12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
I hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but I was really worried about Lehra. And my bossy tactic worked. The door creaked open, and a red-rimmed eye peeked out.
Her words came out in little hiccuping gasps. “Did… you… need… s-something?”
Pressing gently on the door until she allowed it to open, I stepped inside and closed it behind me. “I need you to talk to me, Lehra. You weren’t at work today. Are you sick?”
“No, it’s other shit.” Ash-gray eyes blinked up at me, causing a couple tears to spill over the rims of her bottom eyelids.
Those tears hit me as hard as if I’d shed them myself, and I reached for one of her hands, needing the contact with her. She must have needed it too because her slim fingers closed around me.
“Why don’t you talk to me about it? I’m a good listener.”
Her bottom lip trembled as she whispered, “It’s the wedding and Dwight’s mother.” The way she said that last word told me what I needed to know.
“Do we have a Mom-zilla situation going on?”
“Yes!” she practically shouted, and my understanding seemed to fuel something inside her. “That woman is driving me fucking crazy.” Lehra’s tears, which seemed to be ones of despair, were now driven by anger.
Yanking her hand away, she flailed her arms wildly and began ranting. “It’s every damn thing. She’s in charge, and I’m just supposed to let her run everything, despite the fact that it’s my wedding. It’s like I’m nothing but a prop.”
She was in full fired-up mode now, pacing and shaking her head with her arms crossed over her stomach. I couldn’t help but notice how loosely her gray T-shirt hung from her frame, and it worried me.
“Have you talked to Dwight about it?”
Lehra whirled, and her eyes blazed with a fury that surprised me. “Ohhh, yesss,” she hissed. “He takes her side on everything. Ev-er-y-thing! So it’s two against one, and I get outvoted.”
My own fury rises up that a man wouldn’t support the woman he’s planning to marry. What a fucking douche. “It’s not her wedding, Lehra. She doesn’t get a vote.”
“Right?” she snapped, but I was aware her anger wasn’t directed at me. “I had all these hairstyles pinned on my Pinterest board, but she didn’t like any of them. I want an updo, but she wants my hair down. Of course Dwight agrees with her. And they’re not mean about it. They turn everything into a compliment.” Her voice turns mocking. “Oh, Lehra dear, you have such pretty hair. It would be a shame to hide it.”
“So they’re gaslighting you.”
“Yes,” she fervently agrees, poking me in the chest. “They are gaslighting me. I’ve tried to stand up for what I want, but when they gang up on me, what can I do?”
She turned and paced away, and I couldn’t help but notice how matted her hair was in the back. I wished I could run my fingers through it and soothe her like I used to do with my sister when she was little. When Quinnie would get scared in the middle of the night, she would come and climb in my bed, turning her back to me and asking, “Will you rub my hair, butter?” She had trouble pronouncing brother, so that’s what she called me.
I didn’t have an answer for Lehra, other than me committing homicide against Mrs. Jones and her pussy-ass son, so I simply let her talk.
“It’s not just the hair thing. It’s also the venue, the bridesmaids, the wedding colors.” She spun around to face me again. “And if I hear the word aesthetic one more fucking time, I’m going to scream. Do you understand me?”
I answered the rhetorical question with a quiet, “Yes.”
“I’m supposed to go to Michigan this weekend with Gianna, Artie, and Nicolette. Mrs. Jones said she would arrange the flights, but when she sent the tickets, there wasn’t one for Artie. She said, ‘Oh dear, the airline must have made a mistake,’ but I know she’s lying. We’ve had several arguments about Artie being my bridesman, and she hates the idea, so she’s trying to freeze him out.”
“That’s fucked up,” I replied. “That should be your decision.”
“I know, and now I’m worried she’s going to railroad me into getting a dress I don’t want. There’s this shop where everyone in her family gets their wedding dresses, but I want Devereaux and Tora to make mine. They’ve already done some sketches, and I’ve fallen in love with one of them. It’s what I want.”
Her eyes pleaded with me, and goddammit, she was going to have me on her side, even if her dickhead fiancé wasn’t. “I think you should get whatever fucking dress you want, Lehra. Can your mom help?”
With a softening expression, she said, “My mom is awesome, but she works as a nurse and can’t take off work for all these meetings . I’m… all alone.”
A large crack forms down the center of my chest at the despair in her voice, and I mentally go through my weekend schedule. I’m not supposed to work, so I made the snap decision to take a little impromptu trip to Michigan.
Lehra stomped to the coffee table, which was littered with what looked like wedding invitations, and picked up two hands full. “I hated all the invitations Mrs. Jones sent, so I told her I would pick them out from here. I decided I wanted to control at least one thing , so I went to that printer where we picked up the Christmas party invites. They gave me all these samples.”
She waved them wildly around, and her tears were back, ones of frustration and hurt this time. “But now I’m second-guessing everything. What if I pick the wrong ones? What if Dwight hates them?” She threw them up in the air and watched as they drifted down to the rug and table. “What if they’re right, and I’m just stupid?”
Her voice broke, and that was fucking it for me. These assholes have broken her down to the point that she doesn’t even feel confident picking out an invitation to her own wedding.
Crossing the room in two strides, I yanked her into my arms and pressed her face against my shoulder. And I let her cry. The sobs shook her body, and I could feel them emanating from her slight frame and piercing directly in my bones.
“Shhh,” I soothed, finally allowing one of my hands to go to her hair and gently smooth out the tangles. “You’re not stupid, Lehra. They’ve gotten into your head, but I won’t let that happen anymore. You’re not alone, sweetheart. I promise you’re not.”
She sobbed and sniffled, and I could feel the dampness of her pain seeping into my shirt. My heart wanted me to tell her to call off the whole fucking wedding because any man who treats her like this doesn’t deserve her. But my mind was telling me that wasn’t what she needed to hear, so I wrapped both arms around her and held her tight, loving the feel of her against me and wishing she was mine.
“You give the best hugs,” she murmured, and I lowered my lips to the top of her head.
“That’s what Noelle says, but I think she’s biased.”
That earned me a small laugh, and I pulled back a little to see a slight smile on Lehra’s blotchy face. “Noelle is a smart girl. If they gave out Nobel Prizes for hugs, I would nominate you.”
I wanted to punch the hell out of everyone who had taken that smile from her face the past few months, and an idea hit me.
“Go change into some workout clothes.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “Why.”
“Just trust me, Tink,” I said, and she nodded as she backed away.
“I do trust you, Cruz.” Music to my ears.
As I watched Lehra walk down the hallway, her shoulders were still way too tight for my liking. If she were mine, I would have another way I could relieve her stress. I would be on my knees, and she would be loose and sated within minutes. But she’s not mine, so we’d have to go with plan B.
Lehra stared down at the pale-blue boxing gloves I’d strapped onto her and then looked back up at me. “Are we going to fight?” she asked skeptically.
“Hell no. I don’t want to get my ass kicked,” I teased. “You’re going to punch Dwight’s mother.”
Her gray eyes widened. “Trust me, I’d love to, but I don’t want to sleep on a cot and share a cell with some woman they call Hattie the Hammer.”
I busted out laughing and shook my head as I led her to a punching bag in the training gym I’d brought her to. “You’re not actually going to hit her . You’re going to picture her face right here,” I drew a circle on the black leather, “and hit that.”
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and I caught the hint of a smile. She liked this idea. After showing Lehra how to throw a proper punch, I rounded the bag and held it.
“Ok, Tink. Let her have it.”
She pulled back her arm and hit the bag. Her form was correct, but she didn’t put any weight behind it. “Come on, Kincaid. Is that all you got?” I taunted, and her next punch was a little harder but not much.
Letting go of the bag, I walked toward her and fixed her with a scowl. “You’re supposed to be working out your frustrations, Tink, and you can’t do that with these weak-ass hits. I need you to knock the fuck outta that bag. Pour everything you’ve got into it.” Her shoulders pulled back, and she nodded. “What is Mrs. Jones’s first name?”
Lehra smirked before answering, “Bambi.”
A chuckle left my lips, and I tapped my knuckles against the bag. “Give me a good punch right here, and say fuck you, Bambi . Can you do that for me?”
She appeared to be fighting a smile, which I planned to fully pull from her by the time we were done here. “Okay, I can do that.”
Taking my place behind the bag again, I said, “Come on, Lehra.”
I could see the fire in her eyes now as she pulled back her arm and punched the bag. “Fuck you, Bambi.”
“Good girl! Louder now.”
“Fuck you, Bambi!” Another solid punch.
“You got it, Tink. Show ’em who’s the goddamn boss.”
Her arms moved so fast, they blurred before my eyes as she threw punch after punch. I was having to put some serious muscle behind holding the bag for her, and a trickle of sweat dripped down my back.
“Fuck you, Bambi! Fuck you, Bambi! FUCK YOU, BAMBI!” she screamed as leather met leather over and over.
Lehra was breathing hard, and her body was covered with a fine sheen of sweat when she finally stepped back and shook out her arms. But she was smiling. A big, upward curve of her pink lips that creased the corners of her eyes. A real, genuine smile.
Then she reared back and gave one final hit, the strongest one yet. “Fuck you, Bambi!” she sneered through gritted teeth.
That’s when we both noticed a woman with closely shorn black hair standing beside us, her eyes wide in apparent horror.
“Oh, um, my mother-in-law,” Lehra explained, “not the Disney deer.”
The woman’s mouth turned up into a smile, revealing that her canine teeth had been filed into sharp fangs. “Right on,” she said, holding out her own red boxing gloves for Lehra to pound. “Give her hell, killer.”
Lehra laughed, and it sounded so fucking good to hear that again. “I definitely will.”
The other woman leaned closer, her eyes darting side to side before whispering, “And if you need backup or an alibi or something, you just let me know. My name’s Hattie.”
Then she strolled off, leaving Lehra and I staring at each other with wide-eyed amusement on our faces.
“I say we wrap up this evening with some ice cream,” I tempted as Lehra tugged her T-shirt on over the black sports bra and tight shorts she was wearing. I was trying not to stare, but fuck, she was beautiful.
Her lips twisted to the side like she was unsure, but she nodded. “Okay.”
We strolled down the street side by side. The sun was down, so the muggy evening air had cooled a bit.
“You feeling better?” I asked, and Lehra flashed me a smile.
“Much. Thank you.” She was silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?”
“Always.”
She inhaled and exhaled a loud breath. “Do you think I look okay? I mean size wise?”
Stunned out of my head, I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and Lehra turned to face me, her eyes wary. “Did someone say something to you?” My voice was dark, low, and demanding, and she stared at the traffic passing behind me and shrugged. “Answer me, Lehra. Did that bitch say something to you?”
“Just a comment a few months ago. Something about the perfect size for wedding dresses, and that I needed to watch my figure. Then a couple small comments since then.”
My blood, which had been on a low simmer all night, threatened to boil right the fuck over. “Is that why you’ve lost weight? To please her?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. I’ve just been too stressed to eat, I guess. I don’t think I look bad when I look in the mirror, but those comments keep coming back to me inside my head.” Her chin dipped, and she scuffed her toe against the concrete. “I just wanted an unbiased opinion.”
Well, you’ve come to the wrong place, sweetheart, because I’m very biased when it comes to you.
“Did Dwight have anything to say?” I asked, the name tasting bitter on my tongue.
“He said, ‘Lehra looks fine.’”
I wished I was back in the boxing gym so I could work out some of my own frustrations with Dwight Jones’s head on the receiving end. Instead I took a step closer and cupped her face, lifting it so she had no choice but to meet my eye.
“Fine? You are way more than fine, Tink. You are hot as fuck.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she tried to look down again, but I didn’t allow it. “I drove a limo full of models to a location shoot last week, and none of them… none… of… them…” I reiterated slowly, enunciating each syllable, “held a goddamn candle to you.”
Our eyes locked, and the air around us turned magnetic as I held her face in my hands. I’d never wanted to taste another person’s lips as much as I wanted to taste hers. I wished I could take her home and bury myself inside her to show her how perfect her body was. If only I could stand her in front of a mirror and run my reverent hands over every inch of her until she could see her own worth. Her own beauty.
Our mouths were so close, I could practically taste her, and she smelled so fucking good. Even through the sweat and grime from the gym, she still smelled like pineapples and sunny days. It was intoxicating.
I was treading into dangerous territory here, and she looked as though she wanted to follow me down that perilous path. But she wasn’t mine, and I needed to remember that, so I backed away and forced a smile onto my face.
“Did that answer your question?”
She huffed out a breathy, nervous laugh. “Yeah, I think I got it.”
“Great,” I said, forcing my voice into one of teasing as I placed my hand on the small of her back and guided her down the sidewalk once again. “Anytime you want me to come over to ogle your body and tell you what I think, just let me know.”
“You’re a true humanitarian, Cruz.”
“Well, I was nominated for a Nobel Prize in the hugs category,” I said with false modesty.
She giggled. “True.”
This entire situation was worse than I thought. Bambi Jones wasn’t just fucking with the wedding stuff. She was getting inside Lehra’s head, making her doubt herself, and I wasn’t going to have it.
“You know, my mama is pretty awesome, so dealing with a horrible mother figure may be a bit above my pay grade.” I pulled out my phone and dialed as Lehra looked questioningly at me. “But I know someone who can help.”
“Who?” she asked, and I answered her question as soon as the person on the other end of the phone picked up.
“Gianna, I need your help with Lehra.”
“Anything,” came the quick reply.
“We’re dealing with a bitchy mother-in-law-to-be.”
“Oooh, now that’s my jam,” she drawled, and I could practically see her rubbing her hands together in glee. “I’ll be right over.”
“Give us about an hour,” I requested. “I’m about to buy Lehra a triple scoop of ice cream.”