I nod, hoping for another one of his blazing kisses. That or for him to throw me over his shoulder caveman style and carry me to his bed. Either one would work. But I get a peck on my forehead instead. With a lazy salute and a frown, he spins on his heels and takes off for his apartment.
Chapter Ten
Serve drinks.
Smile.
Take money.
I repeat that mantra all night at Penny’s. The place is as packed and sordid as ever and yet it feels empty and boring without Trent there.
It isn’t until I’m back home at three a.m. that my phone vibrates in my pocket, sending a thrill through my body. There’re only two people who could be calling and one of them is unconscious next door.
Trent: In New York. Surrounded by sky scrapers. Miss you. How was your night?
My heart surges with joy as I type back.
Me: Full of bare flesh and indecent propositions.
I can’t bring myself to add that last little piece. That I miss him like crazy. That I can’t believe I’ve wasted weeks keeping him away.
A full minute later.
Trent: Was any of that bare flesh yours?
Me: Not yet.
I crawl into bed and rest my phone on my chest, waiting for his response. It’s a while before I get one.
Trent: A cold shower is calling. Sweet dreams. Good night. xox
I cover my mouth as I laugh out loud, afraid I’ll wake Livie or Mia up, who’s staying at our place with Livie tonight. Setting my phone onto my nightstand, it’s a while before I fall asleep.
***
Three days without Trent is unpredictably tough. We exchange a few messages in the late evenings. Whatever work and family stuff he’s doing during the day must keep him busy because the texts don’t start coming until after midnight. When they do, when I feel the vibration in my pocket, it’s like Christmas has come.
They’re all fairly innocuous, “Hi, how are you?” and “I miss you,” and “Bagged any guys at the gym, lately?” messages. Several times, I catch myself typing something a little more provocative only to delete it before hitting ‘send.’ Something tells me it’s too soon for sexts, especially given we haven’t gotten past first base.
God, I can’t wait until we get past first base.
***
Trent comes back today. That’s the first thought that comes to my mind when I wake up on Friday. Not carnage, not blood, not the miserable scraps left of my life. For once, the first thought that comes to my mind is the future and what it may bring.
For such a perfect wake up, the day sure ends like shit.
I have no idea what time Trent’s arriving into Miami. I’ve sent a few messages to him to find out, but I haven’t heard back. It’s making me incredibly anxious. Awful visuals of planes crashing plague my thoughts all day and into my shift at Penny’s.
So when Nate tugs me from the bar and into the back office where Cain holds a phone up for me, my stomach plummets to the ground. “It’s urgent,” is all he says, his brows pulled together tightly. I stand and stare at Cain and the black receiver for a long moment, unable to bring myself to face it. It isn't until I hear a child’s cry on the other end that I snap out of my daze and grab it from his hands. “Hello?” My voice wobbles.
“Kacey! I tried your cell but you didn’t answer!” I can barely understand Livie between her sobs and Mia’s wails. “Please come home! Some crazy man is trying to break down the door! He’s screaming Mia’s name! I think he’s on drugs. I called the police!” That’s all I get out of her. That’s all I need. “Lock yourselves in the bathroom. I’m coming Livie. Stay there!” I hang up the phone. My words tumble out in short, clipped fragments and they don’t sound like me. To Cain I say, “There’s an emergency. It’s Mia. Storm’s Mia. And my sister.”
Cain is already grabbing his car keys and a jacket. “Nate—get Storm off the stage. Now. And have Georgia and Lily cover the bar.” He hooks his arm around me, pulling me gently. “Let’s get to the bottom of this, okay, Kacey?”
I feel like someone’s kicked me in the gut. My head bobs up and down, all the while an internal torrent of screams and wails assault my senses. Storm and I are in Cain’s Navigator and on the freeway in under thirty seconds. Nate’s hulking body fills up the passenger seat. Storm, in nothing but her silver bikini from her acrobat act, drills me with the same questions over and over again and all I can do is shake my head. Breathe, I hear my mother’s voice say. Ten tiny breaths. Over and over again. It doesn’t help. It never fucking helps, dammit! I’m shaking all over as I sink further and further into the dark abyss where I go when people I care about die. I can’t seem to get out of it. I’m drowning under the weight of it.
I can’t bear to lose Livie. Or Mia.
Finally Storm stops asking me questions. She instead grabs hold of my hand and holds it to her chest. And I let her, finding solace in her racing heart beat. It tells me that I’m not alone in this.
A circus of police and ambulance lights greet us when we arrive at the apartment. The four of us run past the opened gate, past an anxious Tanner who’s talking to a police officer, past the wrangle of curious neighbors, all the way to Storm’s apartment to find the door half-hanging off its hinges, split in two by someone’s fist or head or both. Three police officers hover over a hunched male form. I can’t see his face. All I see are tattoos and hand cuffs.
“I live here,” Storm announces as she breezes past them and through the door, not batting an eye at the guy. I follow her steps to find a puffy-eyed Livie sitting on the couch with a form curled up on her lap, sucking her thumb and choking on ragged sobs, well past the point of hysterical crying. An officer stands over them, reviewing notes. The table lamp that sits next to the door is in pieces and Storm’s giant stainless steel frying pan rests on the ground beside Livie.
Storm is on her knees in front of Mia in a second. “Oh, baby girl!”
“Mama!” Two scrawny arms fly out to wrap around Storm’s neck. Storm scoops Mia up and into her arms and begins to sway. Tears run down her cheeks as she hums a song.
“She’s unharmed,” the police officer assures us, his words releasing the lungs worth of air I’ve been holding. I rush to Livie, throwing my arms around her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you. It was so scary!” she cries.
Her words hardly register. I’m too busy fumbling with her arms and legs, grabbing her chin, rotating her head this way and that, checking for wounds.
Livie laughs, grabbing hold of my hands and holding them together in hers. “I’m fine. I got him good.”
“What …. what do you mean, ‘you got him good?’” I give my head a shake.
Livie shrugs. “He got his head through the door so I slammed Storm’s gargantuan frying pan over it. That slowed him down.”
What? I look at the pan lying on the floor. I look at my dainty fifteen year old sister. I look at the pan again. And then, whether in relief, in fear, in madness—likely all three—I burst out laughing. Suddenly we’re both doubled over, falling against each other as we laugh and snort hysterically. I clutch my middle in pain, the muscles tested in a way they haven’t been for too long.
“Who’s the crazy in handcuffs?” I whisper between fits.
Livie’s laughter cuts short, her eyes widening expressively. “Mia’s dad.”
I gasp as I glance back at the busted door and then over at Mia and Storm, my imagination running wild. He wanted to get to his daughter. “What was he doing here?” I can’t keep the horror from my voice, all urge to laugh evaporating. Dread ripples through me like an aftershock, permanently detaching the unstable plates I’ve balanced myself on all these years. Just the thought of something bad happening to Mia sends me reeling. Or Storm, for that matter.