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Myphonedingson my nightstand. It’s a slow and confusing journey to consciousness, but I grab the phone, peer at the time, then open the message from Colby.
One eye is still closed, and I take a second to realize it’s a phone call. “Colby? It’s three in the morning. Everything, okay?”
“Hey, baby.”
I’m too tired to figure out what that emotion in his voice is, but something seems off.
“I’m sorry I woke you. I-I had to hear your voice.”
“It’s okay.” I sit up, covered in my comforter, with my head resting against the headboard. “What happened? What’s got you so upset?”
“Can I see you?”
“Now?” Besides the fact I have to be at work in a few hours, it’s been over a week since I’ve seen him, so I’m about to tell him, yes.
Tomorrow is my first day of court. The case isn’t mine, but Todd is letting me run the show. I’m still only a paralegal, so I can’t speak on behalf of the client, but I’ve prepared our motions. It’s nothing exciting, just a case of a baseball bat company that provided the wrong bats to a sports team.
“I’m outside. Is that okay?” Colby breaks my train of thought.
“I’ll be right there,” I say, climbing out of bed.
My feet pad down the stairs, through the kitchen and living room, to the front door. I unlock it, revealing a very fucked up Colby Monroe.
I don’t mean intoxicated, which he surprisingly isn’t. His face is a bloody mess, cuts on his cheekbones, nose, and eyes. I grab his arm and pull him inside. “What happened to you?”
My stomach drops as I run through the outcomes. Did a member of his club do this? Was it someone or something else? Is he in danger?
I push the worry aside and instead focus on him. He needs to get cleaned up. “Sit.” I push him onto the couch and leave him to get the first aid kit from the bathroom.
When I return, I sit across from him on the coffee table. He’s holding his head in his hands, and he’s leaning forwards on the couch. Until now, Colby has kept this side of him locked away. Whenever he’s been hurt in a fight, he typically pulls away, and I don’t see him until the bruises have faded. I understand why he doesn’t want me to see him like this. He’s vulnerable.
For him to be here means he must be ready to open up to me. Maybe he will finally come clean about who he really is. I think he is ashamed to be a criminal, and he doesn’t want to admit that he is involved with a motorcycle club. This could be a turning point for our relationship.
He winces as I dab gently at the cuts on his face, and his hands rest on my knees. “I’m sorry I woke you,” he whispers. “I had to see you, I’ve missed you.”
“Same. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Not really.” He coughs and looks down between us, avoiding eye contact as I bandage his wounds. They actually don’t seem too bad, and I’m satisfied with only having to use four small bandages. His eyes will be bruised tomorrow, but they’re not too swollen.
I cup my hands around either side of his jaw and pull his face up so he is looking at me. “Remember, I don’t care what you do?” I press a soft kiss to his lips, and he nods. When I wrap my arms around his neck, his body relaxes. I pull him closer, hoping he finally gets it. He can trust me, and I want him to trust me with this.
My eyes trained on his, I say, “I won’t think less of you. Whatever you say. Just tell me why you keep getting this pretty face of yours, beaten up? Do you owe someone money?”
My thumbs caress either side of his face, holding him as he chuckles and shakes his head.I drop my hands, not finding any of this funny. Impatiently, I stand and rock back and forth on my heels.
“No, babe. I collect money from people that don’t pay.”
I let out a snort. “I may not be into the real world of organized crime, but I have watched some of The Sopranos, Colby. Typically, you do the beating, not the other way around.”
“Sometimes they fight back.”
That’s logical, so I don’t push for more answers. Colby stands up with me and wraps his arms around my waist. I press my head into his chest and inhale his scent.
“What did I do to deserve you?” He squeezes me tighter. “I’m a bad person.”
And what kind of sick person am I, that this doesn’t bother me? Colby is Colby. He is mine, and if he hurts people who owe his boss money, then I don’t care. I don’t care because he doesn’t hurt me. Maybe that makes me selfish. Well, I know it makes me selfish. But honestly, at this point in my life, all I care about is money, really. Money and Colby. If that makes my priorities fucked up, then so be it. I want this man, and despite my own flaws, he still wants me. We’re both nowhere close to perfect.
I pull my head from his chest and look up at him. “I could say the same.” My voice is weak with emotion.
