Eleven #2
“‘Rice is rice,’ he says,” I mutter at my bowl, my smile evident in my tone. “He whips up risotto and says ‘rice is rice’.” I’m relieved at how easy it is to talk to him—and I need that—but more so how easy it is to be myself with him. That’s a gift.
“I’ll show you if you want. Or I can keep spoiling you with my cooking.”
“I’ll take what’s behind door number two.” I look over at him. “But I can bake. A little.”
“Deal. Tell me about your mom. When did she move to Colorado Springs?”
I sigh out all the air in my lungs, but accept my fate. “Okay, but I need more wine. Or Everclear. Have any moonshine?”
“That bad?”
“That bad.”
His face is grim, but he rounds the bar and grabs the wine from the fridge and the bottle of bourbon. He lifts both. “Pick your poison.”
I lift my glass. “Wine. Bourbon isn’t my thing no matter how many ways I try it.”
He walks into the living room, still carrying both bottles, lifting one to the sofa in invitation. “After you.”
I plop in the corner and twist my feet underneath me. I expect Ren to take the other corner and stretch out his long legs in between us. I should’ve known better. He sits next to me, twisting enough that he faces me, but not in an aggressive way.
“Mom moved within a couple of years of when we lost August. It was rough in Pueblo. Not just the gang activity, but the spots he would hang out, the “friends” who never showed up after… even for the funeral. He was gone, and so were they. You know it’s too small to not drive by our old haunts, the high school, or the restaurants we went to as kids.
Jalisco’s is still there.” I look up into his face.
“They have the best beans and rice ever. The salsa is still served warm.”
He gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.
“Anyway, she tried. But she just became less and less… I don’t know… herself, maybe? She wasn’t what I’d call healthy and whole to start. You know that.”
I take a big swig of my wine, and the chill cools my insides, bringing goosebumps to my skin. Ren takes that opportunity to pull a blanket from the back of the sofa and stretch it out over me.
I burrow into it, needing the warmth and security I can take from it.
“There was just no light. I wasn’t around much.
Aug was gone. His friends had bailed. Her job was crap and living in our old house was just memory lane hours upon hours a day.
I suggested she find some new scenery. It was a double-edged sword, you know?
She was leaving the place that took him from us, but she was also leaving the last place he was alive. ”
I take another big sip. This time the shiver that runs through me isn’t because the wine is crisp and cold.
Ren’s warm palm lands on my knee. He hasn’t shied away from touching me in the last two days, but there’s been nothing as familiar as this either. Except when we’re sleeping.
“And you? Why didn’t you go with her?” He takes a pull of his bourbon.
I look everywhere but at him. I really don’t want to confess why I didn’t go when she did.
Taking a deep inhale, I drop my eyes to my hand as I let it out.
My wedding band through the wine looks warped, but still shiny and brilliant.
I rush out the words, knowing once they’re out there, I won’t be able to take them back. Ren will never unhear what I say.
“Heath was already pushing me to pay Aug’s ‘debts,’ whether they were real or not. His most efficient threat was that he would make Mom pay if I didn’t. So I begged off moving with her and let her believe I was thriving in Pueblo.”
“His debts?” The chill in his voice communicates more than I can understand.
I bob my head, still not meeting his gaze. “August was dabbling in their shipments. Or so Heath claimed. The stabbing was a ‘warning’—” I use air quotes from the hand not holding my wine— “to the other members of the MC so they’d know better than to do the same.”
His palm on my knee goes rigid just as the rest of him turns frighteningly still. Ren’s voice is equally as terrifying when he asks, “Was he using?”
“I truly don’t know. He changed. But everyone changes.
Not to mention the fact that we weren’t living at home where I’d pick up on the subtle or not-so-subtle differences.
He was shorter in his calls and texts, but he was still my August.” I shrug.
“Heath insists he was and made a point of putting that in my face. So I lost my brother and then had salt rubbed in the wound over and over until I acquiesced. Life was barely tolerable.”
“And how did he expect you to pay?” Ren’s words are as brittle as glass when he spits them out.
“I’ve said enough tonight. This is obviously bothering you, and I’m tapped out.”
A finger comes under my chin and tips my face to Ren’s. “Try again.”
Everything on him is rigid. His eyes blaze with anger, but when his hand slides to cup my jaw, it’s warm and tender.
“We’re getting this all out tonight. Not exactly the wedding night little girls dream of. It’s sure as fuck not the one I would expect if I’d ever given it any thought, but we’re not going into this partnership with secrets.”