Havoc (13 page)

Lexi dangles her briefcase from her hands,
hinting that's what's inside. There's sheer excitement painted on
Haven's face, the same kind I see at night as she swallows books.
This is the third book in two days she's gone through. The way she
enjoys reading, getting lost in a book, is in its own way sexy. She
likes to read on the opposite end of the couch at night after
dinner while I watch TV. I've begun to pick up on when she needs
space, like I'm suffocating her or a memory is on the prowl. It
seems to help to occasionally distance myself from her, even if
it's killing me. She also likes to read in bed before we fall
asleep, though I've been crashing before her, so I have no idea how
late she stays up. I'm not used to falling asleep so fast, but with
her in my arms, her head resting on my chest, the lull of watching
her breathe peacefully, I can't help it. After the first night of
worrying she was just going to run away between the screaming fits,
I was on edge. But now that there isn't so much as a stir from
between my arms, I’m asleep in what has to be record timing.

“Well, I'm going to leave you lovely ladies
to your classic American lit.” I grab my workout shoes that are
stashed next to the front door.

“Do you even know anything about the book
you're running from?”

I tie my first shoestring. “Yes, ma'am. Read
it in high school.”

“So, no,” Lexi shakes her head, her briefcase
landing on the coffee table. “No one pays attention in high school.
Hell, they barely pay attention in college.”

God, how wrong she is. I excelled in high
school. Natural learner is what the counselor used to claim. Always
pushed me to take harder classes, and I did. After all, the more I
had to study, the less I had to spend making small talk with Sir.
Raked in quite the number of college credits. I'm thankful for the
ability to learn and absorb so much so quickly. It's helped me
quite often in my career.

Once both of my shoes are tied, I grab my
keys from the bar table and turn to Lexi, “In my opinion, Gatsby
got too involved in chasing the idea of something to realize it had
already passed him by, that life essentially had passed him by.
Instead of being obsessed with one moment, one perfect thought of
Daisy, he should've spent it actually living. Everything he
created, everything he did to impress her, he should've done for
himself. He might have lived longer.” I pause for a second, lost in
my own train of thought. Strange how I didn't get how any person
could be that obsessed over another living soul or an idea until
now. You could say, in ways, Haven's my own Daisy. “Then again,
being paralyzed by love like that can make even the sanest man go
insane. Maybe a love like that is worth obsessing over. Changing
for.”

My eyes shift over to Haven as Lexi sighs.
Haven tries to hide a blush. “Where are you going?”

“The gym. Need anything before I go?” She
shakes her head, and I lean down, placing a kiss on her forehead,
doing my best not to let my lips linger too long. I feel a tiny
flinch. Small. Slight. It comes and goes so quick I’m hoping it was
just a subconscious reaction.

I dread leaving her. I know she's safe.
Protected. But there's something I get from being around her that I
don't get anywhere else. If it were up to me, I’d stick around and
listen to the boring discussion just to be close to her, but I told
Sir that, when she spends time with others from the neighborhood,
I’d do my best to disappear, give her time to adjust to other
people, to learn that I won't always be around. I hate that thought
in itself, and the fact it's the bottom-line truth gnaws at me
harshly. I've never dreaded being deployed, yet suddenly, it's like
being on death row.

“Be back soon.”

“OK,” she offers me a smile as Lexi starts
pulling out notes to share.

While Haven isn't allowed to discuss her
past, even though she does occasionally to me in secret—after all,
I know what she's being guarded from—I think if anyone were to get
it, it'd be Lexi. Her and Striker met and fell in love back when he
was just getting started as a doctor and she had been lecturing at
a state college. To my understanding, she was a bit of a prodigy,
came to the United States for boarding school at twelve, and
graduated high school at sixteen. She was sent here to become
better acquainted with the American lifestyle but more importantly
to keep her away from the family business—of running drugs and
high-price prostitution. Her family possessed more traditional
values when it came to race and insisted she never see Striker
again. When she refused, they tried to have her kidnapped and
dragged out of the country. The two of them wed quickly and fled
south, where they built a house next to Mindy and Doug. He'd gotten
the idea from Doug, whom he had met a charity golf tournament and
stayed in touch with over the years. They changed her name, her
look, and she started teaching at a private university, the same
one her daughter and Howard attend. With a little help from Anna,
anyone who searches for Lexi’s background will find nothing from
her true past. Like I said, if Haven could relate to anyone running
from family, it'd be Lexi.

Arriving at the gym, I make sure to bring my
phone in case Haven needs me. Once I'm inside, I check what's on
the class rotation for the next time slot. Beginner Pilates. No.
Salsa. Hell no. Kick boxing for the Advanced. And we have a winner.
The clock above the bulletin board says I've got 15 minutes before
it starts. I can get in a few minutes at the weight bench.

Lifting weights isn't my favorite thing, but
it's an easy way to pass time by. As I transition from rep two to
three, I hear a distinct chuckling sound that I could identify
anywhere on the planet.

“Ah, the Grim Reaper is alive,” Glove's face
appears in the mirror beside me.

I roll my eyes as Lordy appears on the other
side. After putting my weights down, I greet each of them
accordingly.

“Where you been?” Glove asks, accusing me
with his voice.

A picture of Haven's smiling face flashes in
my mind. I fight the urge to smile. “Busy.”

“With?”

“Why?”

“You're usually looking for an escape by
now,” Glove pushes.

Damn it. He's right. Two days under Sir's
thumb and I'm looking for anything to get away from his silent
lectures and disapproving looks. One shore leave, I spent a week
camping with Glove and a couple of his cousins and her friends,
none of whom who were tolerable and none of whom knew the meaning
of the word no.

I don't answer. I shrug and look away.

Glove jumps on my response, “It's a chick.” I
hate Glove. “You've been busy with a chick! It's about time! Was
starting to think you had a thing for me.”

“You're an idiot.”

“Is it Amber?”

“Who?”

“Chick from the party. I gave her your number
a couple days ago.”

That's how she got it. I shake my head and
sit on the bench closest to me. “No.”

“But it is a chick?” Lordy says slowly as if
to clarify.

“Yeah,” I admit but avoid any more responses.
We don't talk about this. I can't talk about this with them,
especially not with Glove, whose longest relationship with a female
was one weekend in Vegas with a stripper whose real name he never
found out.

“Holy shit, Grim's pussy whipped already,”
Glove teases. “Must be a fireball in the sack to tame you.”

A shower of animosity rains down on me
heavily. It's not enough he won't drop the subject, but now he's
talking about her like she's some common gutter slut. She's not a
slut. Nothing about her says that. She's not common by any means
either. These two thoughts alone are enough to rattle my nerves,
but the level of disrespect for her, for my angel with no wings,
that’s the real problem here.

My fist clenches as the rage inside my head
begins deleting rational ideas like this is my friend, my brother
in combat.

Lordy senses something and pulls me back from
the dark side, just seconds before I'm about to lunge at Glove,
“Just working out or what?”

After a couple of long blinks back into
reality, I lean back to do some sit-ups, needing to burn away the
remaining need to punch something.

“Kick boxing class.”

“I'm down,” Lordy nods and shoots a look at
Glove.

He shakes his head, “No. The cock-to-tits
ratio is not in my favor. Sausage fest. Pass. Get enough of that
with work. I'm thinking yoga.”

“Pilates,” I correct him as I complete
another sit-up. “Same time.”

“Yes!” Glove snaps a finger and points at me.
“You're a great wingman sometimes. Always have my back. Pilates it
is. In fact, let me go freshen up before that starts.”

Do I feel bad for unleashing that rabid dog
on the unsuspecting females in the class? Yes. But hey, it beats
him in my face, tempting me to knock the shit out of him for
degrading Haven, whom he knows nothing about.

Glove fades out of my vision toward the
locker room. Another sit-up and I see Lordy looking at me
suspiciously. It makes me uncomfortable. It's like he can tell that
something is different about me, something has changed. He can't
know that. They can't know that. I have to be the Grim Reaper.
Grim. Cold face, stone cold killer Grim. No bullshit Grim. No one
else.

“You want to tell me something about
her?”

I shake my head, passing a hundred sit-ups,
no burn felt yet, and with the uncharted territory Lordy is wading
in, if I don't feel pain to distract me from it soon, I might feel
compelled to hit him in the face too.

Lordy leans against the pillar across from me
and waits. I almost reach two hundred before the burn is enough to
take the edge off.

Finally, I stop and slowly sit up all the
way. I run my hands down my face. I don't want to talk to him about
her, but who the hell else do I got? These are my brothers. And I
have to know that these feelings are somewhat normal and that they
will eventually lighten up because, at the rate they are hitting me
left and right, I'm beginning to feel like I'm losing my mind.

“All right, can I ask you something?”

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

“First, let me say this: One, if you laugh at
me, I'll jab you in the throat. Two, if you mock me, I'll break
your nose. And three, if you repeat this to Glove, so help me God,
you'll wish we never met. Are we clear?”

“Affirmative.”

I tap my foot uncomfortably. Saying this crap
out loud is just as bad as feeling it. This is not a dude
conversation, and I know it. But I have to know the level of crazy
I am about this girl—between normal crazy and see-a-shrink crazy.
Besides, it's obvious Lordy has been here before, even if he
doesn't talk about it. Any time a girl reminds him of the one that
did the damage, the one in the photo, he treats her with a softer
approach and more respect.

Here goes. “How do I know if I'm in
love?”

Lordy's eyebrows jump down in confusion. “Are
you fucking with me?”

“What did I just say?” My fist curls.

“Whoa. Whoa. Sorry. Shit. Unexpected there.
Figured it was gonna be a little less vital. Mind you, I'm used to
Glove's questions like 'What does it mean when it burns when you
pee?'” The comment eases my tension. My fist retracts. “Truth?”

“Yeah.”

“When you have to ask.”

The words stun me. I fall backward, back onto
the bench. Shit. That's what I was afraid of. I mean, she's all I
think about, want to be around, and fuck, I even dreamed that I had
married her, knocked her up—four times. I know I'm in love,
whatever that means. I just thought maybe it was something less
overwhelming. I thought maybe it was going to be on the easier side
of crazy, not smack dab in the middle. I needed it to be less
critical, less life threatening.

Lordy sees my deer-in-the headlights look and
tries to soften the blow, “Look, it's hard to know. I mean, chicks
fall in love with everything. They see a Gucci purse and swoon like
it proposed. Let me put it like this. If you're driving yourself
insane with thoughts of her so bad that you had to tap outside
resources to define what exactly it is you're feeling, then yeah.
That's love. Basically.”

My eyes shut tight. I know he's right. I hate
that, not because I don't want to love her. God, I want to love
her. Make love to her. Spend hours swept away in her. Making a new
home inside her. Every cell in her soul marked with my name. Fuck.
Yeah, I wanna love her. But I don't need to love her. I can't. I
can't have those emotions. I can't deal with giving another person
part of me. I'm not even sure I know how to do that. I don't even
know if there is anything to give. I can't forget the person I've
spent years creating, the persona I’ve idealized, the reinvented
version of myself. The longer I'm with Haven, the more every wall
that I've built around my life begins to crumble, and it's only
been a few days. At this rate, I'll be exposed before the week is
over. Bare. I won't be Grim the sniper, known for his bleak
expression. Hell, I won't even be Slugger, the silent kid in the
neighborhood you know better than to fuck with. I'll be Clint. And
I don't know if I can handle him.

While I was a bit upset with Sir this morning
when he handed me a list of chores to complete for the day, leaving
Haven all to Mindy, I decided it was worth it when he expressed
that he wouldn't be making it home tonight. This will be our first
night to have dinner alone with the house to ourselves for an
extended amount of time. I’m not saying that we'll be having
passionate sex all night, though the thought has crossed my mind.
It'll just be nice not to have to share her with the whole
world.

Packing the oversized bag of soil through
Anna and Felix's side gate, I admire the way the flowers are
blossoming like the prize-winning pieces they are. The sunflowers
are the tallest and easily viewed from my bedroom. I know because
Haven waits until the sunlight touches them every morning before
declaring it's a new day.