tonight. I have a fight. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sorry.
To Alyssa, it didn’t quite sound like he was really sorry. She put the note on the table and went about her business of making herself something to eat. She didn’t really know how to feel about the message. She had turned on the stereo in the living room and put on one of her dad’s vinyl discs, but not even the notes of soft jazz could do much to soothe her. She felt suddenly uneasy.
As she gave in to her instincts of reaching for comfort food and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich, Alyssa tried very hard not to think about Prince’s note. In fact, at some point she even snatched it off the table and threw it in the trash. But no matter what she did, how else she tried to occupy herself and her mind, she couldn’t get it out of her head.
She was still thinking about it half an hour later, after her lunch had been consumed and as she sat at the kitchen’s table nursing a much-needed cup of coffee. She thought she would have to be much tougher than this if she wanted to have a chance at getting both Prince and herself out of Pinebrook, but she still couldn’t help the havoc wreaked by one simple little post-it note.
That note was the first real, actual, concrete evidence of what Prince did. Hearing about the fights was one thing, but this note put Alyssa in front of the very harsh reality of it all, and she didn’t like it.
She knew Prince didn’t have a choice, but she still couldn’t help the pang of irrational, childish anger at his standing her up. She knew he couldn’t have picked her up at the airport in New Orleans, not if they wanted to keep their relationship—or whatever it was—under the radar of the Devil’s Fighters. But she had hoped she would still get to spend some time with him tonight. She had hoped he would acknowledge her return in some way that didn’t involve a post-it note on her refrigerator.
More importantly, she had hoped he (she? they?) wouldn’t have to deal with a fight so soon. The night when he had showed up on her doorstep with a wounded fellow competitor was well imprinted in her mind—and not only because they had ended up having sex on the kitchen’s floor.
She had patched Rick up as best as she could, and he was now almost as good as new, but Alyssa still remembered the cuts, the bruises, and the abrasions. She remembered the fractures, the wheezy breathing, and the fear that one of the cracked ribs may have punctured a lung. The thought of Prince being in the same disastrous conditions one not-too-far-away day scared her more than she would have liked to admit, particularly considering that he had told her that night that Rick had been lucky. If that was lucky, Alyssa didn’t even want to try to imagine what “hurt bad” might be.
The ringing of a phone once again saved her from her gloomy reverie. Alyssa walked up to the phone that hung on one of the kitchen’s walls—a very seventies touch that her parents had always refuse to abandon—and picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hey Lyssa.”
Lynn’s voice flooded her ear, warm and friendly and just what she needed to hear. Alyssa sighed in relief. She had not been prepared to deal with anyone from the Pinebrook community that wasn’t her best (and only) friend in town.
“Hey,” she greeted cheerfully, already grateful beyond words for the smile Lynn had just put on her face. “How’s it going?”
“Good. Busy,” Lynn said, and Alyssa could indeed hear the bustling noises and the buzzing of voices from Lynn’s diner in the background. “I wanted to check on you, make sure you got home safe.”
This isn’t my home, Alyssa thought automatically, but she wasn’t so rude as to voice it. “I got here just fine, thanks,” she said instead.
“What’re you up to today?”
Alyssa shrugged, and then she remembered that her friend couldn’t see her. “I thought I’d have a lazy afternoon,” she admitted.
That was the one luxury she had decided to allow herself; today, she would rest her mind. Tomorrow, she would begin dealing with everything—from the meeting with the real estate agent for the sale of her parents’ house, to Prince and the Devil’s Fighters. God, but it was exhausting just to think about it.
“Good for you!” Lynn cried. “I approve. Listen, do you want to swing by the diner later tonight? I’m closing early for inventory. We could have a bite to eat.”
“Sure,” Alyssa agreed easily. It wasn’t like she had any other plans; the Devil’s Fighters had made sure of that. “Is seven all right?”
“Seven’s perfect. See you then.”
“See you.”
Alyssa hung up, realizing that she was still smiling. She would be forever grateful to Lynn for all that she was doing for her, most of which was unknown to Lynn herself. Certainly she could have no idea what her friendship really meant to Alyssa, or just how much her carefree nature was helping her get some much-needed breaths of fresh air.
Alyssa picked up her abandoned mug of coffee and brought it with her to the couch in the living room where she set out to enjoy the latest Neil Gaiman release. She thought it was oddly and ironically appropriate that the book would be titled Trigger Warning.
Her mind began to wander again even before she had the chance to read the first page of the introduction. Trigger warning. Should she be warned? She had already begun to take into consideration the emotional and psychological damage that eight years in the fighting rings might have done to Prince. Whether they ended up in a relationship or not, she knew that once she got him out, that damage would be her burden to take. “Baggage” didn’t even begin to describe the load that Prince probably carried with him.
She wondered if he had PTSD. It was a fair question to ask; after all, whatever he had seen over the years had surely been traumatic in one way or the other. Before Alyssa could think about what she was doing, she was putting the book aside and picking up her laptop.
There were a number of websites about PTSD, and most of them dealt with the trauma suffered by soldiers returning from war. It irked her a little. What about other traumas? What about sexual violence? What about the death of a friend? What about all those other sufferings that plagued human kind?
Still, she figured Prince was fighting a war—in a way.
She spent two hours clicking on links and reading about this four-letter acronym that spelled out one of some people’s worst nightmares. She read about symptoms. She read about how random those symptoms were, and about how they could show up again unexpectedly just when one thought they had tamed them. The more she read, the more she wondered how those people suffering from such a crippling experience did it. She couldn’t even imagine.
And then she began to wonder how their family, friends, and lovers did it. Because when PTSD was involved, Alyssa learned quickly through her search, it was never just one person who was affected.
Alyssa read testimonies that broke her heart, but she also read stories that gave her hope.
By the time she closed her laptop, her head was spinning. Perhaps she was jumping ahead; there was no proof, after all, that Prince may suffer from PTSD. He had never even given her an indication so far that it was possible. But then again, she didn’t know him. Perhaps she had just wasted two hours of her life on a useless read, but at this point, she thought she’d better be prepared for anything.
And that was exactly the thing that was eating away at her (amongst so many other things that i
t was hard to keep track): Alyssa didn’t know what to expect.
She shook her head and picked up the book again, determined to go on with her plan of laziness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Halfway through the afternoon, Alyssa realized that she had no better chance to stop thinking about Prince and his predicament than she had to stop breathing. She also couldn’t stop thinking about his note. So, around four p.m., she sent him a text, as brief and to-the-point as his post-it message:
Got your note. Come over after the fight.
It was now seven p.m., and he had yet to respond. Alyssa wondered if she may be pushing any boundaries, but she didn’t care. She knew that in order for them to have a real chance at making it out of Pinebrook, boundaries would have to be pushed, walls would have to be smashed, and comfort zones would have to be stepped out of. Still, the radio silence made her wonder whether Prince knew that, too.
The more she thought about it, the more the sensation that he may not want to be saved grew. If that was truly the case, things would be even more complicated than anticipated. Alyssa knew he had to believe as much as she did, or everything would be for nothing. She knew he had to invest as much as she did, or they were never getting out of there. Except that there was no “they” yet.
For the first time since she had decided to stay and help him, Alyssa allowed herself to think about the “what ifs.” What if she couldn’t convince him that he could ever get out? What if she couldn’t make him cooperate? What if her plan failed? What if he ended up staying with the Devil’s Fighters despite everything?
What would Alyssa do then? Would she give up on him? Would she leave? Or would she stay and keep trying?
The latter possibility already brought on a sense of hopelessness that she wasn’t ready to live with for the rest of her life. She had escaped. She had worked very hard to escape. If she really couldn’t do it, if she really couldn’t convince him to build his own escape too, then there was nothing else she could do for him. She would have to leave him; this time for good. There would be no coming back in eight years.
It broke her heart just to think about it.
By the time she got to Lynn’s diner, Alyssa had convinced herself that she’d better get used to the idea that obsessing over Prince would be a full-time deal—at least, as long as he fought in the rings. It was simply impossible for her to think about anything else, so she decided she would save herself time and not even try—and just roll with it.
Much to the disappointment of the lingering patrons, the diner was indeed closing up for the day when Alyssa walked in. As the crowd cleared out, it allowed her to really appreciate what Lynn had done with the place. The last time Alyssa had been to the diner it was for the reception following her parents’ funeral, and then the place had been packed with grieving townsfolk. Now, she could finally take a good look around.
Lynn had scrapped the seventies furniture her father had gone for in his days and resumed that of her grandfather’s, which was the original furniture. She had redone the bar and installed a few fixtures. The result was a perfectly charming mixture of old allure and modern efficiency. The jukebox—the only piece from the seventies that had survived Lynn’s ax—was playing a soft rock selection that had the power to instantly make anyone at ease.
The vibe of the place was both vibrant and relaxing, and Alyssa found herself loving it.
Lynn emerged from the back and lit up as soon as she saw her, offering a bright smile.
Half an hour later, the diner was closed down and only Lynn and Alyssa remained, sitting at a table and enjoying the best burger Alyssa ever remembered having.
“Oh my God,” she said in-between mouthfuls. “This is amazing. I’m so happy you took over.” While the diner had been an institution in the town for decades and the food had always been great, it had never been this great.
“Thanks,” Lynn said with a proud smile.
“So how’s your fiancé?” Alyssa asked with a grin.
Predictably, Lynn blushed. “He’s good. We’ve started to plan.”
“Really? Do you have a date yet?”
“Not yet,” Lynn admitted. “It’ll be in about a year, but we don’t know when yet.”
Alyssa listened to Lynn gush about her fiancé and their plans for a life together. Trevor Guillory had been Lynn’s boyfriend in high school. They had split when he left for college and she went to work full-time in her father’s diner. As it so often happens, they had parted ways when the time for life decisions came. But against all odds Trevor had come back to Pinebrook after college, and even though they had resisted each other at first, the pair had ended up falling back in love. They had not left each other’s side since.
Alyssa couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that hit her then. She and Prince had also found each other again as adults, but she had no clue what they were. She wasn’t even sure they had fallen back in love with each other—perhaps it was just a lot of affection and even more of lust.
She pushed those thoughts away and focused back on Lynn and her love story, which admittedly was a delight to hear. She asked her friend questions about what kind of wedding she wanted, in what season, and what kind of food would she serve. Lynn wanted a small but beautiful wedding. She didn’t care very much about the season, as long as it wasn’t the summer, because summers in Louisiana were unforgiving and she didn’t want to sweat over her wedding gown. She had not thought about the food yet, but she would like something classy, like salmon.
They chatted on mindlessly for a while, touching on light topics that helped take Alyssa’s mind off of much heavier subjects for a few precious minutes. But for all of her mission to make Alyssa’s suddenly oh-so-complicated life a little easier, even Lynn eventually had to ask.
“So,” she began, in the not-so-casual tone of someone trying to be casual, “Prince came by yesterday. He gave me a note to give to you.”
Alyssa had to admit she was relieved to learn that Prince had not found a way to enter her house while she was not there but that he simply remembered her telling him she had given Lynn a spare set of keys.
“Yes,” she said, “I saw it.”
“Anything you want to tell me?”
“I don’t particularly want to,” Alyssa admitted, “but I guess you’re bound to find out eventually anyway, so I might as well just tell you myself.”
Lynn’s eyes widened. “Oh my God! Are you back together with him?”
“Yes. No,” Alyssa corrected herself quickly. “I don’t know.”
Lynn frowned. “Okay, you’ve lost me.”
Alyssa sighed and took a much-needed swig from the beer in front of her. She told Lynn everything, the whole story—from Prince showing up one night with a hurt friend hanging limply at his side, to her having sex with Prince on the kitchen’s floor, to Prince’s truth which he revealed to her so unexpectedly. The words rolled easily off her tongue, and only as she spoke did she realize just how badly she needed to tell it all to someone.
By the time she was done, Lynn’s mouth was hanging open.
“That look right there?” Alyssa said, nodding to her friend’s bewildered expression. “That’s exactly how I’ve been feeling since.”
“I just…I can’t believe it,” Lynn said, her voice small with shock. “All this time I thought Prince had gone mad. I spent years insulting him in my mind and shutting him out as best as I could, mistrusting him for having joined the Devil’s Fighters.”
Alyssa sighed. “I know. I spent years hating him for what he did to me.”
“I don’t get it. Why didn’t he speak up back then?”
Alyssa shrugged. “I guess he was afraid. Or maybe he just didn’t want to hear me try to convince him to come with me anyway.”
“You would’ve asked that of him?”
“Wouldn’t have you?” Alyssa retorted. “His father’s an asshole, you know that.”
“I suppose,” Lynn eventually conceded. “I don’t understand though,” she sai
d after a moment. “Why are you back? To be with him?”
“Sort of.”
Lynn frowned. “Alyssa,” she said carefully, “you can’t throw away your life because of him. Look at what you’ve built for yourself up in Canada. Do you really want to leave all that behind and start from scratch in a place you hate?” She hesitated. “And do you really want to be involved with a Devil’s Fighter?”
“Prince is not a Devil’s Fighter,” Alyssa said immediately, surprising even herself with the vehemence of her response. “And anyway, no, I don’t want any of that.”
“You’ve lost me again,” Lynn said. “If not to be with him, then why are you here?”
“I’m here to get him out.”
Lynn stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Alyssa said firmly. “I’m getting him out of this life. I’m getting him out of the fighting rings and out of Pinebrook. For good.”
“What…how?”
“I don’t know,” Alyssa admitted. It was indeed a huge flaw in her plan, but she would figure out a way eventually. “I’ll think of something.”
“You’ll think of something?” Lynn repeated, incredulous. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Alyssa blinked, surprised at her friend’s fervor.
“If I remember correctly, Bennie already paid you a visit to tell you to stay away from Prince. What do you think he’s going to do when he finds out that you plan on stealing away one of his own?”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t find out—at least not until all is said and done,” Alyssa said.
“How?” Lynn asked again. “How exactly are you gonna do that?”
“I don’t know—”
“Alyssa, this is nuts,” Lynn cut her off, worry written all over her features. “You don’t just defy Bennie Lenday. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
Prince: Devil's Fighters MC Page 10
