Page 24 of Stevie
“Oh, my godddd!” Atlas whines. “You are in America! It’s a television, and the only “uni” in here is your brow!”
“Atlas,” Ren warns. “Go to the back and have a cupcake.”
“All you want is to fatten me up. I’m on to you.” He says as he walks to the back room.
“Actually, it’s just he’s quiet with food in his mouth.” I chuckle lightly as Ren slowly shakes her head and looks over at me. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with this girl,” she says through an exhausted breath. “My parents are going to kick her out, and I’m not going to let her live with me.”
Adeline laughs, and the sound is infectious. It’s funny. She sounds more similar to Atlas with her attitude than her own sister. “Come on, sissy. You’re not going to let me live with you? That’s hurting my heart!” She cries sarcastically while Ren gives her an unamused stare.
“I would gladly allow you to live with me if you could take responsibility for absolutely anything in your life.” She snaps while rubbing her temples.
“Well, where am I supposed to go? I will be on the street when Mom and Dad kick me out. No food, no clothes, oh god! No Ferguson!”
Atlas barks out a dry laugh as he returns. “If you have to say that you will be without your butler, you’re going to be just fine.”
Adeline glares at him, her lip curling in disgust. “You know what, Atlas, I was rooting for you and my sister, but now, not so much. You’re dead to me, big guy.”
“I’ve been married to the man for a couple of years now, and we have a child together. I don’t think he needs your blessing.” Ren mutters.
“Well, good! Cuz he doesn’t have it. Ow, that hurts!” Adeline snaps as Nix begins the tattoo.
“Well, yeah, I bloody expect it would hurt. I’m having to go over a thick line on your hand. Why the fuck would you get such a thing on your hand? I mean, it is funny, but if you ain’t got the balls to keep something like this for the rest of your life. Why would you do it?”
Adeline shrugs her slim shoulders. “Eh, I lost a bet.”
“You lost a bet?” Ren’s voice once again reaches angry territory, and I feel like it’s my moment to step in and try to diffuse the situation, but just as I’m about to offer up my place, the bell chimes, and my appointment walks in. He looks really familiar, though I can’t place him.
Standing up, I go and greet the thin man. “Travis, right?” I ask. He seems nervous, which isn’t unusual in the shop, but he has piercings, so it’s not as if he doesn’t know what he’s getting into…
My thoughts are interrupted when something is thrown in my face. I don’t know if it’s dirt or sand, but it goes into my mouth and eyes despite my glasses. “Fuck!” I cough out and stumble backward. I hear a commotion, and I’m sure it’s Brooks and the guys, but I can’t see anything.
“Get her to the back!” I hear Janie’s voice, and I feel hands—Ren’s, I think—grab my arm and lead me to the back.
“Addy,” Ren calls out. “Call the cops! Ash! Some help!” I remove my glasses and rub my face when a hand stops me.
“Don’t, Stevie,” Ash says, and I hear rustling. “I’m going to try and flush your eyes out, but don’t rub at them, okay?” I nod, unable to speak, whether from the shock or the pain in my throat. I can’t believe someone just came up and threw sand in my face.
* * *
“Hey, Peaches,” I don’t open my eyes as I continue to lie on the break room couch. I hear him sit down on the coffee table. “How are you?”
“My eyes and throat feel like they fought a cheese grater.” I croak out. “Are the police gone?”
“Yeah, baby, they took the fucker. Well, they will. He has to go to the hospital first for treatment.”
I remove the damp rag from my eyes. “Treatment for wh–oh fuck.” Between my lack of glasses and my injured eyes, I can’t see much, but what I do see is a busted lip and a bruising eye. “Br–”
“Don’t,” he waves it off. “He got a shot in, and I’m not happy about it,” Brooks mutters before taking my rag and heading to the sink. He comes back and folds the freshly cooled rag over my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers softly, and I hear so much regret in his voice it pulls at me in a way I’m not used to.
“For what?” I ask softly.
“I should’ve protected you. I didn’t think–”
“You mean you weren’t prepared for some guy to throw pocket sand at me?” I joke while reaching my hand out. I grab his hand, intertwining our fingers. He inhales sharply, and it sends a jolt through me. Like despite all the sex, this is the most intimate we’ve ever been.
“Stevie,” he breathes and fuck, that is affecting me in all the wrong ways.
“Brooks, do not feel guilty about this, alright? You couldn’t have known.” I hear him shuffle, and I know he’s mentally beating himself. I pull our laced hands towards my chest and place his hand over my heart. “You feel that? If it’s beating, then I’m okay, and you did your job.”
