8 Mile & Rion (11 page)

“I’d fucking kill him,” he growls and I can see that he means it.

“Let’s call it a night,” I offer losing the will to fight. “I’m upset and I need to work it out, I’m going over to Senior’s place for a bit to sort through some things and I need to be alone for that.”

“You can sort that shit out with me, right now.”

“I’m not talking about us; although it’s refreshing to see you hold yourself in such high regard. I’m talking about his personal things. I’ve been putting it off anyway. I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t wait up.”

Then, without another word, I walked out of my office, down the hall and straight to his. The second I walked in, the grief all but destroyed me. I can still smell his Old Spice and the cigars he smoked on Sunday’s. Wiping the tears away, I walk into the bedroom I was raised in, took one look around and promptly hit the floor letting the grief take me
.

‘You can grow without destroying the things that you love.’

~Ed McMahon

I gave her a head start. I fucked up, I know I did. Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry or that I don’t understand why she’s pissed off at me. I do. But I cannot, will not, tell her about the whore. Grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses from the apartment, I walk down the hall and into her dad’s place. Maybe if I get her drunk quickly she’ll get over it and want to kiss me again. I’d do just about anything to kiss her again.

When I enter, I don’t see or hear her. It’s deathly quiet in here but this place wasn’t always quiet, you could tell. His apartment is the same floor plan as hers except it’s got man shit in it. Setting the bottle and glasses down, I walk over to the mantle and look at her life in pictures. Her old man didn’t miss a beat, I’ll give him that. Almost every photo has Rio in it and he certainly changed from the man he was then to the man I know now. Fuck, I guess this guy’s proof a man can change. The table next to the window is filled with her achievements and she had a
ton
. Honor role, captain of the debate team, softball team and numerous awards for competitive shooting. Then there are her degrees. Fuck, but she might be the smartest person I’ve ever met. She even graduated from U of M with honors whereas I barely graduated high school. Even with these degrees it’s obvious she’d rather be here taking bets. It makes no damn sense.

Picking up one in particular, I trace her face in it. She’s holding an M16 in full camo and she looks fucking happy. I flip it over to see her old man wrote the date with the title
war games 2013
. Setting it back down the back unlocks and an envelope falls out and for fear of being caught creeping I pick it up, stuff it in my pocket and put the photo back like I found it promising myself to put the envelope back later.

Heading toward the bedrooms, I look in the first which was his and she isn’t there. Opening the second I look and see she isn’t here either. Until I look down.

“Rion,” I say, pulling her up from the floor and toward me. “What’s wrong?”

Staying limp in my arms, she whispers, “Senior,” before clutching me like her life depended on it. Letting her cry, scream and hiccup she settles a while later but we don’t move. Looking around her room it’s not a girl’s room at all. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she had a brother or that Rio stayed here, until I looked a little harder. It was a girl’s room, just not a chick’s room. This room, though was all her otherwise.

The memories were hurting her. Turns out, I didn’t like her being hurt. Picking her up, I left the wine on the table and carried her back to her apartment. She can go through his things another time when I’m there to help her out. Tonight though, she needs her rest. She’s had enough emotional bullshit for one day.

Placing her in bed and covering up she whispers, “Stay,” in a tiny voice and I knew despite my issues because of Jill, of war and every other fucking thing in my life, I wouldn’t leave her side unless she demanded it. Even then, I wouldn’t ever truly leave. I’d just stay out of her way until she forgave me.

Second chances she said. Damn, but I hope she gives me another one.

“Ain’t leaving you,” I tell her pulling her to my side. “Sleep.”

Unfortunately for me, I found out that the singer she listens to was Ray LaMontagne. For a guy who was never big into music, I was obsessed with listening to him. His lyrics were as much of a comfort to me as she was. The problem with comfort is twofold. Because once she fell asleep, I couldn’t help myself. Listening to his words and her breathing, I fell asleep too.

‘The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.’

~ Leo Tolstoy

I was dreaming of him when his moaning woke me. Then the thrashing started. The anger in his voice kept me from waking him and certainly from touching him. When it comes to self-preservation, turns out I’m not a risk taker. Leaning slowly toward the lamp, I flick it on attempting to get out of the war zone. Watching him from the chair, I had to cover my mouth with both hands to keep from screaming at him to wake up and crying for seeing him in this kind of pain.

What was he dreaming about that had him sweating and hurting himself like this? Random words with no meaning came from his mouth and I tried making sense of it, but couldn’t. Then he woke up swinging. My eyes went round at the ferocity I saw in him. The fact was, Loyal lets me see what he wants me to see. The quiet, fucked up Marine is not just a quiet, fucked up Marine.

The man in my bed was a force to be reckoned with, a warrior both swift and brutal. Shaking himself out of it, he reaches over for me and when he doesn’t find me there, I see the panic take him over. “I’m here,” I tell him from the safety of my chair. But he’s totally wigged out and then it hits me. “You didn’t hurt me, Loyal.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says mostly to himself, still shocked he did in fact fall asleep. “I gotta take off for a while,” he says standing up. Getting up on my own two feet I say nothing, I just walk straight up to him and wrap myself around him. Weeks ago this man had been a Marine and that life made sense to him. Today he’s a civilian expected to just blend into society, but he can’t because he doesn’t know how. He wasn’t trained to fucking car pool and work at an office, he was trained to save lives or take them. You can’t turn that off and even after all those years although he tried, Senior never did either.

“I have an idea,” I say into his firm, hairy chest. God I just want to…

“I’m listening,” he says, hugging me back a little.

“Let’s talk over coffee,” I tell him taking his hand. “I’ll even show you how I like mine.”

“I can make coffee,” he says with no heat in his voice and about ten minutes and ten fucks later, he threw his hands up. “Show me,” he grumbles watching me. “Christ, it’s coffee it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“It’s a Keurig,” I giggle. “And it’s not, look.” Showing him the ropes, I make his cup then he makes mine. Sitting there watching him take manly sips of his I started to get warm all over. I decided it’s the fact that he’s clueless to his manliness that makes me melt. He’s not model gorgeous and who really cares about that anyway. He’s battle honed, chiseled and raw. He forgets to shave, could care less about what he’s wearing, but he would kill Peter if I said his name in place of his own.

How this male is single is beyond me, but the whore’s loss is my gain. I intend to make this unhappy man as happy as he’ll let me. It’s time to get on his level. Lucky for him, it’s something we have in common that I’m rather good at.

“Feel like getting dirty, sweaty and capping some fools?”

“Depends,” he says, setting his cup down and eyeing me. “Is this legal?”

“If it wasn’t?”

“I’d still say yes,” he says and I swear he almost grinned at me.

“Well damn,” I mutter, faking hurt. “It’s pretty legal. I mean some of the maneuvers probably aren’t but that’s the fun part. I like to wing it.”

“Whatever it is,” he says, finishing his cup, “I’m in. What do I gotta do?”

“Get your gear on and meet me in the second garage in ten minutes.” I advise him excited about this. “Oh and Loyal?” I throw out when I reach my room, “Where your big girl panties.”

“My big girl what?”

But I didn’t answer. Instead I stuffed my face in a pillow and laughed my ass off. Finally, I could show him I wasn’t a helpless female.

‘I think all males from Detroit have an obsession with cars.’

~Dax Shepard

Suiting up is second nature for me and took less than two minutes. I didn’t know exactly how much was too much in this case so I dressed but packed up my bag in case it’s needed. I had a feeling we were going to do a B&E or some shit, hence the gear, but with her, I never knew. She’s a female in all the right places, but she ain’t into too many female things. This is why I’m pumped. With her it’s easy because she’s easy and if it’s illegal, I’ll watch her back.

Walking through the door to the second garage, I see her bent over a plastic bin and I was too busy staring at her ass filling out that camo to pay attention to what she was pulling it out of it. Looking over and tossing me the keys she asks me to pop the trunk. Noticing the car for the first time because I’ve never been in here, I let out a whistle.

“You got a Mercedes E-Class?

“Yep,” she says, piling up more shit.

“You don’t drive it?”

“Not really,” she says absently. “I like my car.”

“Your car is a Ford Taurus,” I remind her. “An old one. But what I’m looking at is a kick ass convertible.”

“It’s just a car,” she says paying it no mind. “But you can drive it today. That’s why we’re taking it. As entertaining as it is watching you stuff yourself inside my car, I’m thinking you’d fit better in this one.”

“You’d let me?”

“Of course I would,” she says, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. “It’s a car, Loyal. An expensive one yeah, but I didn’t buy it. Senior and Rio did when I graduated. I drove it on occasion, but I like my Taurus. You can drive there and back, I don’t mind.”

“Yeah but why don’t you mind?”

“Someone should enjoy it before I sell it,” she says grabbing another bin.

Turning her toward me I lift her chin. “It was a gift from them. Why sell it?”

“We need the money. The new owner picks it up next week and I rarely drove it,” she says, pulling away. “Anyway let’s load up! Ready for a day in the life of Junior Reynolds?”

“Should I be scared?” I ask, smirking and when she smacks me on the ass to drop a bin in the back, she laughs loud and deep. “I can’t see you scared of much Mr. Hart, especially not of a girl.”

Getting in and starting it up, I almost got hard when I considered my position. I’m driving a fucking E-Class convertible with the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen. Am I scared? Fuck yeah, I am. Scared of the day I don’t have her in my life anymore.

The drive itself took about twenty minutes. She said we went the back way so I could open her up and I did. Turning onto Telegraph then taking that to another road, I just open it up again when she squeals to make a left. Now I’m on a back road and it’s relaxing. All trees, nice houses and then she instructs me to park near the pavilion.