“Gave up? You can’t give up on something that isn’t there!” My face burns with anger as I scream the words at him. “She left. She left! I’m still here!”
All I want to do is make him bleed. Instead, I shift my upper body and slam my fist into the wall, creating a cloud of sheet rock dust before I turn and leave. I have a small understanding of why Ace used to flee. Sometimes the temptation to get away from the problems and the memories is so overwhelming, it’s difficult not to let it guide you as far away as you can fucking get.
It’s been a week since the fight with Nate. Every day I consider going to his apartment and beating the shit out of him. Instead, I call seven people before I finally find someone that has Pedro’s phone number. He answers after the fourth ring, sounding distracted.
“It’s Miller.”
There’s a long pause on the other end.
“Pedro, I need to know what happened.”
“It isn’t my story to tell.” My jaw clenches at his reply, and I pull the phone away from my ear, squeezing it as my lips curl around my teeth. I glare at the stupid piece of plastic, wishing I could somehow inflict pain through it.
“What did he do to her?”
“If she didn’t tell you, she didn’t want you to know.”
“No one fucking knows! Kendall didn’t even know!” My voice is raised to a yell, my normal tone these days, as I chuck the remote at the wall.
“She didn’t tell anyone?” A string of profanities are quietly whispered. I wait, hoping that if I’m patient he’ll tell me.
“She told me that she’d tell someone. She promised.”
I rub my thumb and forefinger across my brow several times while pacing the short distance of my room. “When did it happen?”
“A few years ago.” I hear him sigh and mutter a few more swear words, this time in Spanish. “I don’t know, God … four years ago?”
My brain instantly traces back in time. I would have been in Alaska then. I wait silently, thinking that he’s gathering the memory to share.
“She should have told someone. I can’t believe no one knew.”
“What in the hell happened?” My patience ends as the words tumble out of my mouth.
“I can’t tell you man. I swore to her I’d never tell anyone. I already told you too much.”
My feet stop and the muscles in my neck strain to the point that they ache. “You can’t tell me someone almost raped her and then not tell me the rest of it! That’s the news. I know the end result. Now I need to know the details.”
“You need to ask her.”
I’m sure he knows I’m not talking to her. I don’t even talk to her in my dreams these days. He knew she and I are over and threw it in my face at the bar. I shake my head, about to hang up on him, when I bring the phone back to my ear.
“What happened at the funeral?”
“What are you talking about? Nothing happened at the funeral, there’s no way … you don’t have a clue do you? She didn’t cheat on you if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Anger rises with his insinuation. “Where was she? You came back in with her. I was asking what had happened … as in where did you find her and what happened?” I enunciate the last word, being a disrespectful pain in the ass.
Pedro lets out a loud sigh and mutters something in Spanish, probably about me being a dick. “She was at her dad’s gravestone.”
“Why’d she let you comfort her? She wouldn’t let any of us near her, but you had no problem. Were you guys—” I don’t know what I’m trying to ask.
“My dad died when I was a kid. I knew what she was going through.” His words penetrate me. I want to yell that I did too, I’d lost my dad! “At least, I thought I knew what she was going through. I don’t know, Miller, I think she was having an emotional overload. I don’t know what in the hell was going on with you two, but I know a few people were talking about you guys breaking up, and how she wasn’t taking it well.”
“We weren’t broken up!”
“What in the hell were you then? Amy said she saw Ace home and alone for two weeks prior to her dad passing away and said she didn’t see any sign of you.”
Rumors were circulating about us at home? Of course they were. Everyone had been shocked to see us together and expected us to fail.
I hang up without saying another word and toss my phone on the bed so I don’t have to see the large quantity of texts and voicemails I know Erin’s left for me. I collect the remote and the back that splintered off when it hit the wall and replace the batteries before sprawling across my bed. Several channels pass before I stop on an MMA fight. My eyes follow the contenders for a few rounds, providing me with a strange sense of relief, as though I’m vicariously punching through their fists. It also serves to increase my level of tension as my muscles become more tightly wound with the desire to actually connect my fist with someone.
Then I see her.
My body jackknifes from the bed so I can get closer. As the camera pans out to the rest of the crowd, I lunge for the remote, fumbling with it as my eyes and fingers scan the buttons, trying to make sense of the same ones I push every day, unable to recall how it functions as my heart thrums in my chest. Common sense tells me there’s no way it’s her. She hates fighting. There’s no way in hell she’d go to a fight. But I swear I saw her.
I hit a few buttons to make it rewind and then hit play, scanning the screen anxiously as I step closer. Her blond hair is longer, her face still looks too thin but not nearly as gaunt as it had been in the picture Jameson showed me back in December. I’d know those eyes anywhere though. I’ve stared at them so many times, they’re burned into nearly every one of my memories, even ones she wasn’t present for.
I press pause and study her. She’s talking to a man that’s sitting beside her, laughing at something he’s saying, giving him her genuine smile. My smile.
I slump to my bed and stare at her. This man did something I couldn’t. He fixed her. He’s healing her.
My entire body aches as I sit in bed, rewinding and playing the scenes with her, time and time again.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Erin moans against my bicep from where her tongue dances across my tattoos.
Why can’t she just shut up? Why can’t I just enjoy this moment? She’s here, willing, warm, begging, and all I can do is focus on not thinking about her again.
“Kiss me, Max.”
I look at Erin’s face. Her lashes rest on cheeks that are covered with small freckles she works to conceal with makeup. I still have never seen her without makeup. She goes to sleep with it on, and then instantly reapplies it after her shower. Even when we go to the gym she has it on, like she’s trying to hide from the world, or maybe she’s trying to hide from herself.
I press my lips to hers, desperately trying to empty my mind.
She pulls her head back and looks at me. “Max, kiss me,” she demands.
“I am kissing you.”
“I mean really kiss me.”
“It’s kissing,” I snap, sitting up.
She huffs and sits up beside me, completely comfortable with her nudity as her large breasts hang between us. I’m living the male dream here, and yet all I want to do is scream at her to leave.
“Are you seriously stopping?”
“I’m not in the mood.” This is one of the most honest things I’ve ever told her.