Learning to Forgive (The Learning Series) (33 page)

Over the past week, I’ve talked to a lawyer about getting custody of my sister, but they’ve been absolutely no help. I have to prove her abuse and, since I only have a photograph of a sad toddler who I’ve never met, they think I’m crazy. But I refuse to stop trying. Even if I have to go and personally get her out of that nightmare and away from that monster, I will. I’m not sure how just yet. I’ve had several ideas run through my head. Maybe I need to find out who the bastard married and call her. Who’s to say she’s not just as evil though and tips him off? If I do go get her, we’ll be living on the run the rest of our lives. To do that, I’d need money, and lots of it, hoarded away. The fear of being too late pushes me further every day.

When I open my eyes, I take in the dim atmosphere and can’t help put compare it to Jay’s. Beautiful clothed tables with candlelight and exquisite polished dark wooden floors. No crowded bar full of liquor or beer taps taking up space. No drunks lingering. Only my stage on one end and beautiful artwork along the walls. Is it strange that I miss all that, though? I miss the sleazy dressed crowd and their crude behavior. Nothing but black tie attire is welcome here, so tips have been substantial. Even compliments from some of Mobile’s wealthiest families and invites to play at other functions have come up. I’ve had to ask Cory to help me schedule, so I don’t double book anything. New Year’s Eve is in a few days, and I have an event to play at the Bragg-Mitchell Mansion. It’s an old plantation home built in the eighteen hundreds and is now a museum that can be leased out for any event if you have the right amount of money.

Having been asked when I accepted this job that I keep my tattoos covered, I bite my tongue and do it because the money is too good. Shaking my thoughts away, I stand from the piano bench to take a break as people applaud before continuing their meals and conversations.

Passing the tables, I head toward the ladies’ room, my black heels tapping out a heavy rhythm on the floor. Before I can make it, a gentleman in a tailored suit stops me. He’s average in height, but has striking blue eyes, and his strong jaw is covered with neatly trimmed stubble. He smiles, and it’s nice. Not cocky or lustful. Just nice.

“Excuse me, Miss. Sorry to hold you up, but can I say that your playing is exquisite,” he says with an accent.

“Thank you. I really enjoy it.” Not wanting to lead him on, I break eye contact and look toward the restrooms, hoping he takes a hint. I’m not used to compliments and always feel the need to pick something wrong with me and point it out. Plus, I’m not a social butterfly like Cory or Jazz. Trudy is even more sociable than I am. If I’m pissed off, then I’m not one to hold my tongue. “Excuse me.” Relief fills me when he doesn’t argue before I make my way to the ladies’ room to take a breather.

After walking in, I take in the Victorian style couch and a set of chairs resting against the wall and the extravagant crystal chandelier. It doesn’t even smell like a public restroom, but more like a garden. I walk around the corner that separates the sitting area from the stalls, and stand in front of the large, gold-framed mirror with cherubs watching from the two top corners. Light pink and yellow flowers color the wallpaper with vines that intertwine. Three white, porcelain bowls trimmed to match the golden faucets sit on top of beautiful marble countertops. This opulent bathroom cost more than my home and truck combined. Breathing a sigh, I shake off my melancholy and remind myself that I’ve come a long way from just a few weeks ago. Just look at my dress. I’ve purchased the red strapless pencil dress and added a long sleeved, black lace jacket and black heels to the ensemble. To blend the colors even more and change the outfit, I added a black sash to wrap around the waist.

In order to let Red go, I’ve lightened my hair to more of a strawberry blonde that reminds me of the picture I have of Savannah. Small black flowers adorn my braided French twist. No glitz or glamour of jewelry catches the mirrors light because I don’t want to waste money on things like that.

After I apply another coat of lip-gloss, I turn the corner to leave the restroom and my stomach drops. Lyric stands there, leaning against the bathroom wall beside the only exit. My eyes take their fill as I assess his worn boots with whitewashed jeans, then up to his black leather jacket that hugs his muscled physique. The dark color brings out his penetrating eyes so well that my knees feel weak. My breathing speeds up to match the pace of my pounding heart and all that I’ve worked on the past few weeks feels lost.

Tearing my eyes from his all-encompassing frame, I look at the gold-trimmed marble floor. But I can still feel him there, staring and waiting. Does he want me to scream? Does he want to shatter the few pieces I’ve worked so hard to rebuild? My mind scrambles for any type of escape from this room and him. I can’t deal with this shit right now. Not here. I still have to perform and being reminded that I was just a fuck when I thought I was more will definitely cause me to lose every sane thought and climb back into a black void.

Taking a deep breath, I count to calm myself, and straighten my spine. My plan is to walk past him without showing any acknowledgment to his presence. Just as I reach the door handle and pull it toward me, his large hand slams it shut. His warm breath on my hair causes a shiver to run through me. His actions speak only of want. But why? Should I believe he loves me? He’s proven he doesn’t by abandoning me that night. Trudy and Cory told me that he and Anya/Mandy are together and she’s always with him. I don’t understand that whole situation, but I’m finished trying to put it together.
I’m done period.

His hand touches the hair along the back of my skull. “You need to come with me. Now.”

More chills creep along the skin of my arms and down my spine, but I’m thankful the jacket hides his effect on me. “Fuck you. I’m not going
anywhere
with you,” I ground out while internally cussing myself for letting him know he affects me in any way, pissed or sad. Once again, I pull on the door only to meet more resistance from his strength.

“Dammit, Red. Don’t do this. Just come with me and I’ll explain it all.”

“Will you please stop this? Go back to your life and leave me to live mine. Besides, shouldn’t you be with what’s-her-face?” Pure bitterness drips from my voice because the thought of him with her makes me want to lose my shit and fuck her up.

My eyes stay on his large hand holding the door in place in front of my face. Memories of how that hand touched me form. He caressed not only my skin, but also my heart, and my demons. Even though the cuffs to his black leather jacket cover his wrist, I
know
the decoration of his tattoos covering his arms. I memorized them as he slept beside me. Touching him at his most vulnerable moments was my way to figure out this man who keeps secrets. Tracing them with my fingers, kissing them with my lips, I cherished every breath he took. Now, however, he’s no longer mine to enjoy or love.
“Now move.”
My shoulder pushes against the door.

“
No
. The only way you’re walking out that door is with me. You
have
to trust me, Red.” His fingers wrap around my arm to pull me way from the door.

Trust him? Is he fuckin’ for real?
The rage I’ve kept inside comes to surface and I lose it. He has no right to touch me. No right to be here. My hand slaps his hand away before I turn to face him.
“No,”
I hiss.

Pain explodes when I reflect how another person took advantage of me and how I was stupid enough to fall for his shit. When I remember how he built me up, only to throw me down. Now he wants to come back and walk all over me, again? I don’t think so. “No more talking.” My palms slam into his chest as I push him away from me .The familiar tears start to build. My throat burns as my enraged misery takes hold. “You had your chance to talk a month ago. I begged like a fuckin’ idiot and you did
nothing
.” I shove him again. “Nothing. You turned your back on me when I needed you.” With all my strength, I shove him one last time and watch as he lands on the couch. It feels so good to release some of this resentment. And even though I see that familiar tick in his jaw, I continue, not giving a shit to his reaction.
“I hate you
. Hate what you represent. A liar. A cheater.

“I’ve told you things, Lyric. Things I’ve never
ever
told another person. Not even Benji. I showed you the part of me that I hide from everyone and you turned away from me.
You lied to me.
You chose her and left. My begging wasn’t good enough for you. My love for you wasn’t good enough. I’m not good enough.” Tears leak down my cheeks, but me ruining my makeup is the least of my worries. “I haven’t heard a fucking thing from you in a goddamn month. You never even called about me working at Jay’s anymore. I didn’t exist to you. Now, out of the fucking blue, you show up wanting to
talk
?
Hell no!
I have nothing to say to you besides this.
Leave me the fuck alone
. I’ve moved on without your help, so let me live my life without you in it. Because I’m over you.” My eyes close to hide the lie from his all-knowing stare.

“Red.” He stands and reaches out to me, but I back away. Without another word, I walk out of the bathroom with him on my heels. “Fuck, Red. Listen to me, you stubborn ass woman.” He grabs my arm just as we pass the cigar room and everyone’s eyes land on us. “We need to leave.
Now
.”

I’m too angry to be embarrassed because I could lose this job over his stupid ass attitude and I need this job.

“No.” Pulling at my arm, I try to break free from his grip, but he refuses to let me go.

Sue Ellen, my boss, comes up and looks from Lyric and me. “Blaire, is there an issue?”

“Blaire is leaving so there’s not a goddamn problem.” He pulls us toward the exit.

Sue Ellen’s eyes are wide from Lyric’s attitude. Yanking my arm away, I make a decision that will hopefully close this chapter of my life so I can start a new one. “Sue. Call the cops. This guy is harassing me and needs to be arrested.” My eyes stay on my boss, but I can still feel Lyric’s stare and know he’s pissed. A small part cares, but is quickly overrun by the pain he’s caused.
Who gives a shit if he’s upset? He didn’t care when I was.
I just want him to leave me alone and let me live my life while he goes and fucks whatever whore he sees fit.

Marco, the security guard, walks toward Lyric, but I still refuse to watch him be dragged out. The pull I have for him is so strong, I’m liable to follow and do whatever he wants. I don’t want to be the girl who needs him, or any other man’s desire, to feel valued. I’m better than that. Better than what he knew. I’m not Red anymore. I’m not his. I’m my own person who’s learning to make a life without a crutch.

As soon as he’s gone from the building, I feel it. I don’t know how, but his presence was there, and now, it’s not. So I dig deep inside and try to pick myself up. I clean myself up, take a deep breath, and even though Sue Ellen insists I go home, I return to my piano bench. I’m anxious to lose myself in the song once again… to be where I was only a few moments before. Breaking and showing people my weakness isn’t what I want. However, I can’t seem to escape what just happened and the relapse I’m feeling. I can’t escape Lyric. So I leave. I walk out those doors, wanting to hide from everyone.

When I reach the driver’s side door, I hear a screeching noise before the sound of squealing brakes. Looking up, I see that same SS I used to drive and Lyric blocking me in before he gets out of the car.

“Get in the car, Red,” he commands and I can definitely see how pissed he is even with the dim streetlights.

“Go home, Lyric,” I say while opening my door before I jump in the driver seat.

“Dammit, Red. I said get in the fuckin car,” he yells.

When I give him the bird, he hits the hood of Janet’s truck.
Ass!
I go to put the keys in the ignition but drop the damn things on the floorboard.
“Shit…shit…shit!”
After I lock the door, I reach down and, ignoring the noises outside, blindly search for the tiny mace dispenser Cory bought me to keep on my keys. Most women would probably feel fear when a sexy, tattooed guy blocks her in and demands she go with him, but I’m not most women. I’m just ready to get away from him.

Finally, I feel them and exhale with relief, until I hear a loud crash and glass falls all over me. My ears are ringing but I still hear my own scream. Before I know it, the door opens and I’m being dragged out of the driver’s seat. “Let me go.” My hands and feet hit and kick, trying to escape his hold. When I’m about to scream for help, his hand covers my mouth before I get the proper amount of air in my lungs.

“Calm the fuck down.” He walks around his Camaro, throws me in the backseat, and then gets in and speeds out of the parking lot.

“What the hell are you doing you fuckwad?” I slap his head but he doesn’t flinch.

He speeds down Water Street then hits I-10 only to go faster. “I told you. I need to talk to you and your ass is going to listen to what I have to say.” He weaves his way in and out of traffic and shifts gears. My heart continues to race from adrenaline and his driving skills aren’t helping it either. A heart attack looks to be in my future.

“So you kidnap me? Not to mention, bust out my damn window. Are you freakin’ insane?”

His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror and narrow. “You could thank me. I just saved your life.”

My mind has focused on the cost of getting Janet’s truck window fixed when his words penetrate my musings. Saved my life? Is this some kind of joke? Then I look at him and know, without a doubt, he’s serious. “W-w-what do you mean, save my life?” That’s when I hear gunshots hitting the car.

“Get down.” Lyric yells and I immediately do what he says. I burrow down in the floorboard and feel every bump the car passes over as well as every swerve he takes.

I’m thrown from one side to the other and my stomach starts to roll from motion sickness. People honk and yell as we speed past them and more blasts come from the passenger side. When glass shatters on me, I scream. I’m in the middle of a fucking
Die Hard
movie, and I’ve never liked those action films to begin with.