“You're right. The boy I knew would never be the bitter and angry man you turned out to be.”

  “I've seen more of hell since then.” My jaw hurts by how hard I'm clenching it. Damn it she always knew how to push my buttons.

  “It's not like you live there, so stop acting like you do.”

  “I live it every fucking day,” I squeeze the steering wheel harder, my knuckles turning white.

  “Hey shit-for-brains, what did I just say? You don't live there,” she says it slow as if I ignored her the first time and has to now make sure I get the message. Yet she's the one not listening.

  “You're not fucking listening. I've got a permanent home in hell and I return every time I close my fucking eyes. I see her, her eyes staring at nothing, her skin expanded from the internal decay, that needle still in her dumb ass arm as if I needed confirmation of how she took herself from me.” The tears come and they're as angry as I feel, burning a trail down my face, hot and uncomfortable. “Fuck,” I shout into the car.

  When her hand rests on my arm I flinch. “Shhhh,” she soothes. “Pull over.”

  “No,” I wipe the tears from my cheeks with rough fingers.

  “Pull over,” this time more force behind her words, “it's my fucking car, so pull over.”

  “Fuck! Fine,” I turn the wheel hard to the side, a horn loud at our rear, I flip them the bird as they speed past her car that's now parked along the medium.

  “Jesus,” she hisses as she gets out of the car and slams the door behind her. She paces, but the words she's saying are lost to me. The rain makes it even harder to see her. I can't seem to stop clutching the steering wheel even though my hands ache from the effort.

  A loud tapping follows soon after and I see her at the passenger window. Her scowl fierce as she motions for me to roll down the window, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation has my lips twitching. It'd be so much easier if she'd just get back in the car, but I indulge her. Water drips into the seat.

  “What were you thinking?!”

  A stinging feeling comes back to my hands as I lift them up on an exasperated sigh. “You're the one that told me to pull over.”

  “Pulling over involves turn signals, eventual braking, and for fuck's sake not almost causing an accident with my brand-new car I haven't even finished paying off!”

  “Not to me it doesn't.” It did, but I couldn't handle being one more step below her right now, not when she was already at the top, looking down.

  “As if you haven't made that abundantly clear,” she growls and pushes from the car to start her pacing again. She actually growls and I like how it rattles me even from here. Fuck me, she's hot when she's angry, but she always has been. We had more spectacular hate sex than I could count. Even so it hadn't been those times that stuck with me and kept me warm and erect in the middle of the night for all these years. There's been too much anger in my life, so she'd been a mental escape that I took pleasure in.

  I sigh as I wait for the window to roll up, and then get out of the car. Capturing her by the shoulders on another zag of her path. Her mouth tight, screwed in a severe line and I can tell she wants to say something else that will be biting. In that moment I become tired. Exhausted, I’m damn tired of being on the losing side of a tug-a-war. Me against the whole fucking world, fighting at every goddamn turn, about every damn thing. She’s something I no longer want to fight about anymore. I knew every day she’d been absent from my life that she was mine. There’s no fucking way I would sit back and let her believe, or not admit that as she sat alone in the middle of the night, when she whispered the truths of the world, that she too didn’t believe the very same thing.

  Before I can talk myself out of what a disaster this could be, I press my lips to hers. Afterall, a mess can be beautiful within its chaos, and I want to be caught in whatever storm she brings as long as I’m there beside her weathering it.

  At first there's no reaction from her, it stings, but I’m not ready to give up. I open my eyes and stare into hers and that's when my tongue runs a line across her still firmly sealed mouth. Letting my hot breath tease as I speak, “I’m sorry,” I run my nose against hers, and I bring my hands up to cradle her face. I let our lips gently press together, but do nothing to encourage more, not until she wants it or moves away. Her eyes, the ones that resemble whiskey with flecks as dark as night, begin to soften. Blinking, she lets out a sigh. Her face settles into my hands and her own hands find their way to me. One twisting in my wet hair at the nape, the other on my ribcage. The moment she tentatively swipes her tongue against my lip there’s no stopping me from being swallowed up by her.

  The kiss is not comparable to anything I've ever experienced, not even with her. It’s like a first kiss that built over the years to an inevitable goodbye. It is elation, and sadness. It is desperate, yet patient. We are having conversations in every small touch of our tongues, the meeting of our lips means relief from when they were parted, and every sound coming from our throats is the release of joy constantly edged with regret.

  She pulls back first, her face flushed, her breathing erratic, her eyes a little dazed but never leaving mine. I am sure I look to be in the same state. My heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest as if I ran a marathon rather than kissing the one said heart belongs to. It should terrify me to admit it even to myself, but if I can’t realize the truth by now, I should call myself a dumbass knowing that to be just as true.

  “I’m still mad at you,” she says through her heavy breaths, breaking the peace of the moment.

  “And I’m still pissed at you for pushing buttons you know are red and forbidden.” Her cheeks blush even redder.

  “You needed to say it to realize that not only do you care, but you are separate from it. You know that don’t you?” Her hand comes up but before she touches me her hand curls into a fist. Her hand falls back by her side.

  I grab it, she unballs it instantly and I place it on my chest. When I let it go it stays there. “You never could leave good enough alone. A scabbed over wound always there to be picked,” I give her a smile even though my words are harsh, yet we know they are true. Despite the wound bleeding again, it feels like some of the poison flowing under my skin seeps out, leaving me feeling lighter. She's looking down fiddling with a spot on my shirt. “But you are right.”

  Her eyes find mine again and her hand comes up to stroke the sharp scruff on my cheek. “I'm,” she looks away to watch the passing traffic, and her eyes start to water. When she looks back up her face is open and genuine, “I'm sorry I wasn't here for you.”

  My palm covers her hand on my face. I can't say I forgive her, but I know that I will work on not blaming her anymore. It seems impossible to separate her from all that followed in the darkest days of my life, because it seemed to begin as soon as she left. “I know,” I glide her hand across my cheek until I can kiss the palm.

  She looks like she's going to say something until her eyes go wide. “Fuck me!” she groans and tilts her head up to the sky.

  “Right here?” I mean, alright, I didn't plan to go to jail today, but if it means having her again I can rearrange my expectations of how the day will go.

  She looks at me with a confused expression. “What? No,” she tugs her hand away and uses it to hit me in the middle of my chest. “The florist! She's going to be pissed. Let's go.” She turns her back to me and gets back into the car. All of that talk about pulling over and she's back in the passenger side. She could drive anyone crazy.

  We are only minutes away from the shop, so it won't take us long to get there. I'm careful getting back on the road for both our sakes. “That can't happen again.” I side eye her as I navigate the car but she's not looking at me as she proclaims it.

  There's only one thing she could be talking about, but a guy can hope. “What can't?”

  “We’re worlds apart. You live here, have a life here, and I live in Chicago…”

  I can’t stand to hear anymore. “Fuck all that. The only world I want to live in is the one where you're in it and taking punches beside me as they come. We can take the world on together!” Laying out everything for her to destroy if she may is terrifying, but her not knowing what she would be saying no to would be much worse. Not having answers would be something I couldn’t forgive myself for not getting.

  “But your life is here. After everything, you came back here.”

  I don’t know who she’s trying to convince. Me or her, but neither of us are taking the bait. “You want to see where I live?” Without much preparation I make a U-turn in the middle of the street. The punch that makes my arm sting and the curses flying from her lips are well deserved but I have a point to make. So, I ignore her protests, and half of the traffic laws.

  I’m ashamed of the run-down building that I park in front of. It looks condemned, and I know it should be. Without eye contact I tell her to get out of the car. Getting out myself I don’t wait to see if she will follow. It may be safer if she doesn’t. I’ve never brought anyone here so who knows if these stairs can hold two people at one time. Though when I hear the car door shut, I know she’ll catch up sooner rather than later.

  We make it up the four stories in silence. The only noise she’s making behind me are the footfalls on the stairs as they creak in protest, but I can imagine her thoughts are loud. There is trash littering the floors, and the second landing area made of someone’s ashtray makes a statement I’m sure. As we make it to my floor and a toy football that grew legs and antenna, that's we call roaches in this building, scurries past, a squeal comes from her, her fingers digging deep into the fabric and skin of my back. When she climbs me like a tree, I give her a piggyback down the not so long hall to my apartment.

  When the door swings open, I walk her straight towards my single dining room chair. Her feet steady she lets me go, so I close then lock the door. I watch with angst as she takes in what I have had to call home. The chair she stands on and the table it does not match, the couch with slashes on the arms and wear showing everywhere else. There is a bed but it’s a twin shoved against the wall in the corner, and the bathroom door is long gone. The kitchen counter is a slab of grey that I suspect may have been white at one time, and a few cabinets, but if she thought there would be anything in there worth eating, she’d be wrong. Half of them are empty. The fridge with its constant humming looks small and leans against the wall pitifully. If I don’t open the thing just right, the left leg that went missing has the whole thing shifting and the condiments sliding off their shelves.

  Her eyes are resting on the sticker laminate floor that is peeling or non-existent in most places. “There is nothing that holds me to this place,” I say in hopes to drive my point, "I've even given some serious thought of leaving the Lost Angels."

  She looks me over and then looks over my place again. “Why?” she asks as she makes it back to me. I assume she's asking why in the fuck am I living in such a shithole.

  “Never graduated. Spent some time in juvenile detention, then prison,” I shrug. “It’s been hard to find work.”

  Her brows scrunch together. “For what?”

  “Trespassing or stealing, mostly.”

  She looks over her shoulder at my table before deciding it may be a good spot to put her bottom. When she settles she looks back to me. “Mostly?” her eyebrows raise.

  “Assault and battery landed me in prison.”

  Her beautiful almond eyes widen, and my body grows cold. I don’t like feeling that I’ve let her down. Though in truth I am not the boy she left behind. I’ve spent my life since then fighting harder against the things that I was dealt. I have known hunger, I have known cold, and I have known hate that goes beyond what I knew then. Before, I had her to lessen those things, make them more bearable, I had school, a routine I clung to that helped with the unpredictability, but I know now that those things were temporary crutches. I had to adapt to my circumstances. That led to mistakes and consequences that I myself and no one else had to pay. No one could lessen them for me, and no one could learn the lessons I learned. It's hardened me, and I’ve clung to my bitterness longer than I should. I can acknowledge it’s a fault, even a defense mechanism, but it’s something I’m not sure how to be without.

  “I suppose it would be hard to get a job with your record. Have you thought of getting it expunged?”

  That’s not the direction I thought she’d go. “My juvenile record is sealed, but the assault wasn’t too long ago. It can’t be expunged yet.”

  “I think we should forget the florist and try to make it to the next appointment that I made earlier this morning. That is if you still want to ride along and help?”

  “It’s more like driving you around, but yes I am up for it.” As long as I’m with her, I’m game for any damn thing.

  She frowns then looks at the linoleum again, “Carry me?”

  If it gets you in my arms, I think as I walk over and pluck her from the chair. When we get to the door, she handles the lock and swings it closed behind us.

  Chapter 8

  My mind is reeling. I couldn't have dreamed he'd be living in those conditions. I mean he had it rough before, but now… the unforgivable thing is, I have no idea if it's the worst he's had to live with. I've heard horror stories of kids being in the system.

  It makes me almost regret leaving. We've lost so much time. I stop myself. Am I really considering what I thought to be impossible a few hours ago? His damn declaration keeps repeating in my head. The only world I want to live in is the one where you're in it and taking punches beside me as they come.

  I ran, punished him and myself for something he didn't even do, yet he still wants me. Am I a glutton if I say no? I know one thing, I'd be inviting punishment if I didn't try, but I'm scared. Terrified actually, and I have no idea why. That it might fail? That we will realize too late we no longer fit after we've opened ourselves to the hope of possibilities? I'm not sure if I could survive losing him twice.

  “At least it’s stopped raining,” I comment.

  “Fucking Ohio.”

  I start to laugh. “It certainly does what it wants.”

  “What's the next stop?” His question pulls me from my thoughts.

  “Ummm,” I pick up my phone, and start to shift through the list. Yes, I'm that much of a freak to have a digital copy. Can't leave too much up to chance.

  “Put that away,” he snatches my phone, “here, give me a second,” he pulls into the median, but this time like a human being.

  Once we're parked, he hands it back to me, and before I can ask, though I imagine I'm wearing the question all over my face, he says. “You used to get car sick when you were trying to read something.” He shrugs as if it's not the kindest thing anyone has done for me in a while. I can't believe he remembered. “Do you not still?”

  “I do, but not as bad,” I admit. It's something I had repeatedly told my ex when he asked me to look up directions, I stopped telling him after a while because he seemed to not care, so I developed a few tricks to help with the sensation. They didn't always work, but it’s easier to deal with the discomfort rather than have another conversation of why it wasn't a good idea.

  “That's one good change at least. So where to now?” He looks down at the phone in my hands and it prompts me to action.

  “Looks like catering is next.”

  “I didn't know we had catering in Chilawakee.”

  “There isn't,” I confess. “We're going to have to drive about forty minutes out of the way.”

  “Why can't Lidia do it? I mean it's the food they'll have at their wedding, don't they want to have a say?”

  “Yes, but it's supposedly off limits to her. As I understand it, she's not allowed into a certain club’s territory, but this is the only place that will cater. So…that leaves us.”

  “What luck,” he says as he shakes his head.

  “I promised to bring back what I could so she can try some of the options. When we get back, we can divvy up the list and I'll head over there to get her say.”

  “Am I not welcome to come?”

  Nibbling my lip, I side eye him, “I didn't say that. I just thought it would be easier.”

  “Easier. Easier for who?”

  I shouldn't have said anything. Another fight isn't what I'm looking for. When I don't say anything, he jumps in again.

  “It's not easier on me.”

  “Maybe it would be on me, this hasn't exactly been an easy day.”

  “Hell, and you think it's been a fucking spring walk in the park for me?”

  “That's what I'm saying!” I can feel my anger rise. “Don't you think we need the space?”

  “For what? So it's easier to leave the second time? No thank you.”

  Okay I deserved that, but damn it, can't he see I may need time? The world as I know it has been flipped on its head.

  “The only world I want to live in is the one where you're in it and taking punches beside me as they come. We can take the world on together!” Jesus I can't get his words out of my head! How can it be that he's so sure? How could he be willing to try again with us only breathing the same air for only a few hours?

  His sigh is heavy, loaded with meaning. “Give us until you have to leave, then decide.”

  “But…”

  “Don't shut me down before you've even thought it through.”

  “Cole,” his is name soft from my lips. “That's not it at all. Why would you put yourself through the possible heartache? What if…”

  “It's a risk I'm willing to take,” he says cutting me off.

  “How?... Why?”

  “Because even if you don't, I believe in us and what we could be.” I'm looking at him so closely I catch when he looks over to see my reaction, but instead I catch him blush as he looks back to the road.

  We spend the rest of the ride in our thoughts, at least I know that's what I am doing. Again, I’m in complete mental disarray. I couldn't take many more revelations or declarations.

  I just can't wrap my mind around the fact he's got so much blind faith in us, especially since there hasn't been an us for eighteen years. In all that time you've never felt anything like what you felt for him with anyone else. So what does that tell you?

 

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