Sweet Ache

And I remember how the nine-year-old me was so proud that my dad had called me a man that I nodded, I agreed with everything I had, I promised faithfully because I had no idea what would happen next.

So I swore to protect my own blood at all costs and if I didn’t, I would be weak too. My only choice would be the same as his. He rambled on, scaring me with his words, his sudden anger that turned back to tears, shaking me by the shoulders to reinforce them. I kept glancing at the door, wondering when Mom and Hunter were going to come home because I didn’t know what to do, how to calm him. All I wanted when I came downstairs was my Transformers and yet I was scared to move and go get them from where they sat on the fireplace.

I remember glancing at the hearth and then back to him just in time to see him load the bullet in the gun I was never supposed to touch. The taste of the fear was like acid in my mouth and yet I couldn’t swallow. He looked me in the eye and told me that if I was weak, if I let him down by not being strong and taking care of them, then I would have to do what a weak man does. And then he put the tip under his chin as I whimpered and cowered. He yelled at me to stand up, to show him how strong I was by watching because if I didn’t, I’d be just as weak as he was and earn the same fate.

I stood tall, so afraid to let him down despite the tears sliding down my cheeks and the taste of vomit in my mouth from fear, and looked him in the eyes, and said the words, I promise, Daddy.

Then he pulled the trigger.

Vince calling my name shakes me from the memories that have scarred me like a brand, deep and irreversible. The Jack and Coke no longer sits well in my stomach and yet I’m sure as fuck going to have another to quiet the shit in my head.

“Yeah, what?” I ask as he eyes me, trying to determine whether I’m okay. I just shake my head at him to drop it as I scrub my hand over my face to try to rub away the memory that’s etched in permanent ink.

“I’m gonna be honest, man. You’re toeing that fine line with everything—Hunt, Quin, the other shit,” he implies without acknowledging. “The sucky thing about lines though is once you step over the edge, you can’t always find your way back.”

I stare at him, unsure which of those lines he’s talking about specifically but I don’t even want to venture a guess because I’m just glad it drags my thoughts from my past. “Maybe I don’t want to find my way back.”

“You talking about Trixie now?” He chuckles.

I’m not talking about anything in particular, just that unsettled feeling in regard to everything tumbling out of control around me … everything except for our music. My one and only constant through life. And I don’t really want to sit here and talk about this shit with myself let alone Vince so I hold on to the comment and use it as an out.

“I would definitely toe any line with her especially if I can use it to tie her to the headboard and have some fun.” The smile that graces my lips is genuine in what feels like the first time since the moment Quin left the house.

“You’re a sick fuck but I love the way you think.”

I laugh with him. “Living the dream, man.”

He laughs harder. “You’re going to be living in a tattoo shop pretty soon if you don’t set things right with little Miss Q.”

“Things are fine,” I correct him even though I know I was an asshole to her. Fuck. What I’d give to have her here right now since my anger has been thoroughly taken out on Giz’s drums. “I’ll fix it,” I say, and then realize I didn’t tell him anything about how the two of us left things. I shift to sit up and stare at him, eyes narrowed, lips pursed so that I don’t even say a word and yet he knows what I’m thinking.

“Yep. I spied,” he confesses with a smirk. “Gotta know where I stand so I know when I’ll be needed to step in. Dude, being a third wheel never sounded so fucking appealing. I still think she’s going to grab you by the balls and add a little twist when telling you to fuck off after how you handled her tonight, but I’ll gladly take the extra ring around my tattooed heart because she’s hot.”

“That she is.” I blow out a breath and angle my head back against the cushion, thinking how I’m not too thrilled with the terms of this bet anymore. I’m not a possessive guy but fuck if I want Vinny in on this one. Then again, I’m not getting a tattoo of a heart like a pussy either.

Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. Shit, I’d much rather just be between her thighs.

But Vince might just be right. I might have screwed the pooch here in how I left things tonight. Talk about a hard row to hoe, kiss her like I want to fuck her and then shove her out the door without so much as a hug. Stellar, Play. Frickin’ stellar.

The sad fact is I’m being protective of her as if I’m looking for something more than some fun between the sheets with a girl who readily admits that she enjoys sex. But I’m not. I don’t have time for that in my life right now, and definitely don’t want to invite the crazy in that comes with the steady woman territory. Jealousy over groupies, inability to handle lonely nights while I’m on the road, and the constant underlying feeling that they’re with me for the wrong reasons. I have enough crazy already to last a lifetime.

Besides, something more means love. Love means weak. Weak means I’ve failed.

No, I most definitely am in this for the challenge, wanting to prove I can bed her as well as get a kick out of fucking with Vince.

Now I have to figure out how to do that since I just proved to her she was right in assuming I was the player she kept telling me I was. But I’m not worried. She hated me at first sight and came around, so it can’t be that much harder to get her into bed.