Epiphany (4 page)

What did I get myself into?

The work I brought home isn’t enough to keep me busy for the entire night. Around
midnight, I opt for a quick shower, hoping that Skylar is going to be sitting on the
couch or in bed by the time I get out.

Stepping into the hot water, my body starts to relax; if only I could get my mind
to do the same. All of the possibilities racing through my head are enough to give
even Dr. Oz a stroke. I try blocking everything out, only focusing on the water pelting
down on my naked body and the loufa on my skin.

Walking out of the steam filled bathroom, I quickly dry my body, wondering if he came
home. Opening the bathroom door, looking in the bedroom and living room, he’s nowhere
in sight.
So much for wishful thinking.

I debate calling and asking when he’ll be home, but the thought of being
that
girl makes my skin crawl. I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells
me something isn’t right, but I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from.

I don’t actually think that Skylar would cheat on me, but it’s a plausible reason
for him not being home this late at night. I try to push the negativity from my head,
but it’s easier said than done.

I slip into bed alone, fighting the demons that are screaming at me, telling me that
I’ve made the wrong decision—that Danny as the safe bet wouldn’t hurt me. Resting
my head on the pillow, I pray for sleep to take me, but it’s another hour before I
start to doze off, only to wake up to the keys being tossed onto the granite countertops
in the kitchen.

A few moments later, the water in the shower is running and the sound of Skylar’s
clothes hitting the floor in the bathroom echoes through the quiet apartment.
Exactly what has he been doing that a shower is required before getting into bed?
When the water stops and the bed
dips with his weight, I lie perfectly still, pretending to be asleep.

My vision quickly adjusts to the dark setting and I’m able to see Skylar, on his back,
staring at the ceiling. As if his brain’s emitting signals that he’s got a lot on
his mind, I can hear the hamster wheel squeaking in his head.

Whatever he’s been doing, or
who
he’s been doing—I don’t think I have enough strength to start asking those questions.
I’d rather enjoy this engagement while it lasts, before the other shoe drops and I’m
left broken and alone with no safety net of any kind.

CHAPTER FOUR

Skylar

At this point, I’m not sure what to do. Mira’s a terrible liar, wanting me to believe
she’s sleeping, but I can feel her eyes burning holes straight through me as I try
to fall asleep.

“Mira?”
A small whimper comes from her side of the bed.

“Mira, come on. I know you’re awake.” She’s still ignoring me and I clench my jaw
so I don’t say something stupid. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” That’s it.
Just no.

She shifts awkwardly, elbowing me in the stomach, possibly intentionally, and rolls
over … away from me. Trying to close the distance, I grab her waist and pull her
away from the edge. Mira’s soft hand cradles mine, and my body relaxes, less rigid
now with the soothing feeling of her touch. The short reprieve is quickly gone when
she lifts my arm, resting it behind her, and scoots back to her original position.

“No. Not tonight. It’s late as hell and you’re just crawling in bed. Not too sure
what you thought would change with this ring on my hand, but it one hundred percent
doesn’t mean that you get to wander in at three in the morning wanting to
talk about it
.”

Rocking softly, Mira pushes her arm under the pillow and rolls onto her stomach as
I shift to my back, reacquainting myself with the ceiling. Mira and I don’t fight
often, but when we do, I always feel rejected and fear that she’ll realize I’m too
much work for her and go back to Danny. I’ve always been a pretty confident guy,
but when someone like me finally gets someone like her, the thought of her running
away, leaving me powerless … it’s terrifying.

I’m a pretty intelligent guy. I’m no rocket scientist, but common sense is a field
where I’m well versed. Christ, I waited in the wings for years because I couldn’t
hurt my friend—destroy a relationship I’ve had almost all my life because of my feelings
for a girl. I weighed every possibility before jumping head first into my engagement
with Mira.

This whole part of a club as well as being in a relationship—I knew it wouldn’t be
easy, let alone trying to keep those two things separate. It’s going to be damn hard,
but I didn’t prepare myself for this.
What can I do, though? There are things I don’t want touching Mira and I really doubt
that she’d get it, even if I tried to explain.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, wanting to respect her wishes, but extend some type of olive
branch, too.

“Night,” she responds. At least I’m not getting the cold shoulder. I should count
my blessings where I have them?

“Love you.” I push my luck. It’s corny and lame but we’ve yet to go to bed since
living together and not say something peaceful before bed. Ever since Mira painted
a very vivid picture of a nightmare she had where I died in my sleep, I’d promised
her we’d never go to bed angry with one another. She told me that night when she
woke up in a cold sweat, breathing erratic, that she’d always want to know the last
thing I heard was her telling me she loved me. Since that night, I’ve stuck to my
vow and I’ve yet to break it.

“Love you.” Hearing those two words come from her mouth, my heart’s not as heavy
now, and I’m able to roll over—away from her—and try to sleep. Here’s to hoping that
she knows I mean it when I say I love her and tomorrow will be a new day. It’s no
easy feat, but I manage to drift off eventually. My only objection is not having
her in my arms.

*****

“Shit,” I mutter, fumbling around on the nightstand for my phone that won’t stop vibrating.
Everyone knows that I’m not a chit chat kind of guy.
Text me.
That’s why the feature is available.
For a call at, “Five thirty.
What the fuck?” I whisper. This better be good.

“Yeah.
Something better be on fire,” I answer, yelling at the person on the other end.
Well, it would be yelling if I wasn’t muffling my voice, praying I don’t wake Mira.
I don’t feel her eyes on me so I think it’s safe to say she’s still sleeping.

“Cut the shit, Axe.
We good?” Prowler asks.

Awesome! Fight with Mira. Yell at my president. I’m batting a thousand.

“Yeah, Prez, we’re good.”

“Any other news?”

“No. She was pretty messed up and not in the mood for talking. I’m sure after she
gets a good night’s rest and a little peace, she’ll be open to talking. Until we
understand more, I’d like to keep this from Mira. I don’t want any of this affecting
our relationship.”

“Understood, don’t agree, but this is your girl and your relationship,” he lectures
like the second dad he’s been over the last few years. “Thanks again, brother. I’ll
remember this.
Anything at all.
You name it.” It’s amazing how he can be a father figure in one second and then
switch to the president of a club in the next.

One of the reasons I decided to join the club was for the sense of family my uncle
always talked about. Finally, I’m seeing the actions that made him believe in what
he preached for so long. These guys are my family and Prowler means it. Anything
I need, he’s got my back.

“Got it.
I’ll check in tomorrow. Don’t wanna wake Mi.” I sneak a glance behind me and can’t
help but crack a smile at the innocent look on her face while she’s sleeping—almost
as if she wasn’t ready to castrate me earlier.
My sweet yet homicidal angel.

“Give that girl a kiss for me. You got yourself a good one. Hold on to her.” I
withhold the growl that threatens to escape my throat. Kiss my girl, yeah, I will.
Kiss her for you—not for all the money in the world.

The way her dark hair’s fanned across the pillow and the early morning sunlight’s
coming through the window, dancing over her olive skin, leaves me breathless. I knew
from the second I saw her, she was the one.
The only one.
The woman I want to make my wife and carry my children. I will agree with Prowler
on one thing, though. I did get a good one. Let’s just hope I don’t fuck everything
up.

“Yeah, I’ll keep her as long as she’ll have me. Maybe even after that,” I joke, but
not really. Even if she doesn’t want me, it’s gonna take a lot for me to let her
go—especially after everything we’ve been through to get to this point. She’s stuck
with me for the long haul.

After hanging up with Prowler, I resign my thoughts of sleep—it’s just not in the
cards for me tonight … this morning … whatever the fuck time of day it is. Resting
with my back against the headboard, just watching her sleep is when I can get most
of my thinking done—where I see my life going, how I want it to unfold and exactly
who I want standing beside me, being my ride or die through
it all. Not a care in the world, completely at peace, she makes the softest little
noises, reminding me that she’s still asleep. Her eyelashes flutter and I know she’s
dreaming.

The best dream she ever had, in my opinion, was when she discovered her underlying
feelings for me.
The one that changed the course of both our lives forever.
It’s pretty morbid to say that the accident was the best day of my life, but if
it didn’t unfold exactly the way it did, I wouldn’t be here beside the only girl I
ever pictured being with forever.

Every night since she woke up, I hope it’s me she’s dreaming of. I don’t need to
go back to sleep to have any kind of dreams, she’s sleeping right next to me.
Exactly where she belongs.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mira

Tossing and turning, the smell of coffee wafts through the apartment, luring me from
my slumber. When I crack my eyes open, the sun pours through the window, already
high in the sky. Of course he’s going to pull out all the stops to keep the fighting
at a minimum. The man knows me too well. Playing me like a fiddle, he uses every
trick in the book to start my day off right and avoid the drama from last night.

Step one—let me sleep in. Step two—caffeine.

“Afternoon,” he says as I walk out of the bedroom.

“Hey.” Pulling the hair tie from my wrist, I quickly knot all of my hair on top of
my head. He hates this look, but it’s an easy way to keep my locks away from my coffee
until I can force myself to look appropriate enough to associate with the human race.
There are a few things I know for sure … nobody wants to get a stray hair in their
latte and combing said hair should take place only after one is fully caffeinated.

Sitting at the dining room table slash desk, Sky pushes my work to the side and slides
a mug in my direction. Pouring in a little cream and way too much sugar, I place
my nose to the rim, inhaling the intoxicating aroma.

“Thanks,” I mutter, testing the temperature of the insta-happy elixir inside the cup.
I should remain stoic and unaffected, but the perfect mixture of warmth and sweetness
calls my name. More like a beacon of light shining into my soul, guiding me safely
to shore. Yep. I might take my morning … afternoon … cup of Joe a little too seriously.

“Are you working today?” he asks while I decide if a second cup, spiked of course,
is needed to deal with more of this drama today.

“For a bit.
Why?”

“I have some things to do. Wanna get dinner later?”
Two creams, three sugars and a shot of whiskey when you prepare my next cup, sir.

I would like to introduce you to the art of topic changing. He’s not getting off
that easy, and it’s the perfect time to go in for the kill.

“Speaking of dinner, I talked to Danny yesterday, too. He said something about us
getting together this week.”

“Together us—
like you, me, him and Melissa. Or together
us … like just you and him?” Skylar asks, raising a brow and fixing his gaze on me.

Really?
Here I am thinking mentioning Danny will jar his memory. You know, like he’ll suddenly
remember to tell me about closing the shop. Instead I get this?
It’s
official … passive aggressive doesn’t work with men. At least not mine, anyway.

“Us,
like all of us. He said any time after the first is good for him? Is there something
that works best for you? I know you’re busy with work and the club. I didn’t want
to just pick a day, in case you already had plans or something.” Taking a second
jab at passive aggressive, I mentally cross my fingers and wait for him to catch on,
start sweating in the hot seat or at least acknowledge I’m already up on his game.

“Maybe next week Tuesday?” he responds, going back to stirring his coffee that’s not
going to mix together anymore than it already is.

Epic.
Fail.

“Tuesday works for me. I’ll check with Danny later. He also mentioned something
about a basketball game and needing an answer from you,” I quip, no longer interested
in this conversation, annoyance pulling my attention away before I snap.

One time when I was younger, my mother told me something that has me wanting to punch
Skylar in the face for being such a clueless tool sometimes.

“When someone asks you a question, or keeps asking the same question, chances are
they already know the answer. It’s best to just tell the truth.”

My mom is one smart cookie. Even after all these years, it’s the little things like
this, the words she would speak casually, that provide the most insight into my life
as an adult. She wasn’t always a perfect mom, but she got the job done and did it
right.