AllFreeNovel
Share Us
You gotta love someone who doesn’t give a fuck about social etiquette.
“I’m not sure I’d even know where to start. Let’s just say it involves men and me finding out that, yet again, they can’t be trusted.”
“Girl, I feel that. I’d suggest, given our combined experiences, we just try batting for the other team. But I do love me some dick.”
I choke on the mouthful of coffee I had been sipping and barely manage to refrain from spitting it all over her. I can’t help but laugh at her grin.
“Thanks, I needed that.”
Lights flash through the window we’re sitting next to, drawing our attention, and Glory’s phone buzzes with an incoming text.
“That’s my sister.” She slips her hand in her pocket and pulls out a twenty and tosses it on the table. “These men you mentioned—are they bad men, or are they good men that did a shitty thing?”
“Not sure there’s much of a difference right now.”
“Right now, you’re too wrapped up in your pain to think clearly. But tomorrow or next week, when the anger burns out, will your answer be the same?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then figure it out. I’m not saying you need to have a man to be happy. That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard. It’s nobody’s job to make you happy, that’s all on you. Having limits is good. But ask yourself this, do the moments of happiness outweigh the moments of pain? If the answer is no, then walk your fine ass out of here with your head and middle finger held high. But if the answer is yes, then you have to decide if you can forgive them. My mama used to say, love is like an investment. The more you give, the bigger the risk. But the rewards can be limitless. You can give them your heart and put everything you have into living a thousand more happy moments with them, or you can cut your losses and walk away. But if you walk away, do it knowing you’ll be giving those happy moments to the next woman who comes along.”
She walks to the door and nods goodbye as she pushes through it, her words surprising me. She’s right. I’m too raw right now to look beyond my pain. But when I’m not, what happens then?
I watch Glory climb into the car and pull the door shut as the rain starts coming down in sheets. I stare until the taillights disappear from view before I signal for the waitress to come over and refill my coffee cup.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I’m good for now, thanks. My friend left this for you, though.” I reach over and hand her the twenty, which she slips into the pocket of her apron with a smile.
“Thanks. Holler if you need anything.” She turns and walks over to another table.
Glancing around, I spot a man in the far corner eating a piece of pie. Near the door are a couple of what look like medical students or nurses in scrubs, wolfing down waffles and coffee—that, by the looks of it, they desperately need. Everyone is so lost in their own lives they are too busy to pay attention to me. I’m glad I kept the cap and hoodie on, though, because thankfully, I look just as forgettable as the next person passing through.
I lean back and close my eyes for a second to think. If Apex is tracking me, they’ve probably figured out I’ve hopped on a bus. Which means they’ll know I purchased three tickets. If they cover all destinations, getting off the bus early means I’m not where I’m supposed to be, and I’ve bought myself some more time. The question is, where do I go from here? Do I get a hotel room for the night while I think this through, or should I contact Mandy, my lawyer, and see if she can discreetly get me out of here so Evander won’t be able to track me?
With a groan of frustration, I sit up and rub my palms over my thighs. No, fuck this. What am I doing? I’m acting like a freaking criminal, and I’m not. No matter what the Apex guys think, what happened with the school shooting had nothing to do with me. As much as Officer Dickface would like to have proved otherwise, I was completely cleared of any wrongdoing.
Not that it erased the vision from my memory. It’s ingrained in my brain. Every detail was crystal clear, as if it were playing out right in front of me. Not all visions are that clear, though. Glory’s was, but the one about Salem was much hazier. I don’t know the ins and outs of why some are so much stronger than others. I’ve never met someone with my particular gift, so I have no one to compare notes with. The only thing I’ve been able to gather is that my proximity to the victims is key. Salem was hundreds of miles away when I had my vision of her, whereas I was close to Glory and the victims of the school shooting when I had the visions of them.
I bite my lip and think back to other instances, other visions, other memories. I strip back all the parts I usually think about—the fear, the dread of the scene playing out, the worry about the aftermath, the anger, and the guilt. Instead, I focus on the images themselves, and I’m surprised to see my theory might hold some weight. There is definitely a difference in the quality of the visual when distance between me and the victims is a factor. There’s less information, too, like something interferes with the frequency I’m tuned into.
“How have I not noticed that before?” I mutter to myself and take a big gulp of coffee.
With a sigh, I think back to what Glory said. In particular, the part about knowing if Jagger and Slade are bad men or good men who did a bad thing. Even though they hurt me, I can’t just slide them into the evil category. They were protecting their brothers and Salem. The fact that I don’t fall under their protection hurts, but it doesn’t make them bad guys. Maybe it just makes them the wrong guys. At least for me.
With that figured out, I have to question my reasons for running and hiding. No, not the running. That part is justified. I had to get away from them. But why am I hiding? I don’t think they’ll hurt me. Lord knows they’ve had plenty of opportunities if that’s the way they wanted to. So, if it’s not fear, why hide at all?
I sip my coffee slowly as I sift through my feelings. It isn’t until I slide my empty cup onto the table that the answer comes to me. I don’t want them to find me because I don’t trust that I’m strong enough to say no to them. I don’t want them to charm me with their words and offer me apologies that fall flat. I deserve better than what they gave me. I know that. But knowing what’s good for me and remembering how good they can make me feel are easily blurred.
There are women out there that ooze confidence. They take no shit and stand up for themselves. And if the man fucks up, they walk away and find a new one to play with. I’m not that girl. I don’t throw anything away. Hell, I still have clothes I wore in high school and stuffed toys from when I was a toddler.
Constantly being reminded about how unwanted and unlovable I am didn’t affect my ability to love. It affected my ability to recognize good love from the toxic kind. As a result, I always end up with someone who treats me like dirt—a part of me believing that’s what I deserved. When they used me up and threw me away, I took all the blame and hated myself for a while before repeating it all over again with the next man. It’s a vicious circle that I play out on an endless loop. Jagger and Slade are just the latest in a long line.
I know this situation is different. For starters, I know they don’t love me. They never offered me any promises, just sex, and I naively thought it was enough. But the rational part of my brain knows that even if all this hadn’t happened, we would have just been prolonging the inevitable and fallen at the next hurdle. The problem is that my heart got involved without me realizing it, and it’s too late to go back.
What I feel is all that matters. And I feel a lot. Too much for it to be considered normal this soon. I’m not saying I’m in love with them yet. I think I’m just in love with the idea of them and the potential of who we could be together.
I bite my cheek and pull a couple of bills out of my pocket and place them underneath the edge of my mug. Climbing to my feet, I look from the med students to the trucker, who looks ready to leave, and walk over to him.
