Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
LoneStar
Britton has been incognito since we woke up after our drunken tryst between the sheets.
I get it, waking up with no memory of having sex can be a mind fuck, but I can’t say I’m sorry it happened.
Since day one there’s been an alluring, magnetic attraction between the two of us.
It was only a matter of time before we gave into the pull and with our inhibitions lowered, and all of those well-built walls that held us back from falling into a lustful abyss obliterated, it was a foregone conclusion we’d end up between the sheets.
That night, we flirted, we laughed, we told childhood trauma stories, we connected.
So the fact that we ended up finding comfort in each other’s arms isn’t surprising nor is it alarming, at least, not for me.
We both knew it was going to happen sooner or later, you can only fight attraction for so long before the pin has been released from the grenade, therefore, I don’t get what the cold shoulder is about.
Why has she stayed away from the clubhouse?
From me?
Those are two questions I’d love to have answers for.
And since I’m like a cat and the curiosity is killing me, I tried to approach Jersey and ask her about Britton’s distance, but she acts like I’ve purposefully ruined her life, giving me scathing laser beams whenever I’m within ten feet of her proximity.
The old adage about if looks could kill floats through my mind every damn time she gives me one of her dirty looks.
I’m enemy number one in her eyes, and I can deal with that, what I can’t handle is Britton acting cagey and not facing what happened between us head on.
We’re adults, and as grown ups, we talk shit out not start drama in the club.
And that’s exactly what’s happened in this case.
The Kings women aren’t dumb, they’ve caught on to the friction and the fact that Britton is hiding herself away. And since Britton is an ‘in your face’ type of person, and has a bull-in-the-china-shop type of personality, her absence has been noticed and questioned.
I don’t get angered easily, but I’m walking a thin line right now of falling over the edge into unadulterated rage. The old ladies are demanding answers, which in turn, has the men coming to me. Our sexual escapades should stay between us, not become a thorn of tension between the women and men.
Plain and motherfucking simple, it’s absurd and childish.
I’m determined that it ends today. I rinse and then toss my coffee mug into the dishwasher and stomp my way out of the backdoor, heading across the lawn toward the mobile home.
My anger drives me, I don’t pay attention to the fact that her car is not there, that even though it’s ten in the morning, the house is dark and silent.
Usually, there’s laughter ringing through the air between the best friends, but not today.
None of that sinks in though because I have one purpose—confrontation.
I bang on the door like I’m a one-man swat team coming to take possession of a criminal.
I bang so hard on it that the side of my hand begins to throb.
“Britton!” I bellow. “Open the goddamn door and let’s settle this shit!”
I step back as I hear the bolt on the door click and hear the chain being removed.
It’s about time she stops licking her wound and faces reality.
Everything we did that night was consensual, there’s no need for any embarrassment.
Finally, we’ll get this resolved and can go back to business as usual.
However, it isn’t Britton I see once the door swings outward, it’s Jersey. “Sorry if I woke you, Jersey,” I apologize. “But this has been blown out of proportion and has gone on long enough. I want to fix it so we can all move on.”
Her hands shake as she holds out an envelope. I grip it between my fingers and turn it over to see my name scripted on the front. I snap my eyes up and it’s now I notice how swollen and red her eyes are, she looks rough. I wonder for a moment if she’s gotten any sleep.
“You okay, Jersey? Do you need to go uptown and see a doctor?” Concern for her has me asking those questions. I don’t know her well, we’ve only spoken a time or two, but the fact that she resembles a ghost with her pale and blotchy skin has that protector in me rising.
“No,” she whispers, stepping back over the threshold and closing the door.
She’s always been meek and shy, but when approached, she’s usually a good conversationalist. I’ve never heard her give one word responses, and as I glance down at the mail in my hand, I begin to think that whatever’s written inside of it is the reason for her lack of life.
“What have you done, Britton?” I ask as I sit on the porch steps and tear the seal, pulling out the letter.
LoneStar,
God, I don’t even know where to begin to explain what I’ve done so you can understand where I’m coming from and not judge me for it.
I’ve become somebody I don’t recognize anymore.
A liar. A cheat. A coward. A foolish woman who doesn’t know how to act when reality slaps her in the face.
In a nutshell, that’s what I’ve become. An idiot.
An asinine fool. I’ve had one night stands because I don’t do attachments.
They scare the ever-loving shit out of me if I’m being honest. Enough to where I run whenever I feel that tug to trust someone and to give them a glimpse of my true self—like I did with you.
I felt those walls crumbling around my cold heart the night we exposed our secrets to each other.
I let you see the darkness that resides within me, and laughing alongside you, I saw a light, one that I fear walking into.
In my world, brightness doesn’t resemble whimsical things, it only means the dark is hidden within the depth of its cavity, waiting to jump up and capture me, drown me, strangle me.
When the thought entered my head that I should stay and see if you’d be the one person to get me to stick, I freaked.
I reacted. And I lied. I told the biggest lie of my life—to you.
To the one person who encouraged me to be truthful with myself, with others, and for a moment, it was beautiful.
But the lie I told you, it was a doozy. The reason I shut down from you and snapped is because I’m not on birth control, I’m allergic to every single preventative medication the doctor put me on, but I thought I could take care of it by getting the morning after pill and all would be copacetic.
We could simply carry on as if that blooper of not using a condom didn’t occur.
But as my luck runs, so must I because there’s been a mass recall of the pill, it’s not being sold on the market anymore due to tampering.
There’s no way I can stick around, look you in the eye, and carry that burden of deceit on my shoulders without wanting to vomit.
You’re a good man, LoneStar, but I’m not a good woman, I recognize that now which is why I’m going to stay as far away from you as I can.
Be good and find your happiness, there’s nothing more for you I wish for than for you to settle down with a woman who can give you your happily ever after.
Hearts and flowers, pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, that’s what you deserve and now that I know I can’t provide that for you, it’s time for me to jet and move on to the next phase of my life.
xoxo
Britton.
P.S. If it’s not too much for me to ask, could you keep an eye on Jersey for me? She has a tendency to hide from others and down to her core, she’s a good woman. She needs a reason to let everyone see her for who she is, someone to believe in her and encourage her to crawl out of the shadows.
I crumple that letter in my hand as soon as I read the last word.
I should be furious that she lied to me, but from the things she’s shared of her past, I can’t let myself be.
She’s protecting herself from being abandoned.
I hate that she’s put me in the same category as everyone else, I would’ve stuck with her given the chance.
I wish she’d known she could’ve come to me and understand that I am not like most men seeing as I was raised by a single mom.
I know all about female hormones and the way they can affect their cognitively. I’ve experienced every single roller coaster ride it can cause firsthand.
I could’ve been her ally.
Her person to bounce those feelings off of and come at it with a reasonable rebuff.
I could’ve simply been hers.
“Dammit, Britton.”
As we sit in church having our weekly meeting, Icer is off to my right, whistling the tune of Heigh ho, heigh ho, from the cartoon flick, Snow White.
What is his obsession with Disney shows?
I have suspicions that it’s because they live peacefully once they’ve faced the villain and come out the victor, kinda like his life.
In his case, his dad was his evildoer. One which, from the stories told, he took out when he snapped and had hit his wits end.
Riptide bangs the gavel on the wooden plank and calls church to order. The room grows silent because he has a murderous look on his face. “Patrick has resurfaced, but Jerome is still in the wind.”
“Where was he spotted?” I ask, wanting to store every detail I can in my memory.
Slayer raps his knuckles on the table before answering, “He was seen sneaking in the back door of his mom’s place. She’s been harboring him, which isn’t surprising.”
“She’s always been snooty and thinks she’s above the law,” I muse. “Are we handling it in-house or are we sending a tip to the authorities?”
“That’s what we need to decide,” Riptide responds. “As much as I hate to say this, I think we need to hold off and not do anything… yet.”
“Why’s that?” Indiana inquires, looking none too happy about Riptide’s announcement.
“I don’t want to do anything at this time because if we move too fast, Jerome may bolt and never come out of the woodwork,” Riptide explains.
“So we sit around twiddling our thumbs?” Shade asks, his face soured.
“No, we carry on with our recon,” Riptide advises. “We hound him, we make it obvious we know where he is and let it be known he’s on our radar.”
“We give him no wiggle room,” Slayer adds. “We want him sweating, watching his back. We want him to see us. We want him to know we see him too. I want him dogged.”
“You want him to feel threatened without being threatened,” Shade meditates, mentally weighing his options.
Between him and Icer, that job will get done with a flared finesse.
Those two are good at hounding someone and making them feel as if their life is hanging in the balance, they turn the wrong way and they’ll fall off the cliff.
“That’s exactly what I want,” Riptide validates. “I want him to sleep with his eyes open.”
“We want a show of force,” Slayer inserts. “Bikes sitting on the street in front of the bitch’s house. Park in the back alley, rev your engines, make a menace of yourselves as long as we stay within the line of the law.”
“The street is public and so are the alleys,” I ruminate. “It’s not breaking any laws to simply sit there.”
“We’ll do it in shifts,” Slayer discloses. “From here on out, we do things in teams.”
“If you leave, you do so with your buddy. Got it?” Riptide probes.
The room confirms his order with a nod of our heads.
“Give us daily reports, hell, at this point, I’ll take hourly ones. I want to know his every move, no matter how insignificant it seems,” Slayer states.
“See Renegade, he’ll tell you who you’ve been partnered with and who your backup team is. You have your marching orders, keep in touch. If something feels off, call it in. Do not engage if you think things will get handsy. Church dismissed,” Rip declares, slamming down his gavel.