8 Mile & Rion (6 page)

‘Reality is just a crutch for people who can't cope with drugs.’

~Robin Williams

When I heard her call my name I stopped dead in my tracks. I don’t deserve her kindness, never would, but I stopped anyway because she asked. It was the sound of my name coming from her mouth that did it. She drew my name out and said it like it was important. Like, it meant something. Fuck, like
I
meant something.

I don’t have friends, no family to speak of. I’m fucked in the head and I have nothing to offer the woman standing behind me. Not even friendship. No doubt she wants to save me or some shit because you can see it in her smile. She’s a do-gooder. She’s also really fucking naïve to think I’m salvageable. Her reality and mine are on opposing sides, but I stopped anyway because I won’t say no to her. I can’t explain why, I just know that it’s not possible and in the end it’s going to fuck me.

“I’m sorry about the things I said to you. I know better than to speak out of anger.” Standing in front of me, she cranes her neck back to look up at me, so I back up so she doesn’t have to. “You were a Marine like my dad, huh?”

“That’s what I said.”

“He used to say once a Marine always a Marine,” she smiles and it cripples me. “You know look like a Marine. At first I thought fighter or cop, but Marine makes total sense. I’m actually mentally slapping myself for not pegging it.”

At a loss of what to say, I chose to stay quiet. Quiet was safe. But Rion, it seemed, had enough words for both of us. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes in the office?”

“Why?”

“You’re really going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

“You wanted me to go,” I remind her then, pointing over my shoulder at the exit I say, “There’s the steps.”

“I changed my mind. I’m a girl. Girls do that.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she says shrugging. “And I believe in second chances. Senior believed in second chances. My guys working for me are second chances and I came back for one myself. Don’t you think you deserve one too?”

“No,” I tell her bluntly. I hurt her twice. Three times if you count kicking her desk. If I were to do it again, I’d probably blown my own head off I’m that fucked up about it.

“Well,” she says, opening her door and smirking at me. “I’d like the chance to prove you wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” I tell her.

“The door’s open Loyal, please come in,” she says quietly and once she turns away, I do exactly what she hoped I’d do.

I follow her.

Taking a seat, I notice she looks better than she did hours ago. Her headache had really kicked her ass but the hand print around her neck is kicking mine. Now she’s smiling and I decided her smile was better than any sunset I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen my share.

“I need an enforcer,” she says, dropping that bomb as well as a pile of files that took both arms to lift. “Before you shoot me down, Rio has been our top enforcer since I was in high school but, I need a second.”

“And?”

“And,” she says, leaning forward catching my eyes. “I want
you
.”

My dick heard
and I want you to bend me over this desk and fuck me
but my mind realized not only is she not curbing me, she just offered me a job.

“Speechless?” she asks, sitting on the edge of her desk taking me in from head to toe. “It’s okay, I tend to say what I’m thinking like you do. I need to get on these collections like yesterday, Loyal. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was broke. Plus you’re a civilian now and Senior said coming home and trying to act like one was tough. You need an outlet, I’m offering you one. It’s a cake walk compared to what you’re used to, but it’s something, right? If you’re lucky someone will get lippy and you can squeeze in a free swing or two. That’s allowed by the way. You can start out with me doing the collecting and I’ll show you the ropes. I have a feeling you’ll have more success than I will.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re scary.”

“Just say I’m ugly, Rion.”

“If I thought you were ugly, I’d say so. But you are scary. Do you smile?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. I bet it’s nice as far as smiles go. I’ll bet you a dinner that you cook, that within one week, I’ll get you to smile for me. A real smile, where I see the top and bottom rows.”

“I’ll do it but you ain’t paying me for this,” I tell her. “I owe you. But I ain’t cooking or going on a date with you either.”

“Wow,” she says whistling loud. “I meant a friendly dinner at the apartment, but I get it. You’re taken, it’s cool. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a poacher. Besides, I like carry out and I’m not big on change.”

Just before I could ask her what the fuck she was talking about, the phone rang and she spent the next hour placing bets like it was second nature. She lets me know it’s time to hit the streets and grabbing her bag, our first stop was collecting a debt together, in the same fucking car. Jesus, I can’t believe
she
actually does this. I can’t believe
I’m
actually doing this either.

More than anything, I can’t believe I’m fucking excited about it.

‘We all require and want respect, man or woman, black or white. It's our basic human right.’

~Aretha Franklin

I felt like I recovered nicely from the
let’s do dinner, I’m desperate
comment. Senior would slap me upside the head for asking out a man that was spoken for but, dammit there is just something about the guy. I wasn’t lying when I said within the week I’ll make him smile.

I don’t place bets that I stand a chance at losing. Plus, more than anything I wanted to win that smile. I knew he had nice chompers and I wanted proof by way of smile.

But that smile had to wait because we had four accounts to collect from first. Surprisingly enough it went quickly and thing happened. In all my years of collecting, I’d never seen ever client make arrangements to come in this week and pay. No bullshit, no con job and no running out the back door either. I can only chalk it up to the giant standing next to me with his arms over his chest. One client tried back peddling and all he said was ‘figure it out by Friday or I come back alone’ and that was that. I know a lot of our client base personally, but I’ve also been away for a bit and I don’t know many of our newer clients. This afternoon I feel confident in saying we, or rather he, made an impression.

Now we’re back in my tiny apartment and he keeps staring at me. It’s throwing me off. A man taken shouldn’t be watching every move I make and it messes with me because he doesn’t
act
taken. If he was taken where was she? Why wasn’t he living with her? Why wasn’t she by her man’s side? Oh hell, what do I know? I was raised with bookies and criminals, not exactly the most honest humans around and horrible with dating tips.

When he comes up behind me, I startle and drop the chicken, but in one quick move, he catches the pan setting it on the counter. He’s so close I can smell him. It takes all my effort not to lean in and lick his neck. He wants to be needed and noticed just like I do, and I don’t know what to do about it. “Tomorrow,” he says, brushing my shoulder and dammit, he needs to not do that. “What time do we start?”

“After lunch,” I tell him moving away to the safety of my tiny dining room. “Got a few things to do, but I’ll be back to go with you.” After he nods, no smile, no emotion, I set the table to catch my breath. “Okay,” I say, motioning to Loyal to take a seat, which he does without fanfare, “so how many years did you give the Marines?”

“Seventeen,” he says, tearing into his chicken.

“Seventeen? Did you sign up right out of high school?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do for them?”

“Raids and hostage rescues,” he says going for the vegetables.

Totally thrown, I find it hard to swallow my dinner. “I didn’t know they did that,” I whisper.

“Not supposed to,” he says, in way of explanation.

“You were good at it,” I tell him, staring at his massive forearms wondering what the ink stood for and wishing his calloused hands were all over me. Okay whoa. “I mean, I assume you were good at it.”

“I was.”

“How long ago were you last active?”

“Last job was a few weeks ago,” he says looking up at me and my words died in my mouth. “But they officially cut me loose last Monday.”

“I lost my dad last Monday,” I whisper back to him, never losing eye contact. “I guess we’ve both suffered a loss recently.”

“Yours was bigger than mine,” he says, standing up and taking his plate to the sink ending the conversation.

Putting my hands in my lap, I didn’t know what to do now. Grief so heavy hits me and reality crashes in once again. I don’t know if I thought if I turned the business around that God would give him back to me as thanks but, it was then that I truly felt his loss.

Senior was really gone.

“Tell me about him,” he says taking my plate to the sink and begins the process of washing our dishes. I found that I really wanted to tell him about my dad. I wanted anyone who’d listen to know he was the best. So that’s what I did. Never once did his eyes glaze over or did he check his phone or look uncomfortable. In fact, he looked relaxed and when I was done, I noticed we had made it from the kitchen to my couch and my feet were in his lap with his hands covering them. He seemed as confused by it as I was. Now it was awkward because we were still strangers and for some reason I like his presence when I shouldn’t.

As good as it felt to talk about him and to have someone listen, I had to remind myself he felt sorry for me nothing more. Forcing myself to pull away, I ignore the frown and head for the door. “I think I’m going to go get some paperwork done,” I announce, but just as I’m about to bolt, I tell him, “thanks for uh…listening.”

“Why do you listen to the same songs over and over?” he asks.

“Because he mellows me out and gives me hope all in one song. I figure if I play them all enough, one day I’ll actually believe love like that is possible for me.”

When I reach the door his voice booms, stopping me from leaving the room. “Hey Rion?” he says and I turn to face him. “Yeah?” I ask wondering what he might say next.

“I ain’t taken.” he says staring hard at me, like he’s willing me to believe it.

“No? Then who’s Jill?” I counter and when his jaw drops open, I realized I hit my mark and that he was full of shit. Not taken, my ass. Better luck next time player.

‘You need a lot of different types of people to make the world better.’

~Joe Louis

Who’s Jill? Fuck. I wanted to tell her she’s no one, a mistake, a cancer, a fucking whore. I didn’t because, I didn’t think she’d believe me. I also don’t think chicks like hearing other chicks being called whores, but in this case it was true. Instead I watched her walk away to work across the hall. Wanting to put my head through a wall, I opt for the less violent task of pacing. Christ, how does she even know about her? God dammit I’m at a loss here. She keeps looking at me and she looks…interested.

Spending time with her is killing me. She’s honest to god, nice. I’ve seen her pissed too so, I know she’s got a line but other than that, she is genuine. Her brand of nice was addictive. Being near her was the only place I wanted to be. Watching her work outside the office was tough and I didn’t care for it. She’s a delicate woman and she’s got no business trying to get money from these people. She could get fucking hurt. Yes, she carries. Yes, she’s confident, but she’s still just a woman and one solid hit could kill her.

I wanted someone to stand there and refuse to pay, giving me a reason to break a neck. I wanted
her
to see how dangerous this was. Now not only is she out on the streets collecting because she’s shorthanded, she’s setting herself up to be hurt for a few bucks she probably won’t get anyway. I decided I’d be doing her collections from now on. She wasn’t riding along anymore, period. Civilian life is killing me and she noticed it. Taking out some of my frustration on cheap bastards might be a good thing. I knew I needed the action.