Chapter 14 #2
“Honestly, I’m not. But I’m also not sure what this says about you all.” Claudia looks at me.
“They’re woke,” Paul reaches for his cane and pushes up to stand. I silently laugh. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing now?”
“Depends on your political affiliation and your triggers, I suppose,” I answer, smiling at Claudia.
“Bunch of horse shit either way.” He grumbles. “The whole lot of them are fucking sociopaths. Can’t even watch the news without getting,” he pauses and looks at me and then Claudia.
“Triggered,” they both say at the same time.
“Yep, that.” He stands straighter as he looks at us, both hands on the top of his cane. “What matters and what we can control is how we treat others.”
“That’s true,” Deacon agrees.
“We hold those we love and give a hand to those in need.” He states.
“Also true.” I smile. “But we also need to love ourselves.”
He turns and heads to the door, “Emotional masturbation. Got it.”
Claudia’s jaw drops, and I laugh as I stand. “You know Paul there are little blue pills that can help you out if—”
“Shut it down, Sassy, or I will repeat weird foreplay over and over again when I make you share a ride with me to the Pad.”
“You’re going back?” Claudia whispers as she takes Savannah.
“My head is not in the right place to deal with all that… man.” I look at Deacon, “And for the record, he stopped me from leaving for my own good. Offered to sleep on the floor, and I insisted he sleep in his bed, where I built a pillow wall and told him not to breach it. He is who, to the core, you know who he is. He is a good guy, an asshole, but in a way he needs to be and that is not something for me to share either, but it does hurt my soul that by the look on your face you don’t know what I’m talking about and that makes me want to give him back what he gave me last night and I am in no place to do that, so please kiss and make up. ”
He nods, “Okay.”
I give him a hug and whisper, “He’s a good guy.”
His brows furrow, “I want you to think about one thing.”
“Okay.”
“Are you willing to give that warning to everyone you meet if things with him and you end up something more?”
I place my hand on my hip, “I’m Sofie -f’ing-Fairfax, I don’t have to defend myself to anyone who matters, and anyone who matters would already know he’s an asshole and like him anyway.”
He and Claudia exchange a look like they’re mentally high-fiving one another.
“The two of you need to give this space to breathe, and it is not likely to end up being anything. You promise me that, and I can promise you if it’s not there, there will be no sparing—”
“Weird foreplay,” Paul adds.
“None of that, because he’s a great friend to all of you, and I could always add one to my roster.” I smile. “Plus, I am not na?ve enough to believe all these feelings are not an aftereffect of falling in love with your love story.”
“But is he?” Deacon asks.
I smile so big it hurts, “You have no idea how happy it makes me to know he has you on his side. He deserves that and so much more.”
After dropping Paul off at the pad —in an Uber and not a vehicle driven by James— I head back to The Bridgeview, where I booked a suite.
I am not ready to face anything without evidence, and Matteo and James know me better than I know myself at times; hiding it is not an option.
That too is tomorrow, Sofie’s problem. That’s when Paul and I will meet Hugo in his unused, private Brooklyn Bears box to discuss his findings.
Because today’s Sofie was involved in a covert operation.
Earlier tonight, Hugo stopped by the suite so Paul could give him the information he had.
He took Claudia’s brush along with a toothbrush she will no doubt miss.
He asked me to do a swab of Savannah’s mouth, and I refused.
If I were Claudia, I’d be pissed if someone did that without my consent.
Unbeknownst to anyone, I check into The Bridgeview instead of facing Matteo, whom I avoided this afternoon, by precisely timing when I stopped back home to check in on Dad, who has checked out again, and the staff.
After a shower, I throw on AK’s sweatshirt.
I missed this stage in HS and college; I did not date jocks.
Hell, I didn’t actually date at college either; it was hookups here and there.
All of which made me want to bathe in bleach, and not because they were physically dirty, they were fuck boys.
Typical of my age and stage, adding in my daddy issues, I was na?ve enough to think one of them would be magically transformed from player to love of my life — like Nalani and Koa— and would for sure realize this because my pussy held magical powers.
After college, well, everything changed. There has been no time when real life has had to be staged for public consumption. So, this sweatshirt is healing my inner… something. Also, it’s just comfy and smells like him.
Now I’m lying on the bed, lights low, city noise muted behind glass, and I am kicking myself for not grabbing my weighted blanket when my phone buzzes against the duvet.
The screen tells me it’s an unknown call, and my stomach drops instantly.
I open the message.
Unknown:
Check your coat pocket.
Every hair stands up on my arms because this is how it works in the movies. Short messages, instructions, and power plays. For half a second, I’m convinced it’s something about the board. About a leak. About the takeover circling like Fairfax Media, like sharks.
My pulse spikes because fuck those two bitches, I hop out of bed, cross the room, shove my hand into the pocket, and pull out something hard in tissue paper, and … it’s an ornament.
Small, solid, not glass, ceramic, hand-painted. A simple white oval with evergreen branches around the edge. At the center, in neat green script: Aunt Sofie.
My throat closes. I don’t need to ask who it’s from, I know it’s Aleks.
He must have slipped it into my pocket at the market in a quiet yet deliberate way. No performance. Just… present.
I sink back onto the bed, ornament clutched in my hand.
My phone buzzes again.
Unknown:
Saw you looking at this and didn’t get it. A perfect piece to commemorate today.
I change his contact name to AK.
Me:
You realize I almost had a heart attack.
AK:
You good?
I don’t want to lie, but also, I want to answer.
Me:
Thank you. It’s perfect.
AK:
Counting sheep?
Me:
Might have to, I’m missing my weighted blanket.
AK:
You don’t need a weighted blanket Tsarina, you need to know you’re protected.
Me:
Phew, I thought you were going to say I needed you.
I watch the dots dance across the screen and disappear.
Shit, shit shit. I think and then.
AK:
If you do, let me know.
I just stare at the screen, just stare at it, emotions again building past the point I can hold them at bay.
I’ve never needed anyone, or maybe I’ve never trusted anyone, until I met Nalani and, with her, Noelle.
That day I saw Nalani’s location in the city, after a trip abroad to have a specialist look at Dad, and coming home with no good news at all, there she was.
Had that not happened, I’d never have met Claudia, Savannah, or Paul. Claudia would not have reconnected with Deacon, and those damn players would have never helped Dash pick out the dress that sealed the deal for him and Noelle.
“God, I need her right now, but I cannot put this on her; too much stress when she’s pregnant.”
As I lay back into bed, there’s a knock on the door, and the child in me that believed in Santa… perhaps for too long runs to the door expecting to throw it open and see her, but it’s not her, it’s… him.
“Well damn,” Aleks says easily, stepping past me like this is the most natural thing in the world. “Thought that excitement was for me.”
He sets a box down on the desk with care. Unrushed and casual. Like peace washed over him before the Christmas market.
He shrugs out of his black wool coat, the one I clocked earlier at the market, and mentally debated whether it is cashmere-blend or all wool; whatever it is, it looks amazing on him.
“I brought food,” he says, like that explains everything, as he passes me, unclenches my hand that’s still gripping the door, allows it to shut and then leads me over to the small table.
He opens the box.
Inside are two paper trays wrapped in butcher paper.
One with grilled bratwurst sliced on a bias, mustard packed separately.
The other with a warm stack of potato pancakes, still crisp, applesauce on the side.
There’s also a soft pretzel, which he tears in half and offers to share. “You were eyeballing these, too.”
“That’s a lot of carbs,” I hesitate.
He shakes his head. “The fact I’m attracted to a woman who looks like you blows my mind.”
I cross my arms, “Um, offensive.”
“You’re a waif. I like a stronger-looking woman.”
“You did not just—”
“Eat the pretzel and allow me to explain myself,” he pauses, and almost chokes as he says, “Please.”
I snatch the pretzel from his hand and take a giant bite, and purposely speak with my mouth full, “Is this sexy?”
“Fuck no,” he laughs, “But it is cute as hell.”
Well, there he goes, feeding one of my kinks, praise.
“You’re too perfect.” He says as I sit, “and fragile looking.”
I just blink.
So, he explains, “I like to be the pretty one, standing next to you,” he shakes his head. “And your body is small, I’d be afraid to break you in bed.”
Now I nearly choke.
“But you Sofie-fucking-Fairfax, are possibly the strongest female I’ve ever met.” He taps his chest, “Where it counts.” He narrows his eyes at me and sighs. “If anything ever becomes of us, we’ll go to the gym.”
“You do all this?” I wave my hand in front of me. “The ornament? And then you follow up with we’ll go to the gym?”
He nods once. “And you’ll need to learn to skate.”
I hide my face in the sweatshirt and laugh.
“What so funny?”
“You’re a romance killer. You can’t be all—”
“Romance is an illusion.”
“I beg your pardon?” I gasp.
“I like the whole idea of you begging, but we’re going slow, because—”
I laugh out, “I’m so fragile?”
“I could break you so yes, you’re fragile. That is the truth, that is what’s real. I don’t want to break you, so slow is the best option.”
“You’re talking sex again? Flip flopping?”
He studies me, like actually, and then, “Are sex and a possible relationship not one and the same between a man and a woman? Do you not show affection with lips and tongues and teeth and your whole body, or thoughtful gestures, and not for any reason except you can’t turn off the need to want them to feel full, and warm, and see them possibly smile? ”
I open and shut my mouth a couple of times, and he looks annoyed.
“I don’t know how to have this conversation, and you don’t seem to either. Perhaps on a day. After the night you had, it’s not a good idea. It’s not the reason I came.”
My eyes are heating up, and my throat is thickening, but I manage, “Thank you.”
He nods once as he stares at the television.
I clear my throat and try to push past how truly awful we both are at this. “You want me to turn on the TV and watch Detroit with you while we eat?”
His blue eyes light up, and then he scowls and shakes his head. “I watch hockey too much.”
“It’s your life.”
“It is, but I don’t know, maybe a movie?”
Perfect, I think as I stand up, “You get to pick since you brought dinner.”
“Maybe you should pick.”
“No way, you.” I smile as I grab the remote, trying to calm all emotions and the… tingles inside of me.
“Would you like to watch Fifty Shades of the Color Gray?”