Brawler (9 page)

“What’s the first track?” I ask, taking my shoes off.

“Something a little different than what we’re used to. Do you trust me?”

“Always,” I say which is true. There’s no one I trust more.

“Thought so.”

Venessa smiling makes me smile. She doesn’t smile as often as she should, but she’s getting better, and I’ll always be grateful to Rogan for that. Suddenly this beat explodes out of her state-of-the-art stereo system, and I take in the the lyrics and I love it.

No, literally. That’s the name of the song. And had she not played it, I’d never in a million years admit to listening to it. It’s very “poppy,” but if you can tune out the insane beat and grasp the lyrics, it’s like listening to V and I after we’ve kicked some ass. It’s a song about asshole exes, moving on, people not getting you, and basically not giving a fuck about any of it. The only part of the track I can’t relate to is having a car, but if I did, I’d crash that bitch too, just to say  that I did it.

Basically, the song is amazing.

We hold hands and dance; we fling our hair, our hips, and even dry hump the furniture. It’s the most fun I’ve had since … wow, too long. I always have my best fun with Venessa.

The chorus hits and so do we. We practice front kicks, sidekicks, roundhouses, and rear leg roundhouses; we throw elbows and jabs while screaming about crashing our cars into bridges because we just don’t care. At that moment I can breathe again, and it hits me I miss him. Despite his words, I miss his presence; I’m used to him just always being there. I don’t kick myself for thinking this because now that my head is cleared I choose to believe in his actions and not his words.

Jonas is a man who takes care of me, even when I don’t think I need it. He’s also a worrier, which if he was worrying versus offending me, I’d probably think it was sweet. He’s new at this stuff, and really I am, too. The women he hooked up with sound wretched and I wonder if there’s a way to get their names and addresses? I’m thinking we’re both dealing with some bitterness. I can admit to that, too.

This growing up shit is tiresome. Coming to a decision, I throw myself back into the music and gently onto Venessa.

I take her to the ground where we both resume laughing, singing, and thrusting our hips in the air.

I pull her up carefully by both arms and hold her hands again, and though we’d never say it aloud … We love to twirl.

Screaming “I don’t care, I love it!” in unison, the song ends and we look at each other smiling while trying to catch our breath. We hug, hard. Which we don’t do enough, for obvious reasons. The fact that Venessa initiated it had tears welling in my eyes.

When she whispers to me “I love you, Macy,” I choke back my tears and tell her, “I love you always, Venessa.”

We break out hug, still smiling. I look at her and come to another decision.

“We speak of this to no one,” I offer.

“Not a peep.”

“Our reps will be ruined,” I defend.

“Beyond repair.”

“Street cred is everything.” Which is totally true, and a must around here.

“Pop music is for pussies and new moms.”

“We should break some shit so he thinks we moshed.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.” I agree, bumping my fist with hers. Then we start to move furniture when I hear it.

“You sure you want to take her home with you?” This from Rogan.

“You sure you want to marry her?” This from Jonas.

“Maybe we could pretend like this never happened.” Rogan again.

“I don’t think I can.” Jonas then.

“Thinking they scared Boner.” Rogan thinks he’s funny.

“Thinking we can use this as blackmail.” Jonas probably isn’t kidding.

“Thinking you’re right,” Rogan agrees.

“I usually am.” Jonas is a smug bastard and I don’t care, I love it. (See what I did there?) Just seeing him was enough for me. Part of me wanted to squeal while the other part wanted him to work for it, but all my bravado when out the window when he looked at me.

I’
ve known Rogan for years. We went through academy together and bonded instantly. Well, I sort of attached myself to him, but eventually he gave in. Growing up I was pretty withdrawn and didn’t have a lot of friends due to my fucked-up home life and my temper. Meeting him changed all that. He filled the gap I didn’t realize I had. I didn’t need dozens of friends; he was enough. He tolerated me most of the time, and even then I knew he cared about me. He just didn’t show it like most people. Until Venessa, he wasn’t big on people at all. Now though he’s almost a new man if you know what to look for.

Getting advice from him and actually seeing the reason in it wasn’t something I ever thought I’d see happen, but it did. He also made a lot of valid points. He admitted watching Venessa put herself in constant danger drove him to the brink of insanity, but that was who she was so he accepted it. He also admitted it that there was a brief moment where he tried to change her, and that he almost lost her because of it.

I asked him how the fuck he was able to stand in that basement and watch his woman get beaten, and then proceed to watch her take another man’s life. He said because she knows when enough’s enough. He saw she intended to kill and it was her right, so he stood at the ready should she need help.

She didn’t.

He asked me to think about why Macy wasn’t freaking out; in fact, he asked what she was waiting for. He also reminded me that I wasn’t holding her steady; I was actually holding her back. I said she didn’t freak out because I was there to protect her and she was waiting for you to step in. He told me no, that it’s because she was prepared to finish Gary off if Venessa couldn’t. That she didn’t panic because she’s a fighter like Venessa. I asked him if Venessa needed help, would he have let Macy step in? Without hesitation he said, “Absolutely.”

“You trust her that much?” I asked him. He said yes and that I do too, that I just can’t put my feelings for her aside yet. He assures me that time will come, but deep down, I know I ain’t nowhere near ready for it.

“I fucked up,” I admit to him.

“Again.”

“Again,” I agree.

“Let’s go get our women.”

Taking my own truck, I make it to Rogan’s quickly. Outside of Macy, we all lived just streets away from Venessa and didn’t even know it. Macy lives the furthest so she could be the closest to the hospital. As far as I’m concerned, that house of hers is a thing of the past. Our arguments are a thing of the past. My acting like a possessive asshole is a thing of the past too, I hope. But I’m not convinced I’m capable of that yet.

She may have only left about two hours ago but dammit if I don’t already miss her. I’m taking Rogan’s advice and I’m going to do everything I can to let Macy be Macy. He’s right in that I need to support her and only lend her my strength when she needs it. I also owe her a big-ass apology for the “How many have you been with?” comment. It wasn’t fair, and it doesn’t matter. I may not be her first, but I will be her last, and that’s what I need to focus on. That is, if she’ll give me a second chance.

Pulling into his driveway, we walk up to the front door together and when I hear this obnoxious beat coming from inside. I turn to look at him and he just shrugs. Opening the door both of our mouths are no doubt hanging open because there in Rogan’s living room are Macy and Venessa screaming, smiling, doing kung fu and

… twirling?

What the fuck are they listening to? These females are hard core; they are not whatever this shit is playing. The beat hurts my head a bit, but the lyrics do catch my attention. Macy takes Venessa to the ground and they laugh. Macy in turn gently helps Venessa up and they hug. If I was a pussy I may even choke up a bit. I’ve never seen these two be affectionate before, and clearly they are both affected by it.

The beat picks back up and they finish it by thrashing their heads and whipping their hair, but I’m focused on her. She looks happy. She looks fucking beautiful. She finishes with “I don’t care, I love it!” and they both stop to catch their breath, still not alert to our presence.

For a moment, Macy looks lost in thought, then appears to have made an important decision while she starts to move furniture. She looks at Venessa and says what’s on her mind. Watching those two strike a deal and seeing how they manage to work together so easily reminds me of me and Rogan.

If I had a mirror, no doubt I’d see myself smiling ear to ear. You can’t hear anyone say pop music is for pussies and new moms and keep quiet. Well, maybe you can, but I ain’t built like that. I know I’m right when he looks at Venessa and can’t wipe the smile off his face, either.

When Rogan pipes up with his one-liner, I chime in with mine. It’s fucking hilarious. Both women whip around and freeze, and it’s all I could do not to keel over, I want to laugh so hard. Fuck me, but the looks on their faces? Busted.

Venessa shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Macy … She stands there unsure of what to do next, so I smile at her, hoping she’ll give me a chance to explain. Moving around the couch, she walks right up to me and does what only Macy can do. Jumping into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck, legs around my middle, and smiling, she fixes me, right then and there.

“Take me home?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“I was never mad at you, I was mad at me. I owe you an apology and I’d like to deliver it in your privates.”

When Rogan and Venessa choke back a laugh it dawns on me what I said. If Macy caught it, she acts like it doesn’t matter, so I go with it.

“Bye, V; bye, Rogan. Thanks for letting me dance party.”

We don’t even stick around; she takes my hand tightly in hers and we leave the way we came. If either of them says anything, we don’t hear it. But if I know anything, both of them are laughing at me; someone always is.

But not her, never her.

H
e came for me. He came for
me
. I don’t care why he did it, just that he did. Maybe he missed me, too? You know what? It doesn’t even matter. I’m here next to him and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Suddenly shy, I decided to hold back saying or doing anything until we get home.

I don’t even bother with looking out the window. I focus on our hands clasped together finding security where I’ve never known security before.

His hands are big, rough, and scarred, whereas mine are long, thin, and unblemished. He has strong hands. Hands that protect. Kind of like the rest of him. He’s big, rough, and scarred, too. I just don’t know why.

Pulling into the driveway, I wait. He helps me down and then takes me by surprise when he lifts me up by my waist.

“Wrap those long legs around me again.”

“You’re going to carry me? Up all of those steps?”

“Every last step. Including the seven that lead to our bed.”

At this, I’m struck speechless.

He’s going to carry me? All the way from here, to “our” bed? I’ve never even seen “our bed.” But right there in his driveway he kisses me so hard I forgot all about our bed and couldn’t care less if we ever made it there. I was happy right where I was.

“Princess, you have to stop, or we’ll never make it.”

“Don’t care.”

“Fuck.”

He stumbles up the front stoop; he even somehow manages to get his keys in the door while I’m attacking his neck with my mouth. Hearing him groan spurs me on so I reach down and hold onto his ass with both hands. We make it through the door, barely, when he backs me up against it and takes his right hand and buries it in soaking wet pussy.

“Jesus,” he says while he works me over. It’s too much, yet it’s not enough.

“Harder,” I demand while he rubs and explores. He can explore later dammit, I need an orgasm.

“We have all night, Princess.”

“I can’t wait all night. Fuck me here against the door, Jonas.”

“Against the —? Fuck, wait, we can go upstairs so you won’t be uncomfortable.”

“I’m uncomfortable now.”

“Shit, am I hurting you?”

“No you aren’t inside of me. I need you, Jonas,” I say while I reach down to grab his cock. He’s been rock-hard since he came to get me, and I can’t be denied any longer.