I checked my phone every fucking hour, only dozing off in thirty-minute sessions before jerking awake to check it again. And every time . . . nothing.
She warned me that this would happen. One day that fucker would roll back into town, and she’d text me to let me know, that is, unless he showed up unexpectedly and she couldn’t. I’ve contemplated calling, blowing up her phone with messages, driving by her house, all the things I promised her I’d never do in this situation. I gave her my word that I wouldn’t be a complication to her plan, a chink in her iron-clad mission. I’m re-thinking that. Big time.
I throw down the dregs of my protein shake and force myself to swallow, worry and anxiety taking up most of the space in my stomach.
She better fucking be okay.
I check my phone again and still nothing. It’s six-thirty a.m. Maybe a quick drive by her house on the way to the training center will help to calm my nerves. Chances are I won’t be able to tell if either of them is there, but it’s worth a try if it means setting my nerves at ease. Hell, it’s all I’ve got!
Today is Friday and she works tonight, so there’s always a swing by Zeus’s later to make sure her ass is safe there. I brace my weight on the counter in my kitchen and blow out a long breath. Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be hoping my girl showed up for her shift at the strip club.
Never thought I’d all but give her permission to date another guy either.
Fuckin’ hell. Why did I do that?
As soon as the question filters though my head, so does the answer.
She gave me no choice.
In order to be with her, I had to agree to this. Otherwise, I’d be standing here doing the exact same fucking thing, but she wouldn’t be keeping me in the know.
Lose-fucking-lose situation if I’ve ever seen one.
My phone rings, and the speed in which I grab that shit, press “accept” and press it to my ear shocks even me.
“Hello?”
“Hey, bro.”
“Drake.” Disappointment settles in my gut, heavy and annoying. “What’s up?”
“Listen, man . . . I have a favor to ask.”
“No.”
“Dude, fuck off. I haven’t even asked yet.”
“Don’t need to. I’m sure the answer’s no.”
“Whatever. Listen. I need you to let us crash with you this weekend.”
“What? Okay, you’re right. I take back my ‘no’ because the answer to that is ‘hell motherfuckin’ no.’ No way. Uh-uh.” I shake my head as if he can see me. “Nope. No.”
“You finished?” He sounds bored.
“If you heard me say no and don’t plan on driving that shit home a hundred million times until I concede, then, yeah, I’m finished.”
“It’s only for two nights.”
“I don’t have a spare bedroom, Drake. You think I want six fuckin’ guys crashed all over my place? This isn’t a damn hostel. No.”
“It’s for Jess.”
Oh . . . well, fuck.
“I don’t want to leave her in Santa Cruz. She’s been . . . upset, and . . . I’m not headed to Vegas to party. I’m just going to meet with my dad and some of his crew, talk about getting out. I need to put Jess up somewhere she feels safe, and shoving her in a damn hotel room in Vegas ain’t it.”
“Gotta say I’m semi-impressed that you’re finally takin’ care of your girl.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yeah, you two can have the bedroom. I’ll crash on the couch. Only two nights, right? No plans on an extended stay?”
“Nah, we have a doctor’s appointment on Monday for the baby.”
Damn, I almost want to make some wisecrack about the grown-up on the phone, but something about the tension in his voice tells me he’s probably not in the best mood for jokes.
“Alright. I’ll leave a key under the mat. You remember where my place is?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m training ’til late. Have something I need to do tonight. Tell Jess to make herself at home.”
“Sweet, bro. Thanks.”
We disconnect after grunted good-byes, and I throw some clean sheets on the bed and pull out some fresh towels before snagging my keys to head out.
There’s a little part of me that’s looking forward to Drake and Jess staying for the weekend. At least it’ll distract me from worrying about Trix. Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?
Trix
A firm grip on my shoulder shakes my body. “Trix.” Another shake. “Babe, wake the fuck up.” There’s tension or anger in the voice that I immediately identify as male.
And not Mason.
Sadness washes over my body, leaving me heavy with an ache in my chest. I groan and bat at the hand that will not let up its grip. My mind settles back into my head, and I instantly regret it as the throbbing pain between my temples roars.
Hatch.
Did we . . .? I take quick stock of my clothes, the aches and pains in my body being in my stomach, neck, and head. If it didn’t hurt so bad to do so, I’d smile at how well my plan to get drunk and pass out in the bathroom worked.
“Trix, come on. Wake—”