And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2) (18 page)

“I know, baby, I know.” And I do know. I never wanted to admit it, but my trip back to Houston to see my brother, I know I’d see my parents. There was a small part of me, the child in me who hoped beyond hope that they’d realize their mistake and we could try to make amends. Of course it didn’t happen. But I get it. Though I am lucky. I at least have Ben. Cecelia is truly alone in this world. Other than me, she has no one.

We go to bed, stripping our clothes from our bodies, laying side by side. We hold one another into the night, long after sleep has claimed us and dreams have tormented us. We hold one another with a promise of never letting go again.

Because I can’t. Cecelia is my whole life. I’m lost without her.

NINETEEN

It’s been just under a month since my fights with Fife and Brutal. More than a month since I managed to beat both of them as well as take on new guy, James. No one expected me to win. From the players that showed, old and new, plus all the groupies, one might have thought this was a prized Vegas fight.

Especially since the payout was so large.

Instead it was a battle of who has the bigger dick. Guess I win.

Neither Brutal or Fife has shown back up to fight since that night. I guess I keep waiting every Friday and Saturday night for those two dumbasses to waltz in demanding a rematch. Again. But instead, they never show. Celia heard through Jody that Brutal got raked over by Penny over what he said and how he acted. Guess his girl was none too pleased at his antics. Something about disrespecting women when he was supposed to be helping her raise one. Penny even kicked him out for a bit, I guess. Threatened legal action against him too.

Jody doesn’t think Brutal will ever fight again. His lady is mad at him and I humiliated him in two fights. There's no point in him coming back. 

Fife is a different story. Everyone knows he's furious at being made a fool not only by Celia flooring him and rejecting him, but by the fact that I fought Brutal and not ten minutes later managed to kick his ass. He's got a chip the size of Texas on his shoulder right now.

I don't trust him. Not even a little bit. He's got a grudge against me. And I really don't trust him when it comes to Cecelia and his grievance against her.

She's thankfully doing better. She's no longer walks around in a daze, or worse, looking completely empty. Since we have to switch locations so often anymore, we haven't been back to that group of apartments where she broke in front of me. I feel guilt knowing she was falling apart and I took her against the side of that building, sounds of life from inside the homes and grunts from the fights our soundtrack.

I didn't know at the time she was looking for a fix, for a release from reality and that I was the hit. I didn't realise the knowledge she carried was her reason for pulling me away from the group and having me fuck her.

At least now she isn't letting pain resonate through her whole being. At least now she’s starting to look like the woman who means everything to me instead of the shell she was becoming.

I’m not fighting tonight. I've won so much, and after dealing with the drama of two assholes as well as Cecelia finding out her dad is dead, it was decided I'd sit this weekend out. I’ve no doubt I could have still competed and won. But my head just wouldn’t have been completely in it. I still chose to show up to watch, as well as kill time till Celia is off work.

To be honest, I don’t really need to fight anymore. I proved my point. Beat the assholes who had it out for me, at least publicly, and won a very hefty sum. Considering it was all under the table, all that money was mine for the keeping. And I have kept it. It’s safe. Locked away in a safety deposit box at the post office so I don’t touch it and spend it all.

Though we’ve been in the workforce for ten years, we’ve always just cashed our checks and held on to the money. For the first time in my – and Celia’s – life, we’ve opened a checking account. It’s a joint one. We cash our work checks together. Like real couple. It’s weird and normal all at the same time.

Even still. The money from my prize fight is kept away. Cecelia and I understand rainy days very well. One never knows when a pile of cash can come in handy.

“Lots of new guys here tonight. Guess your battle really got around,” Toby comments coming to stand near where I’m seated. He’s right. There are a shit ton of new guys looking to fight. That’s another reason why I sat out for the night. Not enough time in the night to get through everyone. Which means we might have to start setting up secret again to keep the numbers, and therefor the risk of getting caught, down. “Where’s you girl?” he asks taking a seat beside me.

I tear my eyes away from watching Stretch fight some guy from the north who has a score to settle over a bad weed deal. Normally Stretch wouldn’t fight given his previous injuries, but the guy is a douche and Stretch wasn’t about to let him talk shit. Toby isn’t looking at me, his eyes on the match, but I look him over good. I don’t trust him either. I don’t trust anyone here. I can’t. It’s not safe. So I tread carefully.

“Work. She’ll be here after,” I respond. I won’t give him anything more.

“Cool,” Toby nods and I keep my eyes on him, looking for anything suspicious. After a few minutes of watching punches thrown, of hearing Stretch call out the fucker for thinking he could come into our territory and start trouble, his eyes land on me. “I’m sorry if any of my actions have hurt her. And you,” he adds stealing a quick look toward the fight before bringing his attention back to me. “I just wanted you to know, I never had her. None of us have, despite what they all like to say.”

“Okay…and?” I’m feeling surprised at his words, but I’m not sure what his game is here.

“Cecelia joked around, but God’s honest truth, she never gave any of us the time of day let alone a taste.” My hackles rise at that description, but I try to maintain a sense of calm as Toby continues. “It was a mind game. We thought it would throw you off. But it never worked. Just like you told Brutal and Fife.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Toby sighs and I watch him look across the lot toward where the girls are gathered. “Because I saw the devastation on Cecelia’s face when she showed up the other day. It kills me to think what we’ve done, that it could’ve hurt her like that.”

I’m sure my face shows shock here. He’s referring to the night she told me her dick of a father was dead. And he thinks it’s because of them, their actions and words toward her, me, us. I won’t tell him different, even though I know the idea that anyone saw her in a moment of weakness will grate on Celia. “Again, why are you telling me this? What’s the point? It never mattered before. Why does it now?”

“Deenie’s pregnant, man,” he whispers looking down at the gutter. “It killed me to think someone messed around with her, and all the talk it brought. I just, I started to think about how we treated Cecelia, how we treated you. It isn’t right. If I’m going to be a father, I can’t keep acting this way. Shit, once the kid is here, I’m done fighting.”

I nod. It’s a good reason, I suppose. Moments that change your life, having a baby, becoming a father, being one of them, have a way of waking people up. I hope Toby means it. Because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to defend. That girl walking toward the fights means the very world to me. More than my own life.

“I hope you mean this, man. Because forgiveness is not something I’m good at.” I stand and walk away from the curb, leaving him behind so I can meet up with my girl. She’s lost a bit of weight as a result of trying to deal with everything, but still takes my breath away. She’s wearing loose-fitting jeans, one of her own t-shirts and Chucks. Though her shoes are purple compared to my black ones, and her shirt a fitted blue, we damn near match tonight. “Hi baby. How was work?

“Fine,” she says and there’s something about her body language that contradicts her answer. She’s skittish, looking everywhere all at once. As her eyes land on the guys standing, waiting for their turn to fight, I see her whole body lock down.

Taking her hands, which I find to be shaking, I pull her toward me. “What’s going on?” Her eyes never leave the group, and her body begins to tremble. “Baby? You gotta talk to me. Please, you’re scaring me,” I tell her trying to figure out what she’s seeing.

“Th-that guy over there, the one in the gray sweatpants,” she starts, and her voice is cracking from the amount of shaking she’s experiencing. “What’s his, what’s his name?”

I look toward who she’s referring to. He’s one of the newbies that showed up tonight, along with five others. I wrack my brain trying to remember who he said he was. “Um, Bryson or Brant or something like that. He showed up late so I didn’t really catch it. Why?”

As brown eyes meet my green, I see fear. My muscles lock down, terrified as to what can make Cecelia look this way. “That’s the guy who’s been bothering me at work,” she says in a harsh whisper.

I look back toward the group again and notice Bryson or Bryant is staring our way, a look on his face I can’t determine from our distance. “Are you sure?” I need verification before I pummel him.

“Yes. He usually stays until just before closing but he left about an hour early.”

The timeline matches since we don’t start the fight till late. “He’s a dead man.” I go to release her hands and settle this once and for all, when Celia grips me hard.

“You can’t touch him, Chace!” she whisper-shouts.

“The hell I can’t!” I try to push her hands off of me. “He’s bothering you, he needs to be dealt with.”

“You don’t understand. This isn’t just some creeper who won’t leave me alone,” she says gripping my face to pull my attention back to her. Once she has it, she continues. “He’s a
dealer
, Chace. He’s a dealer and he
knows
us really well. Jeena got busy with someone and I’m not allowed to ignore a customer. He’d made sure to speak to me, to tell me he
knows
us.”

“Knows us? How?” I ask and even as I do, my foggy memory tells me to stop playing stupid. It’s been years now, but once upon a time, Celia and I used, and we used together. We knew it was moronic when we did it, but life felt hard and intoxication was easy. I shake my head trying to remember clearly any part of that time, but I can’t recall much. Bits and pieces and the face of the asshole who sold us the coke is not registering. “Are you sure?”

She nods emphatically. “Yes, he…he has proof.” The trembling is back. Whatever this proof is it’s what has her petrified. “God, he had pictures,” she cries. “
Pictures
of
us
!”

My mind is reeling. I wish so badly I could remember. “What kind of pictures of us does he have?”

“Of us
together
,” she says through a sob. I want to laugh in relief that that’s all, but something tells me it’s not. When Celia’s pained face returns to my sight, I
know
it’s not all. “I don’t even remember it, but he… we, you and I…we were with
him
, too.”

There’s not much that can make my stomach turn so swiftly. But this, this does it. I wanna puke if what she’s saying is true. And fuck if my mind only conjures up bits of that time. But one thing I’ve always remembered was how much sex Cecelia and I had. It was like the thrill of the drug increased our libidos and we couldn’t get enough of each other. Coming off of it was rough, but it was something we fought tooth and nail to beat. I didn’t think there could be anything worse than that fuckup. But to know it’s possible to have shared her, and apparently willingly? I can’t handle that.

“What does he want?” I am terrified of the answer. It’s been
years
since that time. It’s been years since we were that messed up. Why now? Why all of a sudden? We don’t owe him money. I know that much. If we had, it would have been collected by now. So what’s his game?

“He said he wants to watch.”

“Watch… what?”

“Us.”

I look at her in disbelief. In denial of what I know she’s going to say. “Watch us do… what?”

“Fuck.” The word is harsh. As are her eyes now. The brown so usually warm and inviting to me are cold instantly. I can’t understand what this guy’s deal is. It must show on my face, the question, because Cecelia speaks again. “He said we had such a good time before, it shouldn’t be that big a fucking deal now.”

“What?” I shout. I’m completely stupefied here. I quickly lower my voice to avoid drawing any more attention. “What? Are you serious? Why?”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t know. But I can see she has an idea. “He said something about the fights. He said something along the lines of making things fair. I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense!”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter wondering what the hell is going on. This creeper is talking about two things that have no connection. A lapse more than eight years ago and my fighting now? “Did he say anything else?”

Her face scrunches up as her mind turns. “He said… fuck, he said I need to stop being such a fucking tease. Or to stop lying about being one.” She looks at me with tears in her eyes. My girl never cries, not really anyhow, so this has me scared. “He said given how I reacted that night, he knows I spread my legs everywhere and for everyone.”

“Jesus, fuck.” I want to hit something. Him. I want to hit him. I want to fuck him up so badly, he won’t be able to breathe without a machine aiding him. I also want to snatch Celia and run away from this place. We’ve got the money. It’s ridiculous how thinking about a rainy day can make one. But I’m not a runner. I never have been when it comes to this kind of confrontation, and I won’t start now. I also won’t give this guy the satisfaction of freaking out any further.

“What are we gonna do, Chace?”

Looking over her shoulder, I see some people are watching us. And this Bryson or Bryant is one of them. He’s got a smirk on his face, and my muscles lock with the need to beat it off of him. But instead, I force myself to relax. And then I smile. I smile big and bright, like I’ve just heard the best fucking news. Because no way. Fucker is not going to get to me. Bending down so that I’m eye level with Celia, I cup her face with both hands, lightly stroking away the few renegade tears that have escaped.