Chapter 2 #2
I managed to make it to the cafe fifteen minutes early for my meeting, which is good because my head is not really in it at the moment.
I’m meeting with one of the city's elites. A high baller who wants to talk to me about customizing his car to add some “younger flare.” Whatever the hell that means. I’ve looked at this request order seven or eight times now, but I still can’t figure out what he wants done.
As I futilely attempt a ninth pass through, he walks in and takes the seat across from me.
I’ve got quite the reputation among the city's citizens. Most know me by name or business, but a few socialites that float around when me and the guys attend charity events, know my face. Like this fool, who I’m only now just realizing—as he asks the waitress for coffee—I’ve seen at said gatherings.
Our meeting lasts about an hour, to which we finally come to an understanding.
Sadly, most of the time has been spent explaining why I could not physically put a hot tub in the floor of his ‘86 Camaro.
We did, however, agree on new luxury leather seats, an amped up sound system, and LED lights throughout the interior.
This is why I make the money I do, rich folks with deep pockets who want to feel young again.
Ready to drop massive dollar amounts on ridiculous shit.
After parting ways, I take a few moments to re-collect my thoughts.
An hour of arguments now over, I just need to remind myself that most of the time, I enjoy my job.
Where’s Zane when you need him? He’s the personable one, the talker, the extrovert.
He smiles and people are drawn to him like a magnet, whereas when I smile, you’d think there was grass stuck between my teeth.
Pushing my way out the door, a crowd of people have gathered on the beach.
Bodies are standing everywhere, murmuring and pointing.
The group gets larger with every passing minute and begins to push its way onto the boardwalk.
The excessive and overly excited beach-goers make it harder to navigate my way back to my car.
I’m not small but that doesn’t stop me getting shoved in every direction like a pinball.
A spot opens, and as I try and squeeze myself through the cackling teenagers, someone steps back, shoving me forcefully to the ground as they trip over my tumbling body.
My file folder flies out of my hands, the papers scattering across the sand and concrete in a flurry.
Every note and detail getting covered in dirt or being stepped on and crumpled.
One sheet continues to evade me, as I crawl on my hands and knees after it.
When I’m finally able to smack my meaty palm on top of the piece of getaway paper, I quickly stand to find I’m near the front of the grouping.
Great, now I’m never going to make it back to my car.
My gaze roams over the scene, taking in the two males locked in a fist fight, and my eyes roll. How shocking, two burly dudes who, more than likely, looked at each other the wrong way, beefing it out to show who’s got the bigger dick. Pathetic.
I’m about to turn, file clutched firmly to my side, when the reflection of the sun off of something across the way burns my retinas. As I blink and shield my face, trying to ascertain what exactly is trying to blind me, my heart drops.
Beyond the fight, watching as the two men pulverize the crap out of each other, is a woman.
Striking green eyes, focused on the brawl and ink black hair fanning out from the hood on her head.
A telling smile curls at her lips as she stares ahead of her.
A calculated pleasure on her face when the blood starts to fly.
Shoulders relaxed, hands in her pockets, and still I know that person anywhere.
Addison.
It takes only a minute for my brain to catch up with my eyes, and to then tell my feet to move, as I push my way through the crowd. I need to get closer to her, to touch her, feel her warmth and hear her breath. To know that she’s actually real and alive. More than that, to know that she’s here.
I’ve never moved so fast, ducking and dodging outstretched legs and flailing limbs as I try to keep her in my sights. I’m nearly there, close enough that she should be able to hear me, see me moving among the bodies.
“Addison!” I holler, my voice coming out ragged when I’m winded by a couple of off course elbows. “Addy, is it really you?”
Rounding the last corner, all I’ve got to do is slither my way past a couple more rows of people, when the behemoths that started this thing take each other down.
Both hit the ground, barrel rolling over one another and straight towards the crowd.
The group shuffles back, quickly side-stepping to avoid being steam-rolled, but their motions have them pushing into me once again.
Falling over my feet, I hit the sand with a soft thud, cursing as my ankle bends in a funny way but I don’t stop.
I’m on my feet again instantly, the stinging pain in my leg only a nuisance compared to what’s at stake.
I can’t lose her, not again. She’s literally the air that I breathe and the water which drowns me.
The blood running through my veins and the knife that leaves me bleeding out.
Addison is everything to me and I refuse to even think about losing her twice.
My arms swing wildly, allowing me to push past the last few people and run to the middle—but she’s no longer there.
I spin, violently, in an attempt to see if I can locate her again.
Watching for any kind of movement that could be someone walking off or leaving, but there’s nothing.
No movement, no sight, no trace. My face falls and my chest tightens.
Had I imagined her? Did I get hit in the head without knowing about it?
I could have sworn she had been right here.
Shoulders pressed against the people beside her bunching up the fabric of her hoodie.
Sweat dripping down her neck, tracing a line between the curves of her breasts.
My imagination can’t be that detailed… can it?
If this is all a trick of the mind, I think I’ve finally snapped, because seeing her like that… is even crueler than the nightmares.