Loving Me, Trusting You(8)

“Oh, please, Kelley,” she says, making sure her voice echoes across the mostly empty lobby. Only Triple M's here to witness my mockery. I try not to look at Austin and Amy standing by my left shoulder or at Beck who's feelin' up the widowed Diamond. “We both know there's not a lick of truth in that question. Stop being an * and get us some extra towels.” Mireya yanks open the door and moves inside without waiting for an answer. That's her problem, and mine, too, maybe. She knows she doesn't have to wait for me because I'm always waiting around for her. Maybe I should show her that I'm not just going to sit here and rot, be her backup plan?

But I know without even asking myself that I won't do that. She's the only thing I see in full color anymore. Everything else is just black and white.

With a sigh, I move after her, finding her waiting at the next landing by the time I get there.

“I figured you might have trouble finding the room,” is all she says before she takes off again. Her face looks ashen in the harsh, white lighting, drawn and tired, but with no hint of anything in particular. More like she's just tired of plain ol' living.

“You alright there, babe?” I ask her, glad I'm behind her, so I can't see her scrunch up her face at the nickname. I know Sawyer doesn't like to be called anything but what the ink on her birth certificate says. She especially hates bein' called after food. Austin's sugar this and sugar that really pissed her off. I wonder if she misses it now or how she feels when she hears Austin calling Amy that?

“Why wouldn't I be alright?” she snaps, kicking open the door to the third floor with a whole lot more force than necessary. “I mean, I lost my bike, faced down a group of people who used to be family and relived the pain they've scarred me with. I have to say, I'm feeling just plucky.” I hear her mutter something under her breath as I move to catch up and grab the room door before it swings closed behind her. I have a feeling she might not let me in if it does.

“What I meant was, do you want to talk about it?” I ask her, trying not to get flustered. Getting pissed at Mireya doesn't help anything. All it does is reaffirm whatever it is she's thinking about you. Trust me, I know that from personal experience.

“No.”

Just that, a single word. It's all I'm worth nowadays. She used to talk to me, tell me everything, but that was before I uttered those three stupid words. I love you. The girl won't even look at me straight anymore. I royally f*cked it, spilt the blood of my heart before she was ready to see it and now I'm drownin' in it.

Mireya slings the bag she's got over her shoulder onto the floor and drops to her knees, unzipping it with long, red nails. She tries to pretend that her hands aren't shaking, but I can see it, even from across the room. After her omission to Walker, I know the truth now: she took a man's life. I get it. Even if he deserved it, even if he hurt her so bad she couldn't sleep for months after. No matter what she shows on the outside, on the in, Mireya Sawyer's a good person and this isn't gonna be easy for her.

“You comin' down to meet with Austin in the bar?” I ask when she starts gettin' out some lacy naughty nothings. Damn. I sure as shit hope she isn't planning on wearing those tonight.

“No.”

Again, just a single word. I narrow my eyes and move over to her, crouching down beside her and trying to play friend instead of interested lover. She likes me better that way.

“Don't make me tell you the badger story again because I will. Austin wants us all down there, and if you disobey him again, you're gonna get yourself into trouble.” Mireya slams her fist into the bag and turns to glare at me. Our faces are inches apart. I don't miss that. Neither does she.

“No man can own me, Gaine,” she growls. I can feel her hot breath against my dry lips. I want so desperately to reach out and take her in my arms, hold her and brush her hair back. I want to kiss her and show her the world's not all bad, that there are men out there who'd rather cut off their own dicks than abuse a lady in the ways she's been abused. I want to hold her and protect her, press my lips to her eyelids while she's falling asleep naked in my arms at night.

Instead, I get to crouch there with loins burning and my fists clenched tight at my sides.

“Austin isn't tryin' to own anybody. He's our Pres, Mireya, and he needs us behind him. We're his best damn f*ckin' friends. The group needs to know that we support him, that we're with him one hundred percent.” A piece of ebony hair falls across her forehead and it takes every ounce of self-control inside of me not to reach out and brush it back behind her ear. Her red, red lips are moist and shiny with fresh lipstick, beckoning me, calling out to me in a language that's older than time. Shit, damn and God Bless America, I want to kiss this girl so bad it hurts.

Mireya stays stone still, staring at me, taking me in. I don't know what she sees. A guy with a stubbly chin and a sunburned nose? A man who's only been with three other women in the past five years because he's been waiting on her ass? Who felt guilty after each and every one of them, like he betrayed her? I don't know. But whatever it is, it's not enough. She rises to her feet and starts towards the bathroom.

I move after her, but I keep my distance. I don't want her to feel pressured by me, just supported. It's not an easy line to toe.

“I'll tell you what,” I say as she steps onto the white tiled floor with a click of her boots. “You come downstairs with me, and I will beg, kiss and plead until Austin promises to get you a new bike. How about that?”