Stricken Resolve (25 page)

Gonzales was yelling for me and pounding like
a madwoman on the door to get me to come out. But I refused. Once I
finished my Neanderthal temper tantrum, I dropped to the ground in
a ball of blood, sweat and tears and wept like a baby. Haphazardly
tossing cans around the room as my adrenalin rush plummeted and I
was left with noodle arms, a shattered heart and pieces of glass
still imbedded in my feet, both soles and the top. I think I might
have broken a bottle of jam on top of my right, size thirteen foot.
I sat inside for three hours. Until Gonzales called in
reinforcements, because I refused to acknowledge her and I knew she
was scared I had killed myself. I would never do that. I’m not
suicidal, I’m just swimming in an ocean of deep penetrating anger
and pain. I’ve always known I’m a loyal man. I’ve always understood
I never half ass anything I’m passionate about. But what I never
realized is my passion and loyalty ran this thick and deep into my
very soul. Marking me.

When people fall in love, they are supposed
to love the person. They are supposed to, in the event things don’t
work out—they are to move on. I could never do that even if I
tried. These feelings will
never
cease and they’re getting
worse. Definitely not my unfathomable need to act like a dog and
pee on her to mark my territory; symbolically of course. And the
words
mine
,
mine
,
mine
,
mark
,
mark
,
mark
is all I can think about. It runs through
my head like an obsessive ticker tape. So when I tell my doctor I
feel like I’m going insane, I’m not joking. It’s not a ploy. It’s
the damned truth.

Two marshals and my new doctor were called
and came to the house to talk me out. Which I did, once I realized
the kind of drama I was creating because I was so pissed off.
Feeling a bit childlike and embarrassed, I exited the pantry. Blood
smeared the pristine floors as I walked into the guest bathroom
downstairs and ran my feet under warm water, sitting on the edge of
the porcelain bathtub, expelling the shards of glass. Which in
turn, bled like the devil once the glass was sitting at the bottom
of the tub. I refused to go to the hospital. So I took the
extensive medical kit from Gonzales and stitched myself. She never
left my side, which gave me a tiny bit of comfort to know I wasn’t
all alone in this world. I grunted and swore like a trucker when
the needle pierced through my lacerations and I quickly whip
stitched them closed. It wasn’t my first time doing it. Many of my
tattoos cover up scars I’ve gotten over the years from working for
the military and getting stabbed or shot in the field. I’m just
good at stitching so I’m only left with a faint scar. I’m certain
Emily’s not even noticed them hiding underneath all this ink. A
huge scar from a knife is hidden in the depths of my colorful
Mother Mary tattoo that flows from my chest down my stomach. The
bird by my crotch hides another mark. My physical body is littered
in memories of pain and torture and my heart is stuffed full of
love for one woman. Strangely ironic, but it is what it is.

Okay, enough of this. It’s time to get the
show on the road. I’ve got to go see my Mama Bear and since my fake
orders included Gonzales having to be in attendance she is coming
with. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like I plan on talking
to anybody. Except maybe Davis if I catch up with him at some
point. When Brewer granted me this short furlough I had to sign a
separate document, stating that if I spoke to or involved myself in
anyone that was a civilian and not under arrest, I would be thrown
into the brig for the duration of my stay. That’s safe link
protocol and those rules are not to be broken. It’s a safety
precaution—I get that. The government, figuratively, double crosses
their T’s and dots their I’s. Not allowing for any margin of
error.

“Are you ready…now?” She taps her shoe on the
floor in playful annoyance. Trying not to smile when I shoot her a
raised brow.

“Remind me why I don’t tie you up and keep
you in the trunk until this is over?” I tease, cracking her a half
smile as I tug my black leather jacket over my plain black tee and
holstered guns. I’m packin’ heavy tonight; two knifes, three guns,
a set of cuffs and two zip ties. You never know what you might run
into and for whatever reason she gets into trouble or I feel
threatened, I want to be able to protect myself. My clothing choice
isn’t any different than normal. Black cargo pants, black military
issued belt, black leather shit kickers, my growing facial hair now
trimmed down to a short goatee. Hair shorter than normal, I buzzed
it extra short today after I showered. Doesn’t look too bad against
my tan skin and Gonzales gave me a rather lively catcall when she
saw me, expressing her approval of my new look. Not that it really
matters what she thinks or not.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she snips, as I head
past her and down the steps of the Stepford abode, headed to the
car parked in the driveway.

“I would. Now get in the car. I don’t have
time for idle chit chat. We have a concert to attend and you are
going to be nice and enjoy yourself,” I order, in my deep voice
making sure she catches what I’m puttin’ down.

With a huff and a stomp, she get into the car
and I take my place in the driver seat. It’s time to see my
love.

***

“Wow, James, is that Stricken?” Gonzales
yells over the thunderous crowd, her finger pointing to Johnathan
taking center stage.

“That’s Johnathan Striker, their singer. The
whole band is Stricken.”

“Is he Emily’s babies’ daddy?” She innocently
asks.

“Yes,” I growl, angry, not wanting to have
this conversation with her. Those babies might be his by blood but
those kids are mine too, dagnabbit.

“Whoa! Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” she
says, holding up her hands, watching me. I clench my fists at my
sides as my anger rolls off of me in tidal waves.

On the way here she drilled me about how it
was working for a band of this magnitude. I didn’t give her much to
go on. I don’t divulge my past that often. I don’t think it’s
anyone’s business. Except Emily’s. When we arrived, we parked,
claimed our tickets at Will Call and found our row close to the
stage. The opening band just finished their set and now it’s time
for the main show. Which means it’s time to see Emily.

“Hello DC! How ya’ll doin’ tonight!?”
Johnathan calls out and the crowd goes wild in response.

“Well, as I am sure you all know, this show
was put together last minute. It was our way of sharing in the
birth of my twins with all of you fans.” His hand gestures to the
screen and a picture of my children come up and I about lose it. My
eyes fill with watery tears and my heart aches so much I have to
rub it. Gonzales reaches over and grabs my forearm for support and
I let her. I don’t know if I can do this. This is more painful than
I thought. Look at them—both so beautiful. Jenna and her red hair
and Eric with his brown.

“And those little buggers couldn’t have been
born if it wasn’t for me having been blessed with Emily, the most
amazing woman on the planet. Who came into my life last year as a
co-road manager and I quickly fell in love with her.” I
protectively growl and stomp, willing myself to calm down or I will
be tearing through this crowd and climbing onto the strange and
beating the pulp out of that cheating coward.

A spotlight shines and my heart falters, my
palms turn slick with sweat, as my soldier gets painfully hard and
my mouth salivates, watching my Emily, my Mama Bear, being
illuminated in all of her beauty, wearing a red corset matching
perfectly with her complexion.

“Say hello to my best friend Emily, the
mother of my children,” he introduces her and she waves and that
does it, the tears I was holding back break free and I lose myself
in her magnificence. She looks amazing. So perfect and supple.

“It’s okay James.” Gonzales leans in and
reassures me, her hand still gripping what she can of my
forearm.

Johnathan at some point starts singing and I
can’t stop staring at her. My eyes forever glued to the only part
of me that matters as she stands side stage with Stacy, her best
friend. His arm draped over her shoulder while they dance.

The fifth song starts and I finally break
myself from staring so I can try to enjoy this concert and listen
to the music.

“This is a new song I just wrote,” Johnathan
explains.

“You’re my world, my shelter from my
rain,

You’re the pills, that wash away my pain,

You’re the light, that guides me on my
way,

You’re the words when I’ve got nothing to
say,

And in this world where nothing else is
true,

Here I am, still, madly in love with you,

Still deeply in love with you,” he sings

I can’t believe he is confessing his love for
her in this song! Madly in love with her? I’m the one madly in love
with her! He wasn’t or isn’t. I am!

I look over to Emily and see her slow
dancing, her arms wrapped around her torso swaying and a giant of a
man comes up behind her and touches her shoulder. That is it! I’ve
had it! I start forward, plowing through the crowd. Gonzales grabs
my jacket from the back and pulls. It doesn’t stop me. I’m still
going. Three more rows, I’ve got only three more rows. Suddenly I’m
tackled from behind and tossed onto the ground. Falling to my knees
and then onto my stomach in one hard blow. What the hell?

“Don’t you do it, brother!” Davis yells into
my ear. My body face down on the concrete between clusters of
fans.

“Let me the fuck up, Davis!” I boom, pushing
myself up onto my knees and he’s still sitting on my back.

“I will tie your ass up if you don’t get your
shit together, brother. Now she’s not with Johnathan, he’s with
Cammy. I will tell you the rest when you get your fuckin’ head outa
your ass. Do you get me?”

I nod, and blow out a deep hard breath to
keep myself from blowing through the barricades to get to her.

“Who in the hell is that giant?” I grind out,
my teeth clinched unable to full gain my composure. Both of my
large hands planted flat on the floor, hanging my head.

Yanking me up by the back of my jacket, my
southern friend helps me stand. Gonzales is standing right behind
him with the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen. She pushes past him to
dust off the front of my jacket and my shoulders. Grabbing my face
in her, hands she forces me to look her in the eyes.

“You scared the shit out of me. Do
not
do that again. I know you love her. I know you are angry. But this
has got to stop. You are destroying yourself. Get your act together
before you do go insane,” she orders, worry written in deep lines
across her forehead and around her pretty indigo eyes.

Solemnly I nod, and frown. I know she’s
right. I just don’t know how to control myself. Not when it
pertains to her.

Dropping her hands from my face, Davis waves
us on to follow him and we do. Weaving our way in and out of the
crowd and into a side room not far from backstage. It’s smaller
band room with three chairs, a couch, a coffee table, white walls
and cheap tan linoleum floors.

“Sit.” Davis gestures to the chairs and I
listen, not wanting to argue with a man I’ve known and been friends
with for many years. I lean back in the chair, kicking my boot up
and resting it on my knee, my arms crossed tightly across my
chest.

“I know you wanted to come here James but
acting out is just going to hurt you and her both. If she sees you
go mad it’s going to rip her apart. You haven’t been the one to
help keep her together, the rest of us has been. Especially Stacy.
That man is a saint.”

Silently, I bob my head in agreement.

“There will be a party afterward if you want
to get a closer look at her. I know she’s attending because Claire
is going to be there. I talked with her and she was elated to come
and spend some time with Emily. Now you can lurk and check her out
from a distance. I spoke to Brewer and he said that was okay. But I
am to report if you get out of line or talk to her. It’s my ass on
the line here too. He and I will both be in front of the firing
squad along with you and Gonzales if you don’t buck up and cut your
stupid shit. We know you love her. It’s obvious, man. But don’t
hurt her because you can’t control whatever it is you've got
brewing inside.” His tone is soft and heavily saturated in his
southern accent. I can’t seem to do anything but bob my head,
agreeing with him wholeheartedly.

I know he’s right. I need some medication. As
soon as this is over with I have to talk with Brewer and tell him I
want out. If that doesn’t work, I’m going to seek medical help to
be heavily medicated until this is over with. Walking around with a
huge chip on your shoulder isn’t healthy—I know this. I’m also
acutely in tune with the fact that I am rapidly getting worse.
Something has got to give. I can’t take it anymore.

“Fine, now who’s the giant?” I ask, my stern
unwavering words pouring from between clinched teeth.

“That is Emily’s new bodyguard that Johnathan
hired for her. His name is Bruce, but Emily refers to him as The
Wall. They are good friends and not romantic in the least bit, he
has a girlfriend that he’s been with for six years. I did a
background check on him. He’s been to drug rehab twice, an
ex-college football player, has a degree in criminal justice, and
was a police officer for three years in Vegas. He just quit his job
as a corrections officer at prison to work for Stricken as Emily’s
bodyguard. Johnathan must be shelling out the big buckeros to get
the man to quit his job.”

I nod again, “Okay, so do you think he likes
my love? Men are known to like her with or without
girlfriends.”