He smiles. “I can’t have both?”
I shake my head. “No, you can’t. Whatever is dragging you here, day after day, whatever guilt, you won’t move past it until you’re away from Stoney. No matter how bad the thing is you’ve done, you are a good guy. Stop torturing yourself. The past is the past.”
His easy smile falls fast. “You don’t know—” He clips his words off, anger evident in his tone. My stomach sinks as he looks away, his jaw tight. Then, with a sigh, he says, “And what if I already found her?”
My insides knot. “I said a good girl.”
Gaze still holding mine, he flexes his hand and curls it into a fist. His mouth pinches into a hard line. “Right. Because you’re such a badass, Rizzo.”
This makes me smile a little. I glance at the tile floor, forcing my features stern. “No, because people I care about get hurt around me,” I say seriously, then look up at him. “The worst thing I could ever do is care about you. I’m telling you right now”—I stare into his eyes; make sure he sees the truth—“if you were counting on me being some kind of mission, where you’d swoop in and save the lost girl, then we’d run off into the sunset…that’s not the way this story ends.” I walk around him, hoping he finally gets the point. I won’t be responsible for hurting this guy, or making him slip off his clean track. Because I know that’s not where I’m headed.
“Why does the story have to end?” he calls out.
I turn back one last time. “They always do.”
And because I hate ending things on a grave note, I add, “Do me another favor. Make sure this girl fucks you good and proper. For me.” I wink.
There. All done. I walk away feeling marginally better about myself for cutting ties with this guy. It was bound to get messy, and I have no way to bail while I’m trapped here. He’s safe now.
Boone
Taste not, sweetness is deception
GOOD GUY BOONE. THAT’S me. I almost laugh. But the tragedy of those words rip through me with serrated edges of truth, killing the joke. I can’t stop thinking about them, though. Wondering if I made the wrong call by allowing Melody to believe them.
When she called it quits, I let her. I walked away. It was the right choice. Let her believe whatever the hell she wants.
Propping my elbows on my knees, I lean over my hands and begin wrapping. The smell of dank, dirty carpet and ammonia irritates my nose. The cleaning bottle sits next to a fresh stain of blood near the door. Humming from the tropical fish tank is the only noise bouncing around the small room other than the stretch and tear of the tape. Stretch and tear. Repeat.
Colorful fish—yellow, blue, orange—flutter around the grimy tank, and it does little to calm me like its purpose here suggests. I’m wound too tight. Stretch and tear.
I probably just dodged a bullet, though. If Melody hadn’t given me the elbow, I wouldn’t have left her alone. I would’ve kept going back, seeking more of her, like she’s my new fix.
And that’s pretty much what she’d become during her short stay at Stoney. Because now that she’s no longer around, I feel the emptiness. The craving and the need—the want. Just to be near her and stare into her dark eyes, feel her soft skin, hear her throaty voice.
That’s a dangerous thing for an addict. Anything, anything can become an addiction.
But damn if I wasn’t welcoming the torture. Look but don’t touch.
I got so wrapped up in my fixation with this girl I even stopped going to Nickel’s as much as I should’ve been. I wasn’t feeling the pull that I normally do. That’s why the shit with Miata Guy happened in the first place; it was the first time I’d skipped. So it makes sense that I went seeking it elsewhere. Melody could’ve been really dangerous for me.
This fact is further proven as I’m sitting here obsessing over her now instead of paying attention to how I’m wrapping my hands. Shit. I undo the white tape and start again. I need to have the thought of her and her sexy ass beaten out of my head.
Peeking his head into the small, dingy room, Turner cocks his chin and holds up a hand, fingers splayed. “Five minutes, bro.”
I nod and return to taping my hands, leaving my knuckles exposed this time.
One good knuckle-buster should knock Melody out of my head for good.
Melody
Follow me down, my love, to the void
“THERE SHE IS!”
Randy’s voice rises above the chaos of cheers and welcomes as I enter the bar. He rushes over and wraps his big, burly arms around me and lifts me in the air. I laugh as I’m spun around, suspended by this bear of a man.
He sets my feet to the floor. His scraggly beard snags a few of my hairs as he steps away and smiles down at me. “What kind of bird don’t fly?”