Chapter 21
April 2007
Zach
The past seven months have been hell without seeing my girl. It’s been seven months, one week, and three days since I’ve touched her, held her, kissed her. Even longer since I’ve been inside her. Way too fucking long.
We’ve perfected the art of phone sex over the last two months since she got home– with a particularly vigorous session last month on her birthday. I tried like hell to get her to nineteen orgasms. She tapped out at five– but now I’m ready for the real thing. I need to have my girl in my arms. Look over her and make sure she’s all in one piece with my own eyes.
I can’t wait to surprise her.
As much as I want to see her and be with her for my own selfish reasons, I definitely don’t want her to be alone when that piece of shit is sentenced tomorrow. She’s been trying to put on a brave front, but I know it’s eating at her. She won’t be able to rest easy until she hears exactly how fucked he is.
We’ve talked about the plan moving forward. She has another four months of mandatory therapy and drug testing before she can leave the state. As long as she gets through that without any issues, she’ll be free to leave in the fall—just in time for the fall semester at the University of Auburn, which, coincidentally, she is now enrolled in.
Mary kept up on her paperwork, ensuring everything was submitted on time, and worked it out with Charlotte’s dad for the tuition. She and her dad have been working on their relationship in therapy, but they still have a long way to go to rebuild trust. He has traveled back and forth between AK and AL so many times, all for her.
I know she wants to forgive him but feels like she would be betraying her mama by doing so. I didn’t know the woman, but if she was anything like my Little Bit, she had a heart of gold and wouldn’t want someone else to suffer out of some misplaced notion of loyalty.
But I can tell some healing is happening there.
We plan to surprise her with the good news tomorrow. But tonight is just for us. There is a nice ass hotel downtown with amazing views over the inlet that I know she loves. And because I’m basically the greatest boyfriend in the world, I got us a room there for the night. I want her to experience all the luxury the SeaFort offers. The finest of dining. The softest of bedding. The most discrete of staff. These were all the things promised to me by the concierge when I booked the room.
That last part is the most important. I plan to have my girl screaming my name all night long, and I want no fucking interruptions.
“Now boarding general seating for flight 78 with service to River View, Alaska.”
I hitch my bookbag over my shoulder and make my way to the gate. In just four more hours, I’ll get to see my girl.
* * *
“Thanks again for pickin’ me up, bro.” I thank my driver, Max Whitaker.
We played football together at RHS. He may get on my nerves, but he’s always had my back, on and off the field.
His dad had a bad accident right before we graduated, and his mama bailed on the two of them when he was a kid, so they’re all each other has. He decided to skip out on leaving state for college, essentially giving up any chance at a football career, to stay home and take care of him.
“Ah shit, it’s no problem, man,” he reaches out to turn the volume up on the trendy rap song that just came on the radio. His voice increases in volume to be heard above the music. “It’s good to see you. I can’t believe you ditched out on LSU. That’s all you talked about back in the day. What’s up with that?”
I focus my attention out the passenger window, watching the world go by in blurry whooshes. I knew this would be the hardest part about coming back here.
He’s right. LSU was my dream. Playing for the Tigers is all I’ve wanted for a long time. Don’t get me wrong, Crimson Tide is hella good, and I’m blessed to be a part of the team. But, a small part of me wishes I could take the field in purple and gold. Though, I’ll never fucking say that shit out loud.
“Things change sometimes, bro. What can I say?” I answer with as little information as possible, never looking over from the window.
“Hm, the only thing I know to keep a man away from his dream team is money and pussy,” Whitaker reaches over and pops my arm with the back of his hand as he snorts out a laugh. “I happen to know you got plenty of money, Morris. So, what’s the pussy’s name? Have I had her?”
My head snaps over, and I pin him to his seat with a glare and the promise of one hell of an ass-whoopin’, “You better fuckin’ not have.” I growl, my jaw muscles ticking with barely restrained rage.
He holds his hand up in surrender, a nervous laugh bubbling out of him. “Whoa, man. I just mean, do I know her?”
I suppress the possessive beast that tends to pop out whenever Little Bit is involved. I know that Whitaker is a good dude, regardless of his mouth. I lift my chin in the affirmative, “Yeah, you know her. She went to school with us. I believe you had a hard-on for her best friend. The curly-haired cheerleader?”
Max slowly moves his gaze to me, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, “Dude. Are you talking about Charlie?” My hackles raise at his astonishment.
River View isn’t that small of a town, but it’s small enough that word always travels fast. When that shit went down at the end of last year with her mom, everyone saw the change. The crowd she ran with was known to be into the hard shit. There’s still a lot I don’t know, but I’m waiting for her to want to talk to me about it. When she’s ready.
News of the raid and subsequent shootout was the talk of the town for several weeks. Every news station covered it, and Charlotte was made out to look like some kind of drug queen pin.
Gossip filtered around about her involvement, ranging from people defending her and saying she was just caught up in a bad way because of losing her mama and was a victim in the whole thing. To the ones who believed her to be the mastermind behind all of River View’s crime problems. If you believe those, she ran a brothel out of a shed, sold drugs to elementary school kids, and moonlighted as Skipper the Stripper down at the Busy Beav. Clearly, those motherfuckers have no idea who she is.
But the worst ones are the ones who have passed rumors about her being mentally ill. Those piss me off the most. I’m not blind. I know she has her demons, and she fights them often, but she ain’t crazy. The fact that the news broadcasted her court-ordered placement in Starry North Behavioral Facility fueled that particular gossip fire.
The last thing I want is for her to deal with small-minded folks who got nothing better to do than speculate on people’s lives. They gonna learn, even if I have to drop-kick a motherfucker to get my point across.
Is Whitaker’s shock because he thinks she’s a nutjob? I really don’t wanna fight my friend, but I fucking will.
“Yeah. I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about Charlie. You got somethin’ to say about that?” I lean into his space, my large frame imposing and rife with anger.
A large smile curves his face, showing off the work of four years of braces when he was younger. Pearly whites gleam as much as his brown eyes do as he lifts his hand up for a high-five, “Dude! Fucking nice. Give me five, bro. Charlie is fucking–” I cut a glare at him, interrupting his sentence, “Charlie is what?” I ask, head cocked in demand. “A nice girl, bro. She’s a nice girl. Good for you.” He stutters out to correct himself.
I nod and grunt, “Yeah, that’s what I thought you were gonna say.”
He laughs and reaches forward to skip to the next song, without looking back at me he adds, “It doesn’t hurt that she’s also hot as hell!”
I roll my eyes, “Watch it.”
But I can’t argue with him. She is in fact, hot as fucking hell.
When we pull up to my house, I grab my bag, thank Whitaker for the ride, and promise to hit him up on my next pass-through. I’m only here for four days, and I plan to spend every one of them buried deep inside my girlfriend.
No one is home, but both my parents know I’m coming, so I hope I won’t have any bare-assed surprises. I’ve had enough of those to last me the rest of my damn life.
Everything looks and smells the same, but the feeling of home isn’t there. I make my way to my room. It’s still the same as I left it. I didn’t take much to Alabama. I figured if I needed something other than the things I brought, I’d just pick them up down there.
The wall of trophies still sits proudly against the otherwise bare side wall of my room. Not a speck of dust to be seen, clearly Mama’s been in here with her feather duster. I pick up the nearest one. The golden player is frozen in mid-air, both feet off the ground and hand stretched out to catch the ball perfectly. A moment of glory immortalized in metal. The marble base is engraved with my name, letting the world know I am indeed The World’s Best Wide Receiver .
I hope to one day be kissing one of these on a Super Bowl field. I chuckle to myself and put my pee-wee trophy back on the shelf.
All I want to do is high-tail it over to my girl’s place, but I’ve been traveling all day, and I need a damn shower.
After washing the travel stink off myself, I gussy up all pretty boy like. I grab the stack of returned letters and stuff them alongside my clothes and toiletries in my overnight bag.
Excitement thrums through my body as the anticipation of getting Charlotte in my arms approaches fruition. Grabbing the bag off my bed, I head to the door, and as I’m about to turn out the light, I catch a glimpse of the shit-eating grin that has affixed itself to my face, and I thank God I rubbed one out in the shower.
Time to get my girl.