Session 33

Chapter Thiry one

The lounge was dimly lit, and the music was loud, but my thoughts were drowning out the heavy bass coming from the speakers near my head. Angel had cold feet about the pregnancy, and I couldn’t figure out how to change that at the moment. I stood at the bar with Jonas and Silas, a glass of gin in one hand, darts in the other. We’d been here for a couple of hours, shooting and talking shit, trying to unwind from the stress of the week. I could tell Jonas was ready to go—his eyes kept darting around as if he was expecting someone, and I knew it was because of Naomi. That woman had him whipped, and now that she was about to give him the child he wanted, the leash she had around his neck had gotten even shorter.

“Nice shot,” Jonas said, nodding at the dartboard as Silas nailed a bullseye.

Silas grinned. “I know. I’m gonna grab us some drinks,” he said, disappearing into the crowd before either one of us really thought about what he said. We were already at the bar. I watched him weave through the mass of people, wondering what trouble he was about to get us in.

Jonas met my eyes, shaking his head. “It’s probably time for our asses to leave; Silas is about to be on some shit,” he predicted.

Sure enough, Silas came weaving back through the crowd a few minutes later, three women following. They were all fine—two pretty Black girls and a blonde.

“Look what I found,” Silas announced, a smirk on his face. He nudged one of the girls toward Jonas.

Jonas’s face twisted with annoyance. “Get outta my face,” he snapped. “My wife’s crazy, and now that she’s pregnant, she’s even crazier. I can’t fuck with you.” He didn’t even try to sugarcoat it.

Silas laughed. “Come on, Jonas. It’s just a little fun. Just some company while we play.”

“Fun?” Jonas shot back, his eyes blazing. “You think Naomi’s gonna let me live if she finds out I’m with a bitch? I’m not risking my relationship for this bullshit.”

I saw the frustration in Silas’s eyes as Jonas pushed the girl away. He turned to me for support, but before he could say anything, I stepped in.

“All of you, fuck off,” I said to the girls, putting enough bass in my voice to let them know I was serious.

“Fuck all three of y'all,” one said before melting back into the crowd.

I turned to Silas, my patience wearing thin as fuck. “I’m starting to see why Naomi said what she said about you. It’s like you’re living a fucked-up, lonely existence and want me and Jonas right there along with you. This bullshit ain’t getting old to you?”

Silas sneered, his usual charm replaced by a hard edge. “And you any different? You think Angel’s not gonna get tired of your ass when she realizes you’re just as fucked up as me? Has she spent one night watching you destroy shit and crying over your dead parents? She see that side of your broken ass yet?”

Rage flared in my chest, and before I knew it, I pushed Silas hard. He stumbled back into the bar, then straightened, his face contorted with rage. He lunged at me, and we tussled, fists flying. People around us yelled and tried to get away. It wasn’t long before the bouncers got involved, separating us and dragging us toward the exit.

Outside, I snatched my arm away from the bouncer’s grip, ready to walk off and leave this shit behind. But Silas ran up to me, blocking my path.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his breath coming in gasps. He threw his hands up. “We got our anger out. You’re right. I’ll chill. We’re brothers, no need to fight. I’m actually just jealous.”

I stared at him. He was like my brother, but what he said had been unnecessary.

“Fuck you very much, brother," I said, giving him two middle fingers, then shoved past him and headed straight for my car.

As I drove toward Angel’s house, I realized I needed gas. I pulled into a station and got out to pump. As I was filling the tank, a girl stepped up to me. She was curvy, thick, with long hair down her back, a Cuban accent, and light brown skin.

“We match,” she said, her smile striking and a bit mischievous.

I was confused but intrigued. “What?”

“Our cars,” she pointed back to a black Dodge Charger just like mine, except instead of black interior, hers was red.

She asked my name, and I told her. She said hers was Elisa and she was visiting from Miami. She asked for my phone, and I handed it over, liking her boldness. She typed in her number.

“I’m at The Tampa EDITION. Call me if you want to do something,” she said, her tone insinuating something sexual.

I joked, “The Tampa EDITION? So, you’re rich, rich.”

She giggled, and a friend called her name. She left, saying bye, and I watched her walk away. When I got back in the car, I stared at her number for a while. The interaction was the first time in a while I’d felt good about myself, like my old self. I didn’t delete it.

I drove to Angel’s, my thoughts still on Elisa. Angel was asleep in bed when I got there. I showered quickly, then climbed in beside her.

Sleep didn’t come easy. My mind kept spinning, thinking about how badly I was fucking up, even if it was just in my head. It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong. Not really. But it felt wrong—keeping Elisa’s number.

I stared at the ceiling. Angel shifted beside me, murmuring in her sleep, and I turned to look at her. She looked so peaceful, her face relaxed, her hand resting protectively on her belly. Our baby was growing inside her, and here I was, lying next to her, feeling myself over a five-minute interaction with some woman I didn’t even know. What the fuck was wrong with me?