Chapter 11 #2
“Yeah—shocked to see me. Relieved to see me. Maybe even pissed that I bailed with a guy.” I laugh, wiggling my brows at him. “Yeah, it will be interesting.”
“No pressure, then. I’ll assume they hate me now; then I can’t be disappointed.”
“Yeah. That’s probably best,” I tease, but then hesitate before whispering, “Joey? What are we?”
He looks down at our linked pinkies, slowly tangling his others with mine. “Best friends?”
I smile, giving a nod, “Yeah … but are we more? Do you want more?”
His mouth parts with his smile, and he hesitates before speaking. “I want you to be happy. I want you to be free. I’d do anything to help you, but … if you could be both of those things, and be with me too … I would be here for that.”
I slip my palm against his, slowly scissoring my fingers between as I look at him, whispering, “I think I love you.”
His already low shoulders sink lower, and he says through a smile, “Well, Everlee Clade … I know I love you.”
I’m desperate to lean into him, the restraint of my body apparent in my strained voice. “I want everything with you.”
His thumb rubs against the back of my hand, his eyes tracking my lips. “And I’ll give you everything I’ve got… We’re almost there.”
There’s a lure to him, my body drifting of its own accord. “It’s getting harder to stay away from you.”
His voice is soft. Those chocolatey pools find my eyes, and they seem to move over that small space as if it were vast, detailed, and new.
His discovery sparks a glimmer, quirking his smile, as he says, “It’s because I’ve fallen into your orbit.
I’m the moon, and you’re my world. Destined to stay by your side forever. ”
The atmosphere surrounding us seems to fall away.
My breath hitches at the sentiment, the intentions heating my eyes, a flush crawling up my neck.
“That makes sense… The gravitational pull…” And I gulp away the threat of tears.
The torment of want and restraint always makes the tears unpredictable.
“You are entwined with my seasons, my tides, and if we were separated, it would be disastrous.”
His jaw tightens as his smile lifts. “It would be apocalyptic for me. If I’m not by your side, then I’m nothing but a lost rock in the dark.”
“You’d never be a rock… You’re more like a star,” I say with a smile.
He squints above his smile. “You’re a shameless flatterer, Miss Clade.”
“It’s not flattery if I mean it… And I mean it. My life would be dark and uninhabitable without you.”
He squeezes my hand, his lips parting to reply, when the bar’s door opens. We jump apart, not realising how close we had drifted until our severed connection. The space between us is cold and distant, as if we’ve been plunged into two separate pools of water.
It’s late in the evening for newcomers, but it looks like they won’t be staying long as the trio of young men in suits sway into one another.
One guy leans on the counter to order, releasing his malty breath upon me. “Three beers, beautiful,” he says with a sweaty face and loosens his shirt a few buttons. His brows dance in my direction to swoon me, especially with the revelation of his gold chains, which rest on his thick chest hair.
I serve his beers with an insincere smile and relax my face as soon as they saunter to a table. Joey leans in. “You know, I won’t feel bad if you want to run off with him instead.”
I dig my elbow into his side as a reply.
With crossed arms, he taps his foot, breaking into a little dance with the music, and I spot the heart I had drawn still upon his skin. It has been weeks since that night.
“That’s cute. You’ve been redrawing it?”
He drops his head and grins. “So, you finally spotted it?”
I lift it to the light. The lines have cleaner details, and the skin is slightly raised with black ink. A tattoo!
“Joey! What?! When did you do that?”
“Gabriel sorted me out the next morning. It’s something for me, for when we’re apart.”
I would have never condoned it, but I can’t help but love it—a simple thing. A lifelong commitment of me to his body. It’s not his only one; along his upper arms and beneath his T-shirt lie tributes to his favourite movies, songs, and bands.
I grab a tray, giving him a smirk before leaving the counter. “Soulmates should have matching tattoos, surely?”
He nods, piling the dirty glasses from the side onto a tray, while I move to the sparse group of regulars, who are in deep conversation. They take no notice of me while I tidy up around them, but the young trio holler at me from their table.
The one from before demands my attention by snapping his fingers at me. “Beautiful, another round, please.”
I roll my eyes, speaking through my teeth. “No problem.”
When I return with their drinks, I tell them, “This is the last round before closing, guys.”
He holds out the cash, ready to drop it in my palm, but pulls it away. “The last round? I don’t think so. Why don’t you come and join us, sexy? Party with Connor?”
Ugghh. What is with this guy? I look over at Joey to press the alarm for Smith, but he’s still in the back. I haven’t got the patience for this.
“No, thank you,” I say, holding my palm out for the cash.
But he grabs my arm and pulls me onto his knee.
I curse as I land on his lap, rippling a laugh between his friends, but when his palm slides from my knee towards my inner thigh, I react without thinking.
Swift and sharp, my elbow rams into his chest, and I stomp my boot on his foot.
He yelps, pushing me into the table, and I fall to the floor while the glasses and bottles rain from above, shattering around my hands and knees.
I’m sodden with beer when the chairs scrape across the floor as the regulars stand and shout at Connor—but I’m not finished.
I jump to my feet, ready to take a real swing at this jerk’s burning red face, but my focus shifts beyond Connor.
Joey vaults across the counter, knocking chairs aside as he races towards me.
My rage turns to panic with his unfolding intentions.
“Joey! No!”
Connor turns just as Joey tackles him through a table, crashing into the wall.
Joey pins him by his shoulders, seething with clenched teeth, and one of Connor’s friends creeps up with a bottle gripped, pulling back his arm to release it on an unsuspecting Joey.
My heart drops, and I can’t stop him in time, but I pick up my tray, shoving it forward with a reach, shielding the impact from Joey’s head.
He is dazed as Connor catches him off guard with a rogue punch, snagging his brow with a clunky sovereign ring.
I’m trying to get close to Joey when the other friend pushes me.
He pulls back his arm, aiming to slap me with the back of his hand.
I jut back just enough for it to only graze my cheek, but when his arm swings to slap me on its way back around, he leaves his chest open.
I make one strike—a jab to his throat—and his eyes bulge as he coughs, grasping his neck while staggering backwards.
Joey is grappling with Connor, landing a couple of punches, but Smith is quick to pull him away, and the regulars are helping detain them.
Connor tries to wrestle from Smith’s clutches, but with a swift bend of his arm, Connor squeals with the twist, and Smith walks him from the bar with ease like a whimpering dog.
Joey’s back rises and falls with panted breath, but when he turns, I gasp at the trickle of dark blood pulsing from his brow, bloodying half his face.
I rush to wipe it clear, making it worse as it paints over his skin.
But instead of worrying over himself, he frantically fusses over me, gripping my shoulders. “Did he hurt you?! Are you okay?!”
“I’m fine. You’re bleeding! Are you okay?!”
I throw myself into his arms, his heart pounding against my ear.
The scent of blood reeks on his shirt, but I’m comforted by the heat of his breath as he nestles his nose atop my head and his hands stroke down my back.
The word “love” is so easily said, but I hadn’t realised how visceral it felt until I saw him doused in blood.
Like a survival instinct, my body has responded to the threat to him as strongly as a threat to myself.
The pain, the heat, the fear—it is smothered within his embrace.
A chair moves, scraping across the floor, reminding us that we’ve forgotten ourselves. We pull back slowly, looking out at the bar with widened eyes. Our regulars silently stare at us, with only music sounding from the TVs.
Hector asks, “You guys okay?”
I nod, “Yeah. I… We need to fix Joey up.”
He looks around at his fellow patrons. “Well, guys … we saw nothing unusual here tonight. Did we?”
“Nope. Didn’t see a thing.”
“They look like good friends to me.”
“Unusual? Here? Nahhh.”
They casually pick the chairs up and collect broken glass. Hector steps towards us and pats my arm. “Why don’t you go sort Joey out while we help you for a change?”
It’s a touching gesture, and my beer-soaked clothes stick to my skin as I lead Joey to the back storeroom, sitting him on a chair. The room is tight between stacks of bottles and kegs while I manoeuvre his seat beneath the single bulb dangling from the ceiling.
He asks, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, Joey, I’m fine. I’m worried about you.”
He looks up at me with his soft brown eyes, still smiling, despite the night’s events.
I clean his wound, studying the details of his face as I wipe a cloth against his crimson-stained cheeks.
Like a looming shadow, the camera absorbs our moment over my shoulder as I want to hold him—or be held by him.
I don’t need much, but right now, I need him.
With a ladder of butterfly sutures on his brow, we head back to the counter to get some ice, but falter at the empty and tidy bar, with only Smith waiting. Someone even mopped the floor.
“Everybody left?” I ask, looking around.
“Yeah. I gave them a briefing,” Smith says.
“We’re all in agreement. Amazingly, they didn’t see a thing: no fight, no cuddling, no nothing.
” He curls his lips. “The rangers removed the attackers, but I won’t log the fight…
’Cause if I do, Donnie will be in here, reviewing the footage, and he’ll see other stuff, and then you’ll get … Krick.”
Ugghh. His name makes my teeth clench, but what a relief! “Smith, thank you. You’re a lifesaver!”
“Yeah, man,” Joey says. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Smith replies. “Shall we get you two home?”
I continue to wear my old clothes over Krick’s uniform on the way to work, which is a nightmare in this weather, as I wear a jacket and baseball cap in the summer heat. As soon as I walk into Seth’s, I pull my hat off, wiping my brow.
He grins at me through his glasses. “Getting warmer, huh?”
“Yeah, but you won’t hear me complaining after that winter.”
He scoops up the bags and brings them to the front of the counter, looking out the window with a subtle smile. “Here he comes now.” Joey crosses the road in the distance. “You know, it’s about time I saw some happy endings around here.”
“Yeah. Here’s hoping. You know I’ll miss you, though?”
“I’ll miss you too. But for you, anywhere is better than here, bubbeleh.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me.
The bell above the door jingles as Joey steps in, and his face is barely bruised, but has a rouge glow about it, with a slit like a coin slot through his eyebrow below the stitches.
“Finch, my boy! What have you been up to?!”
“Banging into things, but don’t worry about it. It looks worse than it is,” he says with a smile, gathering the bags of food onto his shoulders. “Did you watch that movie yet?”
“I did! But tell me, was he in a dream or not?!” Seth asks, throwing his arms into the air.
“Ahhhh. That’s the point of it. It’s up to you to decide.”
“Oy, I hate that,” he says, waving his hands dismissively at Joey.
“Ahhh. I can’t get them all right, Seth. But I’ve got another one for you. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow, okay?”
Joey and I step into the street, and I leave my jacket undone, allowing my skin the pleasure of daylight.
I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated the sun so much after such a bleak winter.
We delve into a conversation about movies we will watch together.
If he wrote out a list of them, or albums, that he’ll have me listen to…
Geez, we’re talking pages. But I love every ounce of his vision for our future.
Forever the optimist, he isn’t letting anything dampen his excitement: the reality of how difficult our escape could be, the separation from his brothers, and the gruelling, violent journey to a safer place.
He’s taking it all in stride, while I wish I could worry less.
I watch him chatter away about his plans to introduce me to Martin Scorsese with a movie marathon while he unlocks the bar door. I lead us through the porch, holding the door open as I step into the bar—and my breath stills.
There, sitting at the counter, is Krick.