Chapter 10
Ten. What a menace
Patrick
There’s a first time for everything, right?
First time knocking someone up, first time falling back in love, first time moving to a new city as an adult.
First time putting my motorcycle into the cargo hold of a train.
This was as nerve-wracking as the other three.
Especially since they don’t unload the carriage until much later in the day.
The train only does two trips from Bangalore in a day and with Chennai being the last stop, they take their time unloading the cargo hold.
Unless you pay extra and get them to do it as soon as you get off the train.
I didn’t mind waiting a day, but now I’m anxious.
While I’m fine using public transport, there’s something to be said for riding my bike through busy streets and getting to places faster.
Besides, Nyx and I have been together for a long time and she’s my prized possession.
Even more than the medals. Part of the reason I chose to rent at the start of my career was so I could save all my earnings to buy a motorcycle.
Growing up, my dad’s younger brother—and my godfather—was the cool uncle with a leather jacket and a Royal Enfield1 you heard long before you saw it.
To my young and impressionable eyes, it was the most badass thing on the planet.
So when I was old enough to get my own ride, I spent years researching and test riding every Enfield bike manufactured until I settled on the Hunter 350.
I don’t use the bike for long distance travelling or traversing dangerous areas.
For me, it’s a way to feel like I’m flying.
Plus, when Dominic and I started working together, he recommended long drives and my bike was perfect.
Painted entirely black, I named her Nyx—for the goddess of night and daughter of Chaos—and she’s always in perfect condition.
So when I reach Chennai Central2 and see the railway employees have ripped away the bubble sheets and brown paper I wrapped her up in to take pictures, I’m mad. They apologise profusely and very sheepishly ask for a tip. Despite my irritation, I make the necessary payments and get Nyx out of there.
Elias recommended a few places open this early to pick up pancakes after he overheard my conversation with Tamara. I drive to the first café and place my order, then step outside to look Nyx over. I run my hands over the engine and handlebars, around the wheels and ensure she’s okay.
“I’m sorry, Nyx,” I mumble, as I pat her down. “For leaving you with those handsy men.”
A staff member brings my order out and I thank him, then put it into my knapsack.
I loop it over my shoulders and pull on the rest of my gear.
Then I follow the directions coming through my earphones until I pull up in front of a gate where an old security guard guides me to a visitor’s parking area.
I make sure to park Nyx in the shade before I grab everything and head inside.
The lobby is teeming with plants, one wall has a bulletin board and the other side has mailboxes.
The one with Tamara’s name is overflowing.
I tuck her mail under my arm and climb into the elevator.
I’ve never been this anxious, but my hands are shaking.
We might have kissed last night and I took a lot more liberties by grabbing her ass, but it doesn’t mean anything.
Tamara was mostly annoyed with me the whole evening, so she might feel worse towards me today.
Nervousness runs through my veins and my heart beats out an excited rhythm, making this the most stressful elevator ride of my life.
When I finally step out, three doors in different colours greet me—dark brown, white and green—two have plants in front, the third is empty. There are mats in front of each apartment, along with their number and names. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the green door belongs to my girl.
Giving myself another pep talk, mostly so I don’t say or do anything stupid when I see her, I knock on the door.
“It’s open!” a voice calls back and I frown.
Shuffling things in my arms, I twist the handle and push into the flat.
A reprimand freezes on my tongue when I take a look at the place—it’s beautiful.
I step further in and close the door behind me, but don’t go any further.
The walls are light pink and brightens the space while adding character.
The white curtains are drawn open to bring in natural light, plants leaning desperately towards the sun.
It’s an open plan space, allowing you to see the living room, dining room and kitchen all at once. It’s clean and smells fucking great.
She hurries out of the hallway leading off the kitchen and skids to a halt. “Absolutely not.”
“What?”
“Why must you look like this?”
I look at myself and frown. “I’m confused.”
“I’m hormonal and you’re doing this to me.”
“Help me out here, Lo.”
She huffs at the nickname, but doesn’t correct me.
Hands on her hips, she taps her foot and I smile.
She’s wearing a grey dress that falls to her knees, putting her bare legs and bright green toes on display.
God, she’s fucking cute. Her curly hair is up in what I can only assume is a ponytail, but most of it is spilling down her shoulders.
Her face is clear of makeup, except for whatever she’s put on her lips to make them shine.
There’s a softness around her waist that’s visible in this outfit and I’m very aware of what she’ll look like when we’re a few more months into this pregnancy.
“You’re dressed like those bad boys parents warn their daughters about.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“You seriously don’t know about the side of the internet where everyone is thirsting over biker boys?”
“I don’t have social media.”
“Take your boots off,” she instructs. I do the best I can to toe them off without having to put everything down and then arch an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you rode a bike.”
“Haven’t in a while, thought it made sense to bring her here.”
“Her?”
“Jealous, baby?”
She makes a pfft sound. “I know what it’s like to be ridden by you, I don’t have to be jealous of another woman.”
Jesus. I barely stifle my growl and she smirks. A minx, my girl.
“Then you know I’m not the bad one here.”
“Being good all the time is so boring anyway. Is that breakfast?”
I nod. “And all your mail. When was the last time you checked your box?”
“I always forget.” She gestures to the table on the other side of the door. “You can leave your helmet there.”
I do what I’m told and join her in the kitchen.
I unload the food as she pulls out plates and cutlery.
We move around each other like we’ve done this before and it feels good.
I can see myself living in this apartment with her, conversation over coffee every morning, dinner at the counter and watching mindless television on the large couch.
That’s also when I notice how spotless the flat is.
It has a lived-in look, but definitely a space that’s been cleaned recently.
“You didn’t have to clean up for me,” I tease.
“This guy has been stalking me since I’m obviously the best he’s ever had. So we know he’s got good taste, but won’t leave me alone. Thought I’d put in some effort for him. What a menace.”
I laugh at her dramatic performance, comforted that she’s not treating me like a stranger.
Once upon a time we knew each other’s favourite colours, song and time of day.
Now we’re basically strangers. I hope she gives us a chance to catch up on everything we’ve missed, start over even though she’s already got our baby growing in her belly.
“You okay sitting on the couch?” Tamara serves the food onto two plates.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Coffee?”
“You’re not supposed to drink coffee while pregnant,” I say and she waves me off.
“I bought some for you.”
Fucking hell. “In that case, yeah.”
“It’s one of those packets you add to milk,” she says, pointing to the pan on the stove and the brown packet beside it.
I don’t drink instant coffee since I developed a sophisticated palate for my morning coffee and prefer pressing a button and letting a machine do the work.
This is only for now, so instant filter coffee will do.
I fill a cup and grab my plate, then join Tamara on the couch.
She’s got her legs crossed under her with the plate balancing on her lap as she scrolls through her phone.
I commit this moment to memory, because this feels normal.
I set my cup on a well-placed coaster on the table, cross one leg over the other, ankle to knee, and dig into my breakfast. From the corner of my eye, she does the same thing.
We eat in silence, the only sounds coming from cutlery scraping against our plates.
In any other situation, I’d hate this noise, but right now, I don’t care.
I realise when it comes to Tamara, I don’t care about a lot of the things that usually bother me.
Since I want more from her, I’ll take all the bad with the good.
When I finish, I swap my plate for my coffee. “Tell me about this internet and bikers thing.”
She shifts on the couch to face me. “They’re thirst traps. We never see their faces, but they’re fit, covered in tattoos, riding their bikes and being hot.” The whole time she speaks, she’s gesturing to the parts I have in common with these men. I try not to look too smug that she called me hot.
“That’s really a thing?”
Tamara nods, licking syrup off her lips. “I don’t know who started it or why, but it’s a nice distraction after a long day.”
“You don’t need that when you’ve got the real thing,” I tell her, I’m clearly everything the internet wants. “Bonus, you can see my face and you know what I look like under these clothes.”
She only hums in response and eats the last of her food.
She meets my eyes briefly as she stands, taking both our plates to the kitchen.
When she returns, she’s cradling a tall mug that reads woke up sexy as hell again and I smile.
Her eyes twinkle and I feel something settle in my heart.
It’s scary to feel these things for her when she spent most of last night being angry with me.
I know it was a risk to kiss her, but she returned it and that tells me I’m not on the wrong track.
It also means I have my work cut out for me.
And I’ve never shied away from hard work.
“What did you want to talk about?” I finally ask, sipping on the disgusting instant coffee concoction. It jolts me awake, but the taste is atrocious.
Tamara lowers her mug and takes her time adjusting herself on the couch. I don’t know why she bothers to make sure I can’t see anything under her dress. I’ve memorised every inch of her body; I will never forget what she looks like naked.
“Okay, so. I don’t expect you to take care of me. I can do that for myself. I make enough money and have a good support system, as you saw last night. I don’t need…that.”
I frown at what she’s not saying, but don’t reply, so she continues.
“We live our lives, you can be at doctor appointments. I’ll give you regular updates about the baby and keep you in the loop. You do whatever it is you do when you’re not winning medals. Date whoever, fuck whatever. Life as normal.”
What the fuck? On the inside, I’m bubbling with frustration. I hope I’m presenting a calm facade. The only way I’m getting through this morning is if I don’t yell. She did warn me we’d fight and it looks like I’ll be the one instigating it.
“This doesn’t have to be anything more than it is, right? I mean, we didn’t plan for this baby and I’m not expecting you to drop everything to be here for me or us or whatever. It’s not even born yet, so why force ourselves to do this?”
I don’t trust myself to speak; the words on the tip of my tongue are loud and angry. I get where she’s coming from, that’s the worst part. I hate she’s not aware of how deeply I’m invested in this. She’s right, though. We didn’t plan for this.
One thing I know for certain, I have no interest in going back to my life the way it was.
“Nope,” I say and stand up, finishing my coffee as I walk to the kitchen.