Page 33 of Risk
A huff of pent up air releases from my lips as I go back to that day and time. As I remember how it went down, I share it with them.
“Thank you, Elijah,” I tell my boss as he dismisses me early.
“You’re welcome, McKenna. We’re slow anyway, there’s no reason for us both to be here and be miserable. I saw the guys walk into the bar earlier, it’s not too late to go and join them.”
“They’re having a brother’s outing,” I laugh. “No women allowed and seeing as I’m the only woman outside of the club girls traveling with them, I took it that they meant me specifically.”
Just as I say that, my phone rings and Dave, the local bartender’s name flashes across my screen. I hold up my finger and walk away for some privacy as I take the call. “Dave?”
He grunts before saying, “Need you to come get your man and these other hooligans before they start a riot and end up in jail. Or do something more idiotic than that.”
“Do I want to know what that other thing could be?” I ask, laughing because the guys are known to paint the town and cause mayhem wherever they go.
“No. Just come get him, McKenna. There are only so many things I can save him from.”
That statement had my spine snapping straight. It wasn’t what he said per se that had me feeling like doom and gloom were onthe horizon, it was the way his voice sounded when he said it. As if he was sad… for me.
“I’m on my way, Dave.” I hang up the phone, send a thumbs up to Elijah and grab my purse from behind the counter before scuttling out of the laundromat where I work.
Things become a blur of movement from there. I watch my man, myhusbandwalk with a busty blonde into a motel room, his lips vacuum sealed to hers as she pushes down on the door handle. They fall into the room—all tangled limbs and I felt my heart drop into my stomach. “No,” I cry, clutching my chest.
I give them a few minutes while I sort myself out because if he’s really doing this, I want to catch him in the act itself. My hope is that he’ll come to his senses and come running out of that room any minute now, but as the clock ticks by, that doesn’t happen and disappointment with him and what we mean to one another settles in my gut.
On numb legs, I make my way across the road and as my hand makes contact with the handle, moans greet my ears. “Fuck you, Risk. If you’re going to sow your oats you’re going to reap the rewards.” I say out loud, something my mom used to say to me whenever I’d do something that’d get me grounded.
Inhaling, I push the door inward and scream like a banshee has entered my body. Tears freely flowed down my cheeks as Risk bleats out my name as his head pops up and the look he sends me has me floored.
“That’s because in my drunken stupor, I thought it was you I was with that night,” Risk says, breaking into my memory.
“Dude! That’s not an excuse!” Isla screams. “How could you do that to her? She loved you, she still does, so this doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’ve asked myself that same question every damn minute since,” Risk explains before turning to me and asking, “Can we talk? Alone.”
Luna leans over and hugs me. “I think this talk needs to happen, McKenna. If nothing else, you both need closure.”
I nod my head and look up at him, saying, “Yeah. We can talk.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Risk
Insecurity isn’tsomething I usually experience. Unfuckingfortunately, I’m feeling it now. Needing an anchor to keep myself grounded, I reach out and grab McKenna’s hand with mine. She grasps onto me as fiercely in return, so I know I’m not the only one going through these tumultuous emotions.
“We’re going to be okay,” McKenna reassures. I’m not sure if she’s saying that more for easing herself or for me. Either way, it helps me recenter myself and I’m appreciative of her words.
“We are,” I substantiate, squeezing her hand with mine. We pass through the main room and up the stairs to where my dorm-style room with an attached bathroom is. When I unclip my keys from my belt loop, I reach up and unlock the door, swinging it open and ushering her inside before flipping the light switch on.
When she walks over to my nightstand, my breath hitches. There are lines of various liquor bottles in stacks laid on top of it. Some are toppled onto their sides, and some are standing upright. “Do we need to talk about this, Risk?”
“Maybe later,” I mumble underneath my breath, grabbing my trash can and walking over and chunking the glass into it. “Still have a hard time sleeping throughout the night. It’s gotten worse since I did what I did.”
“Hopefully, after this powwow of ours, some of that guilt you’re carrying around will vanish and you can get a good night’s sleep,” she says, her tone full of optimism.
“The only times that ever happened for me was when you were in the bed beside me,” I admit. If we’re going to do this, I want to be honest on every aspect, no matter how unpleasant it is—including my nighttime indulgences. “I know saying that’s not fair to you, but it’s the God’s honest truth.”
“I don’t want anything left unresolved between the two of us, so you may not see it as being fair to me, but it’s a repercussion from our fall out so it is something we do need to discuss,” she remarks.
