“Look at me, baby girl. I need to see that you’re okay.”
I take in a big pull of air, hold it, and look up. His sleepy look is long gone and his hard controlled stare is firmly in place. A stare of which I am not used to being on the receiving end. I’ve seen him give it a million times before. It’s his look that always means business, business no matter what—a look that you do not want to cross.
Guess this means it’s game on; I was really hoping he would have just let this go. There wasn’t anything left to hash out.
“Look, G, I know you mean well, but this shit . . . This shit isn’t something I want to deal with. Not now, not later. I’m not even sure I want to ever deal with it again. What’s left to say at this point, huh? That road? It is not one I want to go down again. It’s been blocked off with detour signs for a long time now, huge fucking warning signs telling me to walk the other direction. I would be setting myself up for more pain and heartbreak and that is not something I want to do. Is it too much to ask for me to just be allowed a little happiness, some of this dark cloud to dissipate?” I don’t even give him a chance to get a word out, cutting him off before he can try and plow right over me. “We know . . . now, that you and . . . You and him are friends. Let’s just leave it. You can be friends with him and you can be friends with me. I don’t see why the two ever have to intermix. Ever.”
I can tell he is trying to talk his temper down, or maybe he is just having some convoluted one-sided argument with himself. Who knows. I don’t care at this point; there is no way I am doing this. Not when it is still cutting so fresh into my skin. I feel like I have a movie rolling in my head, over and over with the same images. Images of a past forgotten and a future lost.
“Izzy, this isn’t going to just go away. Sooner or later it will have to be dealt with.” I know he’s right, I really do, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with him. Denial is a perfectly acceptable place to pack up and move to. “He is going to be my partner now. He lives here and is staying, Iz. He isn’t going to just disappear.”
I don’t have the energy for this fight, and I know it will end up being a heavy one, a fight I will need all my wits for; going into battle with Greg is never easy.
“I get that this might not be going away, but that doesn’t mean I have to deal with it right fucking now.” I feel like punching something. Why can’t we just pretend that last night never happened? I’m the queen of fucking brushing it under the rug. That’s a game I can play with the best of them. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Baby girl, this pains me. I feel guilty as shit right now. You might be able to forget, or try to, but I can’t. I know what last night has cost you and I can’t sit back knowing you are in pain.” He shakes his head, his blue eyes losing that bright shine. “I should have known, but . . . fuck, Iz, I didn’t ever know him as Axel.” He pauses again. Whether he is going for dramatic flair or just trying to figure out the best way to piss me off, I don’t know, but right when I get ready to freak the fuck out on him, he continues. “I have only ever known him as Reid. When we met at basic, he was H. Reid, and from then on, we only ever called him Reid, Axel . . . Fuck, baby girl, but he was never Axel. When we first got out and he started up his security gig, that was the only other time I have ever heard him refer to himself as anything other than Reid, and I promise you this—it was not Axel.”
Why is this so important? If I didn’t care so much about my friendship with Greg, I would fucking kill him. Go all crazy white girl on his ass. “Holt, right?” I laugh without humor. “He always hated that name. Said it reminded him of his old man,” I mumble, back to picking at the invisible lint. “Greg, can we please, please not do this right now?”
He looks at me, assessing for a while, taking me in, and once again trying to figure out how to weigh his words. “Iz, we are fucking doing this. I won’t let you sit here and fester in your hurt. Not when I can fix it. Not when I have the power to do something this time.” Hard and spitting. No argument. His tone leaves no room for wiggling. He’s settled in and ready to go at it.
Stubborn fucking ass. We really are too much alike sometimes.
“I’m fine, really. I just need to process,” I lie. He knows I’m lying; I can see it in his face. He might have come in ready to play, but he didn’t have this hardness about his eyes at first. My lying just confirmed his thoughts that I’m not handling this well.