Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (45 page)

He kept himself in great shape. He was nice to me. Sweet. And it seemed when he was younger, he was a complete badass, but Mrs. Black whipped him into decent shape and made him sort of good. I knew there was some darkness in him, and that alone intrigued me.

When I was a little older, spending endless hours at Izzy’s and growing into my mature, girly ways, I wondered how he was in bed. I’m a little ashamed to admit that I heard him and Mrs. Black one night.

I’d slept over with Izzy, and it was nearing two in the morning. I could hear them when I went to use the bathroom. She sounded like she was in ultimate pleasure—like she never wanted it to end—and he groaned, gently banging the headboard against the wall.

I could vividly imagine him.

Eyes shut.

Body tense, ready to release.

I was sixteen. I was pathetic.

And crushing on my bestie’s dad.

Hard.

* * *

A
round 1
:45 AM, Izzy’s cellphone rang, buzzing on the nightstand. It was a constant ring. On and off. Maybe it was urgent. “Izzy,” I groaned. “Your phone.” She snored. When her phone stopped, mine decided to ring, and I picked up, answering groggily.

“Hello?”

“Chloe!” Mr. Black’s voice came through the line, frantic and on edge. I perked up, eyebrows stitched.

“Mr. Black?”

“I—fuck. I need—where is Izzy? Where are you?”

“We’re… at Frankie’s. Why? What’s going on?”

“Is she sleeping?” His voice sounded strained.

“Yes.”

“I need you to wake her up… please.”

“Mr. Black… what’s going on?”

“It’s Janet…” His voice broke. “I’m at the hospital and Janet… she—there was an accident.”

“An accident?” I gasped. “What do you mean? What happened?” I hopped off the sofa, rushing to where Izzy had passed out on the floor. She groaned.

Mr. Black continued. “On her way home from the bakery she stopped at some—some run down gas station. Got robbed and mauled by some low-life motherfuckers. I swear to God if they find them I’ll fucking
kill
them.”

“Is she alright?” I asked.

“She… tried to fight back. Broke her jaw. Broke some ribs, and…” He swallowed hard, and his voice was unclear. “Because she fought back, they stabbed her eight times. She would have bled to death if someone hadn’t found her, heard her cries for help.” He sniffled. My heart cracked.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

“They don’t know if she’s going to make it.”

I shook Izzy harder, and she sat up, eyes broad and confused. “What the fuck, Chloe?”

“Izzy, I—we have to go.” I stuttered, keeping the phone glued to my ear. “What hospital?” I asked into the phone. Mr. Black told me where, and as soon as I was dressed and helped Izzy back into her dress, I grabbed her keys and rushed down the stairs, meeting at the car.

Izzy groaned, calling after me. “I’m so lost,” she whined “I don’t get what’s going on. Why are we leaving in the middle of the night? Did Marco try to come onto you? I swear I’ll fucking kill him.”

I slammed the car door behind me, and when she was inside, I turned to face her, gripping her shoulder caps. “Izzy, I seriously need you to get out of your high and hung-over stupor and listen to me.”

She frowned, forehead creasing. “Sheesh. Okay…?”

“Your mom was… robbed and stabbed eight times on her way home tonight.”

“What!?” She gasped, frantic. Her entire body perked up, eyes growing wide. That was all she needed to hear to snap out of it. It almost seemed she didn’t believe me with the look of utter disbelief masking her face.

“She’s in the hospital,” I went on, and I hated to see the relief in her eyes because I wasn’t finished. “But they don’t know if she’s going to make it.”

She cupped her mouth, eyes wide and watery. “Oh my god,” she whispered. Then she waved her hands, tears spilling as she motioned for me to start the car and hurry up. “Well fucking go, Chloe! Go! Oh my god!”

I started the car and pulled off, unsure of what to feel… how to react. I felt numb for both Izzy and Mr. Black. I wasn’t sure how to accept it either. If Izzy lost her mother, she would regret not showing up for the baking party.

She would hate herself.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. Even as we reached the hospital, storming inside and finding Mr. Black in the waiting room, it still hadn’t hit me yet. It hit Izzy of course. She sobbed hard into her father’s chest, her body racking. Mr. Black tried remaining strong, but he couldn’t fight the tears.

I lingered silently, my head down, purposely avoiding their eyes.

We sat in the waiting room for three hours. They were performing surgery, but the surgery turned out to be nothing more than another complication.

A doctor appeared in the waiting room. “Mr. Black?” he called, eyes sullen.

Izzy and Mr. Black jumped out of their seats, rushing for him. They had optimism in their eyes, but I could tell that was about to be crushed. Mrs. Black was already gone, and they didn’t even know it.

Deep down, I knew it.

I knew she’d lost the battle. She was a petite woman, and to be stabbed eight times… I couldn’t even imagine. This wasn’t 50 Cent’s survival story. There was no fantasy bullshit—no coming out of this.

This was real.

Raw.

And insanely depressing.

The doctor spoke, and immediately, Izzy broke down, clutching herself, eyes sealed tight as she wept. Mr. Black caught her as she threw her body into his arms, reeling her in, and swallowing hard as he did his best to nod his head and take heed of his emotions. Patting Mr. Black’s shoulder, the doctor turned and walked away, leaving us in a muggy shower of gloom.

They stood there... well,
he
stood there. Holding Izzy. He was in a frozen state of mind, listening to his daughter weep, calming her by rubbing her back. It would have seemed warm and affectionate on his behalf, but those weren’t his intentions. It was a habit he was accustomed to—soothing his daughter whenever she was in need. The act he was pulling now… it was confusing as hell. His eyes were too focused on the blank wall ahead of him. He was too stiff.

Too cold.

Too… wrapped up in disbelief.

Finally he moved. He spoke—did something to prove he was okay… for the time being anyway.

“Chloe,” Mr. Black murmured, turning only a fraction of the way. I stood. His face was as white as a sheet of snow. “Take Izzy home, please. Make sure she’s okay.”

I nodded, immediately reaching for a torn up Izzy and making my way to the exit. Before I departed, I looked back. Mr. Black pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his hardest to fight off the tears. Only, it didn’t work. And though I wanted to be there for Izzy, I also wanted to be there for him.

He had been ripped apart, raw emotion pouring out as he sat in one of the chairs, body shuddering. Tears threatened me, but I kept it together, cooing to Izzy as I made my way to the car. As she sobbed in the passenger seat, I sat still for a moment, gripping the wheel.

I wondered how it would have been if one of my parents had died.
Would I cry this hard? Would I care this much?
They were hardly around, even while retired, but I loved them to death. It was scary to imagine them no longer on this earth.

I looked at Izzy, watching as she swiped at the never-ending flow of tears. She hid her face in the sleeves of her cardigan, and her sobs stopped for what felt like forever. Her body went absolutely still, and my eyes widened because, from where I sat, it looked like she’d passed right out. Her eyes were shut. Her body was motionless. I couldn’t even hear her breathing.

But seconds later, the loudest sob I’d heard from her all night was unleashed in the small space of her car, and I startled in my seat, swallowing the big pill of emotion.

“God, Mom!” she wailed, and then she fell forward, burying her face in the cup of her hands. I rubbed her back, silence overcoming me. Nothing I could have said would calm her grief.

For Izzy, it was too much to handle. No longer having a mother. No longer being able to share her life or future with the woman that birthed her and made so many sacrifices for her.

I can’t imagine…

“Let’s get you home,” I whispered, starting the car and driving slowly, blank the entire way back to Primrose Way.

* * *

M
r. Black got
home about two hours after we did. Sliding the curtain aside, I watched as he parked his bike and kicked the kickstand with the side of his leather boot. I waited for him to get off—waited for him to make a move—but he didn’t.

The sun was just rising, a few rays shining down through the leaves of the towering palm trees surrounding him. None of the rays touched him, though. It seemed a higher power knew he was hurting, that his soul had been cloaked in darkness and anguish, and was cutting him some slack.

He sat on his bike for several minutes, and then he finally took action. Hopping off the leather seat, he opened the garage and as soon as he was inside, he picked up a few personal items, tossing them all out. Toolbox after toolbox came flying out, metal clanking and rattling as it slammed onto the concrete.

A sharp gasp passed by me, and I went for my jacket, rushing down the stairs, shutting off the alarm, and quietly slinking out the balcony door so my parents wouldn’t hear me. After rounding the side of the house, I rushed across the street and up the Black’s driveway.

“Mr. Black!” I called as he lifted a hammer in the air above his head. He was standing right above his old 2000 Harley. It was a classic, still in great shape. I only saw him ride it once. He wanted to save mileage… at least that’s what he told us.

His head whipped to the side, and he looked at me, eyes red-rimmed, his face still pale. His nostrils flared, the anger present. The pain clear. His hurt cutting deep.

I lifted my hands in the air as I entered the garage cautiously, eyes hot. My throat dried out, lips parted as I tried formulating words. But what could I say? Other than saying I was sorry for his loss nothing felt like the right thing to tell him.

“Theo,” I whispered, and his back straightened, his arms dropping with sluggish feat. “I know you’re upset,” I said. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. Mrs. Black shouldn’t be gone… she didn’t deserve what happened to her—”

“I know she didn’t.” His voice was gruff as he cut my sentence in half. I’d never heard it that way before. Dry and scratchy and deep. It was the first time I ever felt unwelcomed by him.

“Destroying the home you two worked so hard for won’t make you feel any better.” I pointed towards my house, taking a few more steps ahead. “Izzy needs a safe place to come back to…”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me, motionless. Then, before I knew it, the hammer was no longer in the air. His arms dropped, and it slipped out of his hands, hitting the ground with a heart-rattling
thunk
.

I didn’t feel so safe while in the garage with him, but like someone trying to tame a wild beast, I kept moving forward. I didn’t know what Mr. Black was capable of. I didn’t know if I could trust him while he was so angry. I didn’t know the Theodore Black that thrived way before I ever existed. I didn’t know his backstory, but I assumed he had an immoral temper.

I understood he was a good man and that he would never harm the people he loved, but I wasn’t sure if I fit into that group. As someone he cared about… someone he
loved
.

After spending seven years around this man, he never could be placed in that “fatherly” category. He acted as more of a friend than a role model to me. Like he wanted to be my age again, living a free and reckless life.

Sluggishly, Mr. Black stepped back towards the door that led into the house, his face tightening. “I should have waited,” he said, voice breaking. “Instead of going home early, I should have been there, following her home.” He lowered to a squat, pressing his elbows on his thighs and folding his fingers in front of his mouth. “I was complaining about a damn headache, and she was good enough to understand. I should have just manned the fuck up. I should have stayed there. If I had, it never would have fucking happened.”