by W Winters
She’s told me before. So long as you choose love, it will all work out.
Breathing out at the door, rocking the key out of the lock, I let her unspoken words sink in. She’s right. I just need her to remind me. And I need Seth because I love him.
It will all be okay.
I center myself for the first time since the fire two nights ago. I have to laugh a little as I push open the door and speak loud enough for her to hear me in the living room. “I didn’t even need the pep talk; you’ve given me so many, I can hear your voice in my head.”
My smile fades when I don’t see her in the living room. She’s not in her usual spot. We each have a spot.
I turn on the light in the hallway, and even though the light’s off in the bathroom, I still check for her there. “Cami?” I call out, and she doesn’t answer.
That gut feeling, that instinct of danger I felt two nights ago? It’s back. It’s chilling. “Cami?” I call out louder as I head for my bedroom door.
Why would she be in there? Maybe she had to sleep. She’s only sleeping, I lie to myself. I know it’s a lie. I’m so aware of it before I hear the creak of the bedroom door opening.
Sobs hit me hard and fast as I fall to the floor on my knees.
“Cami,” I whisper her name and reach toward her. “No, Cami.”
She’s so cold. She’s so cold.
* * *
Years ago
* * *
Everyone in this cafeteria is somehow both staring at me and not looking at me at all. Everyone except Seth and his friends. They’re two tables over, sitting at the one closest to the doors, and when I look up they don’t mind that my eyes catch theirs every once in a while, but everyone else immediately looks away.
They all know what happened two weeks ago and what happened this past weekend. Shit, the bruise on my cheek is still there although it’s an ugly green and I can’t stop crying every ten minutes. Just as I’m reaching up to touch the bruise, as if I’ll be able to tell if the makeup is still covering it or not, Cami sits next to me.
Our table is empty except for the two of us, so when her tray hits the table and she climbs into the cheap benches our high school bought, the whole thing jostles.
I imagine I’m looking at her just like everyone else is looking at me. Slack-jawed. None of my so-called friends sit by me anymore. She did though.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here after the accident,” she tells me as she cracks open a soda. “Are you doing okay?”
I’m still staring at her when she turns in her seat, tucking her right foot under her and then squares her shoulders. “I feel like a shit friend; I just found out on the way down here.”
I don’t say anything. She’s talking about my dad and the accident. I don’t want to cry. Not when everyone has such a good view of the spectacle I am.
“You want to get out of here? You want to yell? You want to cry?”
“No,” I finally answer her and stare down at my tray. There’s only an apple and a cold slice of pizza. I don’t want to eat. Everything has changed and nothing’s all right.
“What can I do?” Cami asks me and it’s the first time anyone’s asked me that. Seth tells me what to do, he has for over two weeks now and I appreciate it some moments, but I need time to myself, time to process.
Other than him and his crew, no one else asks me anything. They don’t talk to me. It’s like they’re suddenly afraid of me.
Cami reaches her arms around me. It takes me a moment to realize she’s hugging me. That’s the moment I realize how big her boobs are and the thought actually makes me laugh a little on the inside.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Cami shakes her head, her long blonde hair swishing around her shoulders. “Not a damn thing,” she tells me and spears her fork through a grape. She eats them all like that, with a fork.
It’s quiet for a moment, but Cami keeps trying to make small talk, keeps hinting at asking whether I need something or if I’m all right. She asks me if she should just shut up and I tell her no.
“Whatever you do, please don’t stop talking. I need to talk about something.”
“Anything?” she asks and her gaze drifts to the crew of guys we were both once afraid of.
“Almost anything,” I correct her and a hint of a smile graces her lips. Again, this sad laugh comes over me, but this time the sound is heard.
“You’re going to be okay,” she tells me. “I love you.”
It’s the first time she’s told me that. Everything about her makes me think I’ve found my friend soul mate.
“I’m happy you’re here,” I tell her with sincerity and then smile and say “I love you” back.
I have a moment to sniffle and get a grip while she takes a large bite of her pizza.
“You ever wish you could just pick up and leave?” I ask her. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last three days. I can’t though. Grandma needs me now more than ever.
Cami eyes one of Seth’s friends, I think his name is Derrick. Then she licks a bit of sauce from her lip and tells me yeah, she has. “Everyone wishes they could leave and start over sometimes.”
There’s so much comfort in what she says. “Where would you go?” she asks and then takes a bite. She covers her mouth, still chewing when she tells me enthusiastically, “I know where I’d go.”
“Where?” I question her and she finishes her bite and washes it down with her drink before telling me with the widest smile, “I’d love to go to Paris.”
“The city of love,” I breathe out and pick up my apple. As I’m taking a bite, she tells me how her uncle went and brought back a pop-up picture book for her when she was a kid. “It’s my favorite; I still have it. Paris Up, Up and Away.”
“When you go—”
“I’m taking you with me,” she declares, cutting me off then continues eating, like I should have known better. I should have known we’d go together.
“I’d love to go to Paris,” I tell her weakly before the tears fall again and this time I don’t know why. I was doing so good.
Cami holds me tight and when she sees someone staring, she tells them to fuck off.
* * *
We never went to Paris. She has to go to Paris.
“Cami, you have to wake up. Cami, wake up.”
Seth
“The car was parked out front,” Derrick explains as I drag the metal chair across the concrete floor. The basement of Club Allure has seen more blood in the last two nights than I ever intended. We make do with what we have though.
“It was him. He’s saying something different though,” Connor informs me as I sit across from Mr. Hartley.
I let my head loll to the right as I take in the knots at his wrist. “He’s been fighting it, looks like.” The coarse rope has left dark pink marks around his wrist. There’s a hint of blood on the loose threads too.
“Had to tie his chest to the chair too. Wrists and ankles weren’t doing it,” Connor tells me, his gaze steady on our unwelcome guest. The rope is wrapped twice across his chest. “He kept falling over.”
“Is that what caused the gash on his head? Or did you two start the party without me?”
Roman’s out front, keeping an eye out. The four of us, Derrick, Connor, this Luke fuck, and myself, are the only people within four miles of Linel Centers.
“Seth,” Derrick says then scoots his chair forward and I glance at him but I have to do a double take. The way his forehead is creased, his lips pressed in a firm line and his eyes reflecting doubt… I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
Connor steps forward, ripping the rag out of Luke’s mouth. Luke’s body heaves forward as he sucks in air in between coughs.
I share a look with Derrick then one with Connor, both of them chilling me to the bone. Derrick nods his head at the man in the chair, whose gaze is focused on the floor. “Listen,” he mouths to me. My muscles ache to l
et out the rage. It takes everything I have just to stay in my seat.
“You’ll never get away with it,” Luke says, threatening us the moment he’s able to speak. His cadence is rough and from the split lip and gash in his head, I can guarantee he’s hurting.
“The threats always come first,” I tell Luke, speaking lowly, but I sit back in my chair, listening to the ranting man.
I crack my knuckles one by one, waiting.
Luke’s head raises slowly and his brown eyes find mine, the hate firmly in place. “First the warehouse, then me? Fletcher will never let you get away with it.”
“We didn’t hit the warehouse.”
“I didn’t hurt Laura,” Luke spits out immediately after my admission. He said her name. I can’t sit here and listen to this man say her name and get away with it. The steel chair I’m sitting on is practically nothing, flying backward as I lunge forward. The skin on my knuckles stretches tight and nearly splits as I land a blow on Luke’s jaw, screaming at him, “You don’t get to say her name.”
His chair falls backward, the steel clanging against the cement as I tower over him, heaving in air.
Connor’s behind me in a split second, his hands on my biceps, pulling me back. He doesn’t have to pull hard; I wasn’t going to beat the shit out of him.
“He can’t say her name,” I explain to Connor, who looks up at me bewildered. It takes a hard look from me before he corrects himself.
Groaning on the ground, Luke spits up blood, and then looks me in the eyes as he says, “I would never go after a woman. Fletcher...” He has to pause and spit and when he does, I can already see the bruise forming from his lower jaw up to his high cheekbone. “Fletcher wouldn’t go after the women. He’d never do that, and you fucking know it.”
He’s out of breath by the time he adds bastards to the end of his statement. Derrick eyes me all the while he hauls Luke and his chair back upright to a sitting position.
I lower myself in front of Luke, crouching so he’s at eye level. “Then why was your car there?”
I expect him to deny it. To call my girl a liar, which will earn him a matching bruise on the other side of his pretty boy face. He doesn’t though.
“It was stolen,” he tells me. For a moment, doubt sets in. Everything that was hot, turns cold. I don’t let a damn thing show on my expression though.
“When we found him, he was in the car,” Derrick tells me quickly.
“Fletcher would kill me if I fucked with you. He said we needed you and then this shit happened.”
Grabbing the back of his chair, I pull Luke closer to me, listening to the metal scrape against the floor as I do. My face is inches from his when I ask him, “Who stole your car?”
A faint smile wobbles on his lips and the bastard starts to cry. “You won’t believe me.”
“Who stole your car?” I scream the question in his face, feeling the rage tear its way up my throat.
Luke lets out a sick laugh and looks away to tell me, “I don’t know.”
Cursing, I step back, shoving Luke’s chair when I do although he doesn’t topple over. I believe him. And that’s a big fucking problem.
Doubt and insecurity crawl their way up my spine.
“You better think of something,” Connor tells the henchman. “I don’t think my boss is too happy about the current situation.”
“I thought it was a stupid fucking kid who’d figured out it was mine and got wise.”
“Care to elaborate?” Derrick asks. I keep my back to Luke all the while, listening, trying to piece everything together.
“Someone stole it while I was collecting dues. I was pissed.”
“You file a police report?” Connor asks with a smirk on his face. He’s fucking with him. Men like us don’t call the cops. Luke sneers at him.
“Boss,” Derrick interrupts me when my phone starts vibrating against the metal. It’s still sitting on the steel chair. Turning from where I stand, I wait for him to tell me who it is. “Fletcher.”
I shake my head no, and Derrick drops the phone. The vibrations get louder.
“How did you get it back?” I question Luke.
“I didn’t. Whoever it was, parked it on Fifth and Rodney. I figured they learned it was my car and what I’d do to them. They didn’t touch it. Not a scratch.”
Luke’s expression looks hopeful although his eyes are a well of despair.
“Call him back, put him on speaker.” I give the command to Derrick. “If you want to live, you’ll be quiet until I tell you to speak.”
“Do you believe me? You have to believe me.”
“I don’t trust anyone anymore,” I answer him. That bit of hope he has falls. I see it, I recognize it. “I mean what I say. Don’t speak until I call for you.”
“Don’t have to call his boss,” Derrick says. The second he lifts the phone, it’s vibrating again. I watch him tap the screen and then nod.
“Fletcher.” I answer the call on speaker and Fletcher’s voice is quiet on the other end, but it still fills the large empty room.
“King.” It’s quiet as I listen to my heart pound. “It seems there are some misunderstandings.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I ask Fletcher and I can hear him huff into his phone. Short and humorless.
“I don’t believe it was you,” Fletcher tells me and my gaze lifts to Derrick’s. I can see Luke in my periphery, looking between the three of us. He’s tense, and I’m sure he’s aware that his life depends on this call.
“We took your man,” I say, speaking clearly. I need him to know, to show him my cards.
“Because you believed it was me,” he surmises.
“I believed it was him,” I answer honestly.
“Because she told you—”
“She stays out of it,” I say, cutting him off. For the first time, anger slips into the conversation and I stare at Luke, who’s eager to scream out, but he’s silent. “She stays out of it,” I repeat. Calmer, with more control.
The air is tense and hot. It suffocates me.
“She stays out of it,” Fletcher agrees. “Someone is playing us, King, and I don’t like it. I don’t care for the fact that you played into their hand.”
“It has to be Mathews,” I speak and close my eyes, trusting my gut. Gut instincts get you everywhere in this life.
“He stole my stash the way you stole his. He stole my right-hand man’s car to set me up. He played us, pitting us against one another.
“He’s done it before,” Fletcher continues. “It’s how he’s able to grow as fast as he does. Everyone who doesn’t deal with him finds themselves at war with someone else.”
He’s waiting on a response from me, but all I can think is how much I’ve fucked up. How bad this shit has gotten. Everything is fucked.
“Did you kill him?” Fletcher asks when I don’t say a damn word. I tilt my head toward Luke, giving him the permission he’s been dying for.
“I’m here, Boss,” Luke tells him. His eyes dart between all of us as if he expects us to kill him as he’s speaking to Fletcher. I stand still, not knowing what will happen next.
It’s a cardinal sin to break trust in this way of life. It’s paper thin to begin with and I shot a cannon through it.
“What would you have done?” I ask, knowing where I stand. He thought it was us. His first instinct when his warehouse was robbed, was that it was us. I’m not the only one who made that judgment, but I’m the one who acted first.
All I can hear is the heavy breathing to my left from Luke, whose wild eyes tell me he thinks he’s done for. Fletcher takes his time answering.
“I can’t answer that,” he finally speaks and his answer pisses me off.
Stepping closer to the phone, and feeling the anger write itself on my face, I question him, “And why is that?”
Derrick watches me closely. I can feel his eyes boring into me, but he doesn’t say a damn word.
“Because I don’t love anyone,” he
answers. “I have no wife; I have no kids. You love Laura.”
I can hear Derrick swallow, and then his hand is on my shoulder. We fucked up. We never should have touched Luke.
“I can make you a promise right now that before I question your men, if that time were to ever arise, I’ll speak to you first.”
“That’s all I can do.”
“It would be wise to let her go. You’re good at what you do, but not when it comes to her.”
“Untie him,” I tell Connor in a murmur and instead of engaging Fletcher and his romantic advice, I move the conversation to what matters. “Mathews needs to pay for this.”
“We need more men,” he says and Fletcher’s voice is easier now, closer to the way it was just the other night.
“We have them; I have the money. I’ve got the cash to give to the crews down south.”
“I want to be clear that I am loyal to you, King. But if you do something this stupid again, I will kill you.”
“I hear your threat loud and clear.” I did what I had to do. I did what any man would have done. If he tries to kill me, I’ll happily kill him first. There is no love lost between Fletcher and me. I will use him, and he will use me. That’s all this is. We trust that the other is needed, and when that need no longer exists, one of us will kill the other. I can already see it playing out before my eyes.
“It’s a promise, not a threat.”
“Boss,” Luke speaks up as the rage rings in my blood. “His address.” Luke pushes out the words as if they’ll stop a bomb from going off.
“Fuck,” Fletcher hisses into the phone. “Mathews had his car.”
My stomach churns and I don’t know why.
“And?” I question.
“I had to check you out. You can’t be pissed.” His preface to this confession sits uneasily in the pit of my gut. “We’re still cool and that’s how we’re going to stay,” he states firmly.
