Loving Me, Trusting You(16)

I spin away and start towards the doors to the hotel, listening as his footsteps sound behind me, following close enough to make me sweat but far enough away that when I turn around, he's out of range. I clench my fists at my sides and stare him down, focus on those gray-brown eyes and that desperate frown, the single piercing in his eyebrow and the broken heart tattoo on his shoulder. Neither of us needs to talk about that either. I know why he got it and when. It's me. I broke his heart and I continue to hold a piece, whether I want it or not.

“I'm going to say this one time and one time only, Gaine Kelley. The day I surrender my heart to you is the day the earth crumbles into the sea. That organ is blackened and long dead. The woman you think you're in love with died the day the girl she used to be was betrayed one too many times. Back off and let me wither away in peace.”

This time, when I turn to go, he doesn't follow, and I make it all the way up to the hotel room before the tears hit like a flood, sliding down my cheeks the same moment my knees hit the carpet and my hair hangs down around my face. My stomach clenches in painful spasms as I sob, letting salty pain hit the floor in miniature puddles of agony and despair. My fingers clench tight, scraping across the rough fibers until they're red and painful.

Tray Walker.

I loved a man once, gave him my heart and he stole everything from me. And now … now …

“He's dead,” I whisper the words aloud, just to make them real, just so I can remember pulling the blade across his throat. And then my elbows collapse and my forehead hits the ground as I cry so hard I can't breathe, hurt so much I can't think, regret so much I can't believe that things will ever get better. And I cry because I'm upset for all the wrong reasons. I'm upset that Tray didn't get what was coming to him, that he didn't suffer half as much as I have.

I hold myself there for awhile, both terrified and hopeful that Gaine will come up and find me in the most compromising position I've ever been in, feeling both vulnerable and tender in all the wrong places.

But he doesn't come, and after God only knows how long, I force myself up, little by little. It's almost painful to rise to my knees, to sniffle back the tears, to wipe my hand across my face and force my lips down into their near permanent frown.

For too long, I've been subsisting on anger and hate and frustration, coasting through life on fumes. I want to change, but can I? I touch my fingers to my cheeks, feel the wetness and the heat. I want revenge, not just for me, but for anybody that's suffered like I suffered.

I want revenge, but the question is: will it bring me peace?

Guess there's only one way to find out.





When Mireya walks away and leaves me alone in the parking lot, I just about flip shit and end up cracking my helmet when I kick it against a cement pillar. I run my hand through my hair and sit on the edge of my bike with my forehead against my palm, elbow resting on my knee.

“You alright there, cowboy?” Beck asks, voice echoing from across the room. I don't look up at him and simply shake my head. He won't get it. Beck doesn't operate the same way I do. He's not a one woman kind of man. I can't even imagine him getting his panties into a wad over a girl, not even Melissa Diamond who I see is nowhere in sight.

“Fine,” I growl. “Just sittin' here with a heart split in two and a pair of the bluest balls you ever did see.” Beck laughs at me which doesn't help. I raise my face to glare at him, and all it does is make him piss his damn pants.

“You poor kid, you,” he guffaws, slappin' his damn knee. “You've got it worse than Austin Sparks.” I stand up and grab my damaged helmet, tossing it onto the back of my bike as I start to move away. Beck doesn't let me get far, jogging to catch up with me and putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Listen, Kelley,” he says, and something in his voice makes me stop. When I turn to glance at him, I don't see that mischievous bullshit rolling around in his face. He actually looks, for a single heartbeat in time, serious. “Mireya has to heal on her own. You can't just come in and sweep her off her damn feet. You didn't fall in love with a princess, so you can't play prince. Mireya Sawyer's a f*ckin' knight, armor, spear and all. Let her fight her own battles. All you need to do is show her what path to ride down.”

“Ain't no damn fairytale, Beck,” I say, although I wish it was. I wouldn't mind a good old fashioned happy ending for Mireya and me. Beck scratches at his goatee with chipped fingernails and knuckles emblazoned with the worst word there is. Hopeless. I like it best when I can only see the right one. Hope's an important part of life, you know?

“I know, *. It's just a saying for Christ's sake. What I'm trying to say is, that woman could start a fight in an empty house. Just let her be, and try not to smother her for God's sake. Give her a little lovin' and a lot of space.”

“I've been giving her space for years, Beck.” I try to bring up a timeline in my head and find that my stomach's in knots. Seven years I've been with Triple M. From the second I saw her face, I was head over heels. Took me three years to get her to even look at me, and when she did, she didn't see in me what I always saw in her.

“You're * whipped without the damn *, ain't ya?” Beck asks, and when he starts laughing again, I leave him behind, heading into the lobby and up the stairs. I think about what Beck said, but it doesn't feel like a revelation. I've been leaving Mireya to her own devices for a long while now. I thought maybe with Austin out of the picture, things might be different, but I have a bad feeling that they're not going to be, that things will stay the same until I make them different.