65. Bay
SIXTY-FIVE
bay
“I don’t want to pay.”
“That’s how you play the game,” Ellie argues, glaring at Mae from across the Monopoly board because she’s just landed on her property and owes her a whopping twelve dollars. “Now pay up.”
“No.” Mae gathers up all her colorful paper money and shoves it between her crossed legs.
“Mae,” Ellie stresses with a glower. “If you’re not going to play the game right, I’m going to stop.”
Our little sister shrugs, a full zero fucks given. “Then me and Bay will play.”
“You’ll be playing forever if you only play with two people.”
“So?”
Ellie shoots me a desperate look for help and points at Mae. “Bay, tell her.”
“C’mon,” I urge, straightening my back because it’s killing me from sitting on the floor for the last hour. “Just give Els the money and let’s move on.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Mae, dude…” I hit her with an exasperated stare. “I don’t want to be here all night.”
Her eyes light up. “I want pizza!”
Fuck me and my life.
“You just ate.”
Mae ignores me and starts bouncing around on her butt excitedly. “I want pizza! I want pizza!”
“At least wait until Levi gets home from the docks. I just left him an hour ago, and he’ll be back soon.”
She wrinkles her nose, still not fully understanding at the age of eight that patience is a virtue. “I don’t want to wait?—”
“I’m going to go call Peter,” Ellie announces, pushing herself up from the hardwood floors and pulling at her jean shorts. “Mae sucks at this game.”
“I do not,” she whines back. “You’re cheating.”
Ellie scoffs, but ignores the weak insult. “Call me if you need help with the devil child.”
I nod, the reality of how big she’s getting hitting me over the head with everything else. She’s going to be sixteen in a few weeks, and I haven’t even begun planning what we’re going to do yet.
“Let’s get this cleaned up.” And that prompts Mae to toss her cash on the board and shoot up to her feet before sprinting to her room.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter, glaring at an empty hallway that she occupied for two seconds.
“She sucks,” Ellie states simply as she watches her disappear. “Was I like that?”
“Yes.” Ellie’s blue eyes shoot back to me. “You used to go in my room and steal all my shit.”
“Like what?”
“Anything you could get your hands on.”
A ghost of a smile appears on my sister’s face. “Highly doubtful.”
“Oh, you mean like the pink crop top you stole from me the other day?” I quirk a challenging eyebrow because I purposely don’t lock my door when I leave so she can grab anything she wants, but it still doesn’t mean I can’t give her shit for it.
“Borrowed,” my sister retorts. “And besides, you never wear it. I was just giving it the loving care it needs by being worn and—” The front door to the house flies open, startling the both of us, and I go into instant defense mode when I see Ozzy standing in the foyer.
His dark blue eyes immediately padlock onto me, and it’s when I see the splatter of fresh blood that I know he just got himself into some shit.
“Bay…” Ellie whispers, fear clogged in her tone as she takes a step back toward me.
“Make sure Mae doesn’t leave her room,” I order softly. “Everything’s okay, got it?”
“But—” My palm falls to her lower back, prompting her to move, but also to give her a little comfort that I’m not nervous.
I’m just a ball of anxiety and confusion about what the hell he just did.
“It’s okay,” I repeat as softly as I can. “Just watch her for me.”
“Alright.” Ellie doesn’t remove her eyes from Ozzy when she saunters away, and I instantly march toward the man who just upheaved my sister and my anxiety.
“What happened?” I quickly solicit, wanting to touch him like a normal person to see if he’s okay, but I’m fully aware he’d hate that. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t say a word, which helps nothing when I’m attempting to piece things together. I fight back the way my voice wants to increase in volume. I don’t think I have a lot of time to spare if I need to cover for him or if something else is terribly wrong.
“Ozzy, please,” I beg. “What happened? Did you get hurt?”
I get a lift of his shoulders, and I can’t believe he’s still gaping at me like he didn’t just bust in here bloody and semi-freaking out.
Again.
“Come on.” I motion with my hand for him to follow me. “Let’s go to my room and get you cleaned up.”
Within seconds, I’m in the bathroom, quickly gathering up supplies and finding my husband patiently waiting for me to finish before trailing behind me and into my bedroom.
I close the door behind us as Ozzy stands in the middle of the space, dropping all the medical products on my mattress and turning around to get to work.
“I’m going to need you to take your shirt off,” I order, feeling a tad weird saying it. “I need to check you.”
Ozzy does what I ask, removing the black material from his body and revealing a slew of black ink all over his flat torso and the rigid muscles of his chest.
Holy fuck.
He’s a silent god. Almost every inch of his flesh is covered in ink and his body is a fortress of lean muscle and mystery.
Now, if we had opened with this the day Emilio said he was my husband, I may have been singing a different tune.
Despite all that, his left side is bleeding, and I try my damndest to shove my attraction for him aside and focus.
Plucking up the hydrogen peroxide, bandages, and gauze, I gesture for him to take the chair by my makeshift vanity.
With precision and some hesitance, Ozzy follows my order and slowly takes a seat. Getting onto my knees, I get between his spread thighs and try not to touch him but where I need to.
“What happened?” I don’t get a response as I soak a dishcloth with peroxide. “You came here for a reason, Oz. What was it?”
“You.”
My heart skips a beat at the sheer simplicity of it.
And I swear I didn’t know that one word could have such an effect on my body.
Maybe it’s him.
Maybe it’s because words don’t come easily, and when he does speak, it means something.
“You’re hurt,” I emit, promptly irritated by the fact. “Who did this?”
More silence and it tests my patience, which is lacking as of late.
I know I said I didn’t want to push him, however, that was before he came here with blood and a wound clipping under his ribs.
“Torin?”
It’s fucked-up that he’s my first thought and worry. That he terrifies me in a way I’ve never been scared in my life.
When Matteo was a constant presence, I could see his moves before he made them. I was always around.
But with Torin, he’s semi-calculated and petty, so the more time that goes by, the more anxious I get because I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
My gaze flicks up to Ozzy when he doesn’t respond, so I’m hoping that’s a fucking no. “Reeve?” He shakes his head, and I’m already out of options. “Please speak to me. I’m dying over here.”
“De Leon’s man.”
My blood instantly runs cold as my arm mindlessly drops from his side and falls to his upper thigh. When he flinches, I quickly remove it. “Oz, no. What…”
I can’t even form the rest of my question because anything to do with my ex is a fuck no.
A deathly unease falls around me, stealing my even breaths and replacing them with shallow ones. Goosebumps prick at my skin everywhere, and my trepidation of my ex and his wish for power is mightier than I once believed.
Or wanted to believe.
I don’t like admitting that years later, I’m still affected in any way when it comes to him. That what he’s done to me can still fuck up my life.
AKA Torin and me.
“Bay…” My concentration ascends back up to Ozzy, who appears…well, like he always does. “Are you sad?”
Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes as my eyebrows knit to keep them away.
This man will literally get himself killed just to clear my name.
And I can’t have that.
I’m already heartbroken and destroyed after everything with Torin. I’m in shambles over what I did to Reeve. Dad is dead. My sisters are parentless. Levi is busting his ass to have us set and ready to either leave South Shore or face everything head-on.
I shouldn’t have my world upside down, my sleep lacking, and my appetite completely gone because of all this.
Yet the man in front of me reminds me I’m not as much of a weak bitch as I feel. That I have his support and I’m not alone.
But I do feel alone.
My emotions have been wrecked over the last two weeks, if not more. My days are getting away from me, and I’m not focused.
I’m preoccupied with memories and moods. I feel nauseous half the time, and the other, I just want to lie down in bed and sleep the rest of my life away.
Ozzy’s hand slowly lifts, prompting me to touch his palm like I do when I need him to calm and remain focused. A gesture that causes my chest to tighten and doesn’t assist the pending tears that threaten to fall from my eyes.
I don’t keep Ozzy waiting, bringing my hand up to faintly touch his. He keeps his there, surprising me a tad that he initiated it and that he doesn’t remove it.
“Ozzy,” I mutter, my voice a fractured expel of air. “Please don’t go see him or go anywhere around him again.”
He gives me a small nod, but he shows zero discomfort, only heeds me.
“Why did you do that?”
Ozzy opens his free palm and reveals a USB drive.
I can only stare at it because I don’t even have the brain capacity to comprehend why he has it, what he’s doing with it, or what it is.
I’m rooted to his blue eyes again, pending an answer to my silent question when he freely gives it.
“Judah.”
A lightness instantaneously fills my head before all I see is black.