Page 50 of Seizing Control: Part One

The flush of shame that initially heated my face turns to ice in an instance. I finally lift my gaze to Zeke’s, locking eyes with him for a moment before I glance at Slash again, then back to my wild-eyed first love. Lips pressed together tightly, I lightly shake my head as I make it as clear as I can without words that I’m done answering his questions for now. Silence seems to be the most logical course of action since any answer I provide will ignite the powder keg of resentment they’ve been nurturing against each other behind the scenes.

Yet another neon sign that I missed...

Knowing that I’m batting zero for two when it comes to seeing things that are staring me straight in the face, nervous tension leaks from my limbs as Zeke doesn’t press me any further and Slash remains in place. Seems my prayers are to be answered. This showdown is being postponed until a more suitable venue can be determined.

Then, Slash takes a step closer to Zeke and the air turns thick with dread again.

After a harsh intake of breath, I curl my fingers into fists, digging my nails into my palms while I pray for Zeke to ignore the big man’s provocation. A warm trail of blood runs along my little finger as my fingernails pierce my skin. The top of my thighs itch and my lower belly flares with a prickle of morbid awareness and craving. As the urge to take a razor to my flesh looms over me, a blindingly dark cloud of longing and self-recrimination, I miss the resolve hardening Zeke’s gaze until it’s too late. Seemingly uncaring that we have an audience of our closest loved ones observing this Shakespearean drama unfold, he directs a follow up question to his (ex?) best friend.

“You love her?”

Slash offers his answer before the last syllable is spoken. “Yeah.”

“Like I do?”

“Yeah.”

The borderline arrogant tilt to his head strips me of the ability to breathe. An admission of love shouldn’t feel like a threat, yet that’s what Slash’s response generates within me. With an eerie sense of vulnerability and menace closing in on me, I consider running from the foreboding danger.

I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse when I remain frozen in place.

“You’ve touched her.” Certainty emanates from Zeke’s statement, and it only grows stronger when he coldly adds, “Made her come.”

The glimmer of apology in Slash’s expression as he spares me a singular look before blowing my life to smithereens and dooming the three of us and the Shamrocks with one laconically articulated word does nothing to dull the agony that pierces my heart.

“Twice.”

The room spins. I dig my nails into my flesh again, drawing strength from the sharp sting as my palms begin to bleed freely. When the walls close in on me, I force myself to inhale.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

I breathe slowly and intentionally to ward off the panic attack that’s building.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

As I come to terms with the truth of my divided affections being casually exposed, dread, guilt, uncertainty, as well as a tiny skerrick of relief floods me. I don’t know how to put this genie back in the bottle and I don’t know how to manage the fallout now that Zeke’s aware that Slash is in love with me too.

However, as everyone else eyes the two men warily, I am sure of one thing.

Zeke won’t ask me if I’m in love with Slash in return.

He already knows my truth.

With the same certainty as he knows that my eyes are blue, Zeke will have discerned that if my heart didn’t belong to him first, the only other person on earth who could’ve claimed it is the man standing between us. The man we both love as much as we love each other. Our third piece. Our matching flame. A troika of hearts interwoven over time by necessity and circumstance.

Through better and worse, Slash has always been by our side.

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