Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2) (17 page)

When 5pm rolled around, Toby gathered his things and began making his way to the door.

“Hey, shouldn’t you wait for your sister?”

He shook his head, and leaned over to scribble, “She told me to meet her in the front.”

I frowned and he added, “It’s fine. Must mean she’s starting to trust both of us.”

I thought about that. Yeah. Maybe. Maybe her reasons for coming inside last week was to ensure he was in good hands, which is what any decent guardian would do. I was happy to earn her trust, but I had been looking forward to seeing her. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t afraid of me. Yeah, I had gotten a bit intense last night, and I didn’t take acts of violence lightly. Or maybe she was angry. Maybe that man’s hands were welcome on her body, and I had screwed things up for her.

I walked Toby to the door and kept a safe distance away, as I watched him jump into his sister’s beat-up Camaro. She ruffled his hair and smiled at him, the gesture so completely unguarded . . . warm even. I had never seen her like that and, if possible, she seemed even more beautiful to me—ugly scrubs, messy hair and all.

After they disappeared down the road and out of my sight, I suddenly felt lonely. I knew they didn’t have much, but they had each other. They were a family. And no amount of raunchy hook ups would ever compare to that bond. That was why I had gone to The Pink Kitty last night—to break things off with Cherri. But first I apologized for kicking her out the morning after our romp with Alyssa. I hated when people were upset with me. I couldn’t help it. Hurting people unintentionally was something I could never learn to be passive about, especially towards women. It was like something inside me didn’t just want to please people, it wanted people to love me. It was ridiculous, but it was true. And if I didn’t make things right, the guilt would drown me.

Like most evenings, I headed to Dive for a few beers before heading home. I scanned the Happy Hour crowd in hopes of seeing Alyssa—she also deserved an apology—but she wasn’t there. I wouldn’t be surprised if she never showed her face again. And that was shitty, considering it was because of me.

“Well, if it isn’t the stripper vigilante,” CJ started in as soon as I grabbed my spot at the bar. “So do you apprehend people with garters and blind them with glitter glue? Is your costume a bedazzled thong and nipple tassel launchers?”

“Ha Ha. Hilarious.” Angel and her big mouth. I was more than thankful when Blaine came over with an ice-cold beer for me without me even having to ask.

“You know I’m just screwin’ with ya, man,” CJ laughed, slapping me on the back. “More than anything, I’m pissed you didn’t invite us along!”

“Keep me out of it,” Blaine commented. “Strip clubs are the last place I need to be.”

I raised my beer in salute, giving Blaine the respect he deserved. He was a good guy through and through.

“Shit,
that’s the
first
place I need to be! Better than hanging out with lame fuckers all the time. Maybe we should make Ladies Night clothing optional. Even do like an amateur stripper contest. Boy, this place would make a damn killing!”

Blaine looked at his cousin like he had the word MORON stamped on his forehead. “Yeah. Let me just run that by Kami.”

“Run what by Kami?”

Speak of the devil, Kami appeared from out of the crowd, followed by Angel, the pair stopping to stand beside us. Kam waited expectantly, her green eyes darting to our guilt-ridden faces.

“Uh . . . um,” Blaine stammered.

“Blaine wanted to ask you if we could do an amateur stripper night and make Ladies Night clothing optional,” CJ prattled off before anyone had the chance to stop him. That awkward second of silence following his tirade was deafening, everyone completely motionless in mock horror.

“What?” That one word from Kami’s lips was cool and calm. A contrast to Angel’s, “Oh, hell no!”

“Wait, I didn’t say that,” Blaine insisted, raising his inked hands. “That was CJ’s dumb ass.”

CJ was firm in his resolve, and even had the balls to shake his head with the same face of disappointment that both girls wore. “You said you would run it by her. Don’t try to pin that shit on me, dude.”

I was doubled over in laughter, too overcome with hilarity to intervene and set the record straight. Plus I was kinda enjoying the fact that Mr. Perfect wasn’t looking so perfect right now. I was being petty. Sue me.

“So this is what you want? And somewhere in your distorted mind, you thought I would be okay with this?” Kami questioned.

Blaine leaned across the bar, and leveled his sincere stare with hers, blocking out Angel’s accusatory curses, CJ’s phony concern, and my deep belly laughter. “Babe, seriously. Does that sound like something I would want? Or does it have CJ’s stupidity stamped all over it? There is nothing a stripper could do for me. There is no other woman on this earth that could drive me crazy and make me feel like the luckiest man alive all in the same breath. You know that.”

She took a minute to consider his words before looking at me to verification. I shook my head and tipped it to Blaine, putting him out of his misery. “Wasn’t him. All CJ.”

Right on cue, as if it were choreographed, both Kami and Angel smacked CJ upside the head, as we had witnessed Blaine do a million times whenever his cousin was acting like an even bigger dumbass than usual. He hardly even flinched. He was probably numb to the assault.

“Oh come on! You know it’d be popular. Am I right, Angel? I know you can appreciate a room full of tits.”

Angel shook her head at him, but replied, “I can. But not everyone should be walking around naked. Could you imagine Mick?”

We all cringed and shivered at the mental image of CJ’s dad sporting a beer gut, three inches of body hair, and nothing else.

“Blech,” CJ grimaced. “Good point.”

I hung out for another hour or so before I had exhausted every excuse to stay. I was fidgety, on edge and unfocused. My friends kept trying to pull me into their conversations, but I was too preoccupied to engage. I didn’t want to be there, but I didn’t want to go home. And the only place I wanted to be, I assumed I wasn’t welcomed.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t keep denying where my heart and mind were. I was just going through the motions for my friends at this point. And that wasn’t being fair to me or them. I knew what I wanted was stupid, reckless, and could potentially get me fired, but I just had to try. I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t, and that was hard enough as it was.

“Hey, I’ll catch you guys later,” I said suddenly, sliding off the barstool.

“Where are you going?” Angel frowned. Everyone I cared about was already here, and if I had a “date,” I wouldn’t need to deal with her until much later. Plus she knew I was trying to slow down and get my head together.

“Something I need to do.”

She looked perplexed, but let the issue drop, just as I had done for her the day before, and looked to Kami who nodded her head. We all had a lot to discuss—Angel’s tears yesterday . . . Kami’s impending doom, I mean, nuptials. But this wasn’t the time or the place.

“Be careful,” is all she said, mimicking the very same words I’d offered to Raven last night. Little did she know that I wasn’t warning her against men in the club. I was warning her against me. Hell, maybe I was warning myself.

I
DIDN’T GET A
lot of free time to spend with Toby, so when I did, I tried to make it count. My days off were devoted to him and to trying to instill some normalcy in his life. So on Tuesdays, I cooked. It wasn’t anything grand, and honestly, I wasn’t great at it, but it was something he liked helping me with, and something I enjoyed.

There wasn’t much Toby and I could bond over. We hadn’t had the same upbringing, and for that, I harbored a lot of guilt. Nobody knew how bad it had become after I had left. Nobody could have known that our mother would self-destruct after Gene left. But that didn’t ease the feelings of regret and sorrow for my little brother. I’d always feel responsible for what she’d done, yet selfishly glad that she hadn’t done it to me.

“Pass me the oregano, kid,” I instructed, stirring the pot of marinara simmering on the stove. It was jarred sauce, but we always spruced it up with our own special touches. Tonight we had sat at my crappy little dining room table and rolled the craziest looking meatballs in existence. Some were big, some were small. Some were shaped into our initials that would probably look like turds once they were cooked. But we did it together, and we had fun. Toby smiled, and that was all that mattered.

“You know what this needs? Hot sauce!”

Toby nodded enthusiastically and grabbed the bottle of Texas Pete. We ate it with everything, I swear. On scrambled eggs, in tomato soup that we dipped grilled cheese in, atop the crunchy potato chip layer of tuna casserole . . . One time I had dared him to put it on his ice cream. After much coaxing, he did, but quickly spit it out, scraping the cold, spicy goop of his tongue with a spoon.

“So I heard from your vice principal today,” I remarked casually. I didn’t want to put him on defense and cause him to shut down. “She said they’re positive they’ve found those punks that cornered you. So if you were worried or anything . . . you don’t have to be anymore. They’re handling it.”

He shrugged and focused on tearing lettuce for the salad. It wasn’t much of a response, but it confirmed that he had heard me. I’d take what I could get.

I had just taken the meatballs out of the oven and popped in a cookie sheet of garlic bread when there was a knock at the door. Simultaneously, we frowned, the shared dimple between our brows deepening, and looked at the closed door. We weren’t expecting company, and it wasn’t as if either one of us had a social life. Factor in the less than desirable neighborhood, and I was already reaching for the aluminum bat that was situated against the coat rack with the umbrellas, and Toby was moving toward the back of the apartment.

I looked out the peephole, but it was too dark to see much more than a shadowy figure. The hall light was out again. Usually, I didn’t get home from work until after 2 in the morning. Making my way to the door was like walking on a minefield wearing a blindfold every night.

“Who is it?” I called out, letting my voice drop a few octaves as if it would make me seem more intimidating. I sounded ridiculous, and had probably just relayed that we were alone to whoever was on the other side of the door.

“Um, uh . . .” a muffled male voice stammered. “Dominic . . . Dominic Trevino?”

Dominic? What the . . . ?

I clicked open the locks and tentatively cracked open the door. There he was, sheathed in shadows and twilight that spilled in from the hall’s single, dingy window. He wore a white, button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and black slacks. His hair was black silk styled in its usual
un-styled
way. He wore a pensive expression, as if he were still trying to understand what had brought him to my doorstep. I was sporting something similar. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets nervously, the light spilling from my apartment highlighting the frustration on his brow. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just . . .”

I had the feeling that there was no simple answer for why he was here. That even if he knew it somewhere subconsciously, it wasn’t possible for him to verbalize it. Maybe it was the same impulse that had made me spew my guts in his office yesterday. Whatever the case may have been, I saved us both the awkwardness and invited him in.

Toby was already at the door, looking at Dom with expectation and wonder. And . . . joy. It was like his best friend had just come over for a sleepover. And that made me both relieved and sad for him.

“Hey, my man,” he said, greeting Toby with a fist bump, which he happily returned. Then he was looking at me with guarded eyes. “Sorry to drop in on you like this. I just . . . I wanted to see that you were ok.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and squinted at him. “How did you get my address?”

“Your file . . . shoot, I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

I heaved out an irritated sigh through tight lips. “Well, you did. Is there something you need?” Having him in my space was too real for me. In public, I could keep him at arm’s length. I could turn and walk away, even flip him the bird, if need be. But he was here . . . in my home. And suddenly, the place seemed even tinier, and my furnishings even shabbier. Judging by the way he dressed and the car he drove, he probably didn’t come to this side of town often. So it made sense for him to spit out what must’ve been so dire that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, and get back to where he came from.