The Fading Trilogy: Fading, Freeing, Falling: Includes 2 BONUS short stories: Hoping and Finding Forever (92 page)

“What are you looking at, you piece of shit?” he spits at me, and I fuckin’ lose it.

My body roils with vengeance when I charge at him, and we tumble, crashing to the floor. Rage takes over as I begin to pound my fists into his face relentlessly. Over and over. Skin splitting. Blood gushing. The sounds of my mom screaming and the grunts I force out with every blow to his face are a distant echo in my head.

He thrashes beneath me, but I don’t stop. I know I’m gonna kill him, and I hope I do. My teeth snap shut when he drives his palm into my jaw, causing me to bite my tongue. He continues to fight his way out from under me, flailing his arms, and dumping shit everywhere when he yanks one of the kitchen drawers out of its tracks.

My mouth fills with blood, and just when I spit it into his face, I fall over onto the floor.

“Fuck!” I scream through gritted teeth as I grab my side. I hear the clatter of metal falling to the ground and watch my father’s black boots stumbling away from me.

Cold shivers prick at my body, and my vision fades as my breathing becomes more and more shallow. My mother’s warm arms scoop my shoulders onto her lap as she cries, and I let my head fall to the side. When I see the bloody butcher’s knife, I lift my shaking hand that’s clutched to my side and raise it in front of my face. All I see is red.

I wake up the next morning, body sore and twenty-seven stitches in my side, along my ribs, where that son of a bitch stabbed me last night. Sitting up, I flinch against the stinging flesh. My mom is still asleep. I made her stay in my bed last night in case my father came back home, which he didn’t.

I quietly make my way downstairs and feel the guilt from everything that happened last night flood through my veins. If I’d never gone out, my mother probably wouldn’t be sleeping in my bed with a concussion and stitches in her head.

I’ve been so selfish lately and getting too fucked up on ecstasy and alcohol to protect my mom. The drinking, the drugs, the rage that fired through me last night—I’m him. He’s a part of me. He runs through my blood. I hate him. I don’t want to be him, but I am.

Having him consume me like this makes me sick to my stomach, and I swear to God, I will do everything I can to avoid what I fear is destined to be my future. I’ve gotta stop the fuckin’ pills. I’ve gotta . . .

A loud knocking on the door pulls me out of my thoughts, and when I make my way to the front of the house and open the door, two cops are standing there, staring at me with a look I can’t quite make out.

Taking off his hat, one cop asks, “Is this the home of Richard Campbell?”

“Hey, boss. That clown you call your friend is asking for you.”

“I’m finishing up,” I tell Max as I sign off on a few orders. “How long has he been here?”

Standing in the doorway to my office, he answers, “Not long. Half an hour or so.”

I don’t say anything as I finish up my paperwork and toss my pen on the desk, leaning back in my chair with a deep sigh.

“Everything okay?”

“Tired,” I say as I look up at my friend. Max has worked for me for a few years now. He serves as security ever since business picked up at the bar after I bought it out from its previous owner. He’s a good guy and extremely loyal, which makes him a commodity I can’t afford to lose. Beneath his shaved head and insane build that intimidates most people that walk through the doors here, he’s got a big heart.

“Call it a night, man. It’s late, and you’ve been up here all day.”

“Yeah.” I push back from my desk and stand up, making my way out of the office. When I pass Max, I clap his back, saying, “I’m gonna go talk to Gav then head out.”

Max follows as we walk down the stairs and into the bar that I’ve owned since I graduated from the University of Washington. This place has become a second home to me. It’s where I spend most of my time.

Bumping shoulders through the crowd of people, I spot my old college buddy, Gavin, tossing back a bottle of beer.

“Ryan, dude? Where the hell have you been?”

“Working.”

“Mel!” he shouts over to one of the bar girls. “Get this old man a beer.”

“No, Mel. I’m good,” I tell her, and she just shakes her head at Gavin, knowing what a partier he is.

“What’s up with you tonight?”

“Tired, man.”

“You not staying?”

Before I can answer, a tall blonde catches my eye as she starts making her way through the crowd and up to the bar. She steps next to me and leans over the bar top to get Mel’s attention, and when I eye her, Gavin mumbles, “Yeah, you’re staying,” all too knowingly.

“Ryan, right?” the blonde asks as she turns to look at me, and when I nod my head, she introduces herself with a slow, “I’m Gina,” trying to sound sexy, but it’s lost on me ‘cause I couldn’t give a shit what her name is. Girls like her are an almost daily occurrence.

“Have we met before or something?” I ask since she already knows who I am.

“Not officially. I’ve seen you around though.” She grins at me as she says this, but her fake tits are too distracting for me to focus on her face. It’s when she giggles that I snap my attention up. “You own this place, right?”

I nod my head again. One thing about me, I’m not much of a talker. I’m a pretty quiet guy for the most part, but with chicks especially, I don’t talk. There’s no need to. I don’t care to delay the inevitable. I’m a straight shooter, and being as tired as I am, I cut the shit and say, “Wanna get to know me better in my office?”

Her smile grows, and I take her hand, leading her to the back stairs. I spot Gavin trying to nail his own bait, and he gives me a cocky grin when he sees me pass by.

We walk into my office, and I close the door, pinning her up against it, clasping her wrists in my hand above her head while I run my other hand up her skirt and between her legs. Letting go of her wrists, she works with my pants, anxious to get them off.

I fumble in my back pocket, and when I retrieve the condom, I quickly rip it open with my teeth, spitting out the shredded foil as she tugs my pants down. I waste no time. Closing my eyes, I shove her panties to the side and take her against the door.

I never care to look too much at the girls I bang. Honestly, I don’t want to connect in any way.

This is me—disconnecting.

Screwing chicks as they come along. I don’t talk. I don’t watch. My escape lasts for as long as it takes for me to get off, then I move on. I’ve been this way my whole life, from a fifteen-year-old freshman in high school to a now twenty-eight-year-old man. I’m emotionally messed up, and I don’t even try to hide it.

Clinging herself to me, legs wrapped around my waist, I bury my head in her neck, and the thick perfume she’s wearing makes me screw her harder, wanting to finish up so I can go home and wash this shit off of me.

Pouring another cup of coffee, trying to wake up before heading out to the gym, my phone starts to ring. I know it’s my mom before I even look. She always calls first thing Sunday morning—predictable.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. How’re you doing?”

Taking my coffee, I walk over and plop down on my couch as I say, “Good. Nothing new.”

“What time do you think you’ll be here tomorrow?” she asks.

“Around two,” I tell her. My mom still lives in Oregon at the same beach house that I grew up in down on Cannon Beach. After high school, I moved here, to Seattle, to go to college, but I still go back home often to visit. “Tori’s gonna come too. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Is that cool?”

“Of course. Is she bringing the kids?”

Taking a sip of my coffee, I laugh and say, “No. She’s going crazy. That’s why I invited her to hang with me for a few days. She’s desperate to escape. She said that Connor has been a nightmare lately, throwing crazy temper tantrums. So she’s going to leave the kids home with Trevor.”

“Oh, dear. Four is such a rough age. I remember when you were four. You were always embarrassing me. You hated wearing pants, so it didn’t matter where we were, you would just strip down bottomless in public for all to see.” She starts laughing, and I can’t help joining in with her when she continues through her chuckles, “I would be so embarrassed, but when I tried getting you to pull up your underwear, you just screamed and drew even more attention.”

“I don’t remember that,” I laugh.

“Well, I do. Eventually, I had to tell you that it was against the law and the police were gonna come get you and throw you in jail if you did it again.”

“Great parenting, Mom!” I say as I shake my head in pure humor. I love hearing these funny stories of my past since most of my memories are ones I wish I could forget.

“Well…” she squeaks out. “I didn’t know what else to say, so I went with scare tactics.”

“Did it work?”

“No,” she says with a soft giggle. “Well, it’ll be great to see the both of you.”

“You too. I’m gonna go hit the gym, but I’ll call you when I’m on my way tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, dear. Drive safe, and I love you.”

“Love you too, Mom”

I go upstairs to change before I head out to the gym to meet up with Max. We’ve always worked out at the same gym; that’s how we first met. Making sure everything is locked up, I hop into my jeep and make the short drive to the Athletic Club. Max’s car is already in the parking lot when I pull up.

“Hey, boss,” Max shouts through the empty gym. Nobody is ever here on Sunday mornings, so we make it a point to get together at this time.

“What’s up?” I say as I walk over to him. “You been here long?”

“Nah.”

We head towards the indoor track to do a quick run before lifting.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, but I’m going out of town for a few days, so Michael will be at the bar all week.”

“Going to see your mom?”

“Yeah. Mostly plan on surfing with my cousin,” I say as we make our laps.

“Well, when you get back, I need your help.”

“With what?”

“Traci is moving in, so I need you to help me with her furniture.”

Looking over at him, I question, “She’s moving in?”

Laughing at me, he says, “Ryan, don’t act so surprised. We’re almost thirty. Don’t you think you should slow it down a bit yourself? Find a girl?”

“Nope. You know I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing. Never have. I like being alone.”

“No one likes being alone.”

“I like being alone,” I repeat, but it’s a lie. Truth is, I’ve always been too scared to have a girlfriend. Too scared to allow myself to even have feelings towards someone else. Too scared of putting myself in a situation only to discover the person I believe lives inside of me. A person just like my father.

“Whatever you say,” he teases as we continue our run. “My buddy, Chase, was wondering if we needed his help when classes start up in a few weeks.”