14. Adrian
Last night he’d made it through one round of Caspian’s shitty version of The Game of Life before calling it quits.
The only thing more fucked up than hitting every event space and getting more drunk than he planned was remembering how fucked up his real life had become. A steady ache grew in his chest from stealing glances at his sweet witch and knowing that even though she cared, even though she’d felt like perfection under the palm of his hand—Ivory wasn’t truly his.
Moreover, she’d told him she didn’t want to be. Not like that.
Her dark desires may align perfectly with his, but a lot more mattered in a relationship than sexual compatibility. Too many men—pathetic wastes of particles like Jace—would use her regardless of whether she gave mixed signals. He needed her intentions to be crystal clear. So that was that.
Unfortunately for him, Ivory had loosened up more and more with a few cocktails, and by the morning, her musical laugh still echoed in his ears. Her smile still blinded him when he closed his eyes.
Sunlight poured through the window in his bedroom, and he covered his face, preferring the memory of her to the reality of today. He’d almost asked what she would’ve done in his position. What path would someone with such a kind heart choose if they knew what he did, if they saw what he’d lived through?
Would she choose to face her father’s killer? Would she want revenge? Would it eat at her the same way it did him?
But it’d be far better if she never had to endure such circumstances, never had to question if her very life was in danger. Never need to even think about it.
She didn’t need a man intent on vengeance, someone so consumed by the past it blinded him to the future.
She deserved so much better.
The way she listened, not only when he showed her the kind of respect a proper man would give her, but when he wasn’t even speaking.
He swore she could tune into his very heartbeat, hear all the little flaws and fractures that made up who he was.
She cared enough to ask, to notice what others missed.
It was going to kill him, this sheer drive to wrap her up and never let go. So first, he had to get his own shit together. After he finished tying up the loose ends and cutting off all the rotten, mildewed parts of himself, he’d rebuild.
And then, maybe then, he’d ask her again—if he was someone worthy of her feelings.
Groaning, he pulled his arm off his eyes and reached over to fumble around his bedside table for the phone, knocking off a half-empty glass of water in the process.
“Shit,” he cursed and rolled off the bed to pat the damp spot with the nearest cloth he could find.
The room wasn’t messy , but he didn’t have the energy to keep it spick and span like the rest of his apartment. Laundry he hadn’t bothered to fold ended up piled on a chair, and boxes of old CDs along with motorcycle magazines he’d collected over the years were scattered around. He sequestered away all the disastrous parts of his lifestyle—a habit of convenience. A habit that paid off because he wouldn’t have been able to bring Ivory inside, much less bend her over the counter, if his place hadn’t been clean.
One day, he wanted to bend her over every available surface and then go find more.
Sitting back on his bed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, he located his phone next to an empty beer bottle and unlocked it.
10:23
Good thing he had the day off work. He stretched, calculating if he could risk calling Raptor again without incurring his wrath. Or if he cared. He also wanted to call his mom, make sure the cold wasn’t bothering her.
Swiping through emails from the school and a slew of new posts on social media, he saw an unread text Caspian sent late last night.
Dog Breath
Better watch all that smiling, puke hair. Or that girl’s gonna think she’s the reason behind it.
He scowled. Stupid drunk Caspian. He shot a quick text back and hoped it woke up his friend’s hung-over ass, no doubt trying to sleep in as long as possible.
None of your business.
Fuck it, he might as well send a text to Raptor, too, even though it hadn’t yet been a full 24 hours since their last conversation. Maybe he’d drop by tonight, for Riley’s sake.
By the time he was done, Caspian had sent a reply.
Shit, so it wasn’t the alcohol making me see heart eyes all over you last night?
Adrian groaned and ran a hand over his face, prickly stubble scratching his palm. When had Caspian gotten so perceptive? Or was it him who had been slipping, getting too easy to read? Dammit all.
Another string of messages came in.
Just joking, man.
I haven’t talked with Ivory before, but last semester, she low-key threatened me if I ever broke Nia’s heart.
Still think that’s valid, too. I know Nia would return the favor, and since she’s my future wife, you know what that means.
Don’t mess around unless you’re serious.
As if he needed the warning. He’d never intended to mess around, didn’t take pleasure from playing with women’s hearts in the first place, but the thought of anyone toying with Ivory riled him up. If he ever hurt her, before Nia or Caspian found out, he’d take care of the problem, even if that meant castrating himself.
I’m not messing around.
He’d left off the most important part, though.
Being serious.
He couldn’t promise that—not yet. Not until he got the information he needed and put this behind him once and for all.
???
Yesterday’s flurries left the side of the streets piled with dirty snow, but the sun had poked its head through the thin veils of clouds and dried the roads well enough.
Adrian pulled his bike over by a suburban house. The tang of sap filled his nose, and a sharp cry sounded from above as a bird fled its nest. He took off his helmet and shook his hair loose.
This neighborhood showed signs of life, but the chill of winter deterred most residents from venturing outside their comfy homes on a weekend.
Back at his parent’s place, he knew even the weather wouldn’t stop street business. Most travelers would walk the crumbling sidewalks—the ones the city decided twenty years ago would look better as poorly maintained cement than plain dirt—and an occasional low-riding sedan or loud-mouthed motorcycle would whiz past.
Most of those people didn’t have money for nice cars, and when they did, they were either smart enough to get the hell out or dumb enough to get caught up and land themselves in either jail or a casket.
Raptor had been the smart type, bought Riley this place, and gave her the life she deserved. For that, he’d earned Adrian’s permanent respect, but they all knew it cost more than a lump sum of cash. Royal Flush gave Raptor his life, and whether they wanted to admit it or not, the club would take it back one day.
He trudged up the shoveled front walk and rang the doorbell, shuffling around the porch where Riley had put out a tall ceramic pot of faux bushes with red berries. It looked good, charming.
“Aw, look what the cat dragged in,” his sister cooed as she opened the door, tone unusually nice. He narrowed his eyes but wasn’t about to point it out. Clothed in a pair of baggy black sweatpants and a Harley t-shirt, she almost looked like a normal housewife.
Almost.
He smiled, glad her eyes shone with the same fire they always had. Thick, dark chestnut hair swished down to her waist, half tied up with a black ribbon, and she rested a hand on her hip. Society may see Raptor as a rebel, but compared to Riley, he was tame.
“I’ll take my chances with the cat over you,” he replied.
“Get your ass in here. You’re letting out the hot air.” She rolled her eyes and ushered him into a cinnamon-scented entryway.
“What’s with the fancy hairdo?” he asked, bending to remove his boots. Ever since they were kids, she’d worn a messy bun or long braid—hence his first lessons as a stylist—but a ribbon would hardly have been found among her plain hair ties.
“Oh, shut it, a girl likes to look nice every now and then,” she quipped, then nodded towards his shoes. “Leave ‘em. Raptor ruins the carpet enough as is.”
He straightened, grumbling that he didn’t want to be blamed for ruining the carpets, either.
Then her arms wrapped around his waist.
…a hug?
He returned the sentiment, drawing her close. The memory of a little girl with pigtails and a toad in her hands flashed in his mind, her face splattered with dirt. He held on a little tighter, a little longer.
Back when they were kids, she’d been the one who taught him to be brave, the one who held his hand as they crossed the street and took the blame when he accidentally broke their mom’s favorite vase.
Now he had a solid inch over her, and even though Raptor would tear through any threat she faced, he would be right beside Raptor to back her up.
Younger or not, he was gonna be her big brother forever.
“Everything okay?” he asked as she let go.
She answered by punching him in the arm. Fuck, she still didn’t know how to hold back, did she?
“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft,” she teased. “I had to get it out of the way, so you can’t use a bullshit excuse like I’m mean not to visit.”
“I was here at Christmas,” he complained. “Don’t tell me you want to see this ugly face more than once a month.”
She scoffed and led him past the living room into the kitchen, where a pot on the stove smelled like god had made it herself. “Yeah, you’re right. Better keep the fact we’re related on the down low. Might scare Raptor off,” she said.
He sighed, shoes squeaking as he made his way across the kitchen and helped himself to a soda. “I think that ship already sailed. By a long shot.”
After all, he had known Raptor for years before Riley stole him. Poor guy had been a goner from day one.
“He’s in the garage if you wanna chat until this is ready.” She waved toward the garage door and picked up her phone, typing as Latin pop started blasting his eardrums. “You got about half an hour.”
“Need any help?” he asked, noticing that the dark wood cabinets and granite countertop shone like new, except for one spot that was dusted with flour, scattered with several bowls and utensils. She must’ve spent all morning cleaning and the afternoon cooking.
Her hips swayed as she stirred the pot, and she had to raise her voice to talk over the music. “The kitchen is clean for once, so I’d rather you not contaminate it. Just make sure Raptor finishes up in time to eat.”
“Uh-huh,” he hummed, wondering what was going on.
Yesterday, Raptor sounded tense over the phone, and now hair ribbons and cleaning ? Something had to be stressing them out.