Page 14 of Switched

He doesn’t have anything to say, hmm? I take my drink and toss it at the bar where he sits, watching as the glass shatters to the floor next to him. “Want to think about that answer again?” I hiss out, knowing all too well that there is some truth to what Jackson’s said. If there wasn’t any truth behind it then Thomas would’ve told me to ignore Jackson, that it was the alcohol talking, instead, he’s done neither.

Out of nowhere, my phone begins to ring. I ignore it the first time, being too caught up in what is going on around me, but when it rings again and again, I know that this fucker isn’t going to stop calling until I answer. “What?” I snap into the phone, anger and hurt flooding through my voice.

“Candace, this is the warden.” I listen as the woman on the phone tells me she’s the warden for the penitentiary where my father is held in. The formalities come first and soon thereafter the reason she’s calling becomes the topic for discussion. She informs me that my father was attacked yet again and unfortunately, they were not able to save his life due to the severity of his injuries. I shut my eyes as she tells me this, wanting it to not be true, wishing that I had gone to see him today, or done more to get him out of that hell hole. He wasn’t perfect, but he was still my father.

The rollercoaster of emotions between finding out that Drake had made a bet on getting me to switch for him, and then being told that my father was just murdered hits me like a ton of bricks. I don’t know what to do, whether to fall to the floor and cry or to stop breathing in general. I’m being hit from both sides and don’t know how to handle it. Of course, there isn’t a good way to handle this. Is there?

The door to the club opens and in walks Drake, he smiles at me and I can’t bear to do the same. I waltz over to him, bring my hand back, and try to slap him but he’s too quick for me, grabbing my forearm and holding me in place. “I’d think twice before you ever lay a hand on me, baby girl. Now, what’s the matter?”

“You fucking betrayed my trust, making a bet about having me switch for you. What the fuck is going on in that head of yours? Did you even ever care… or was it all because of this fucking bet, so Jackson wouldn’t win. Is what we have even real?” I scream it at him, sobs spilling from my lips as tears crash down over my cheeks. “You know…” I look up at him, wanting to stare him in the eyes as I say this: “Maybe Monica wasn’t the problem, maybe it was always you.” I rip my hand out of his grip and charge towards the front door, needing to get back into the safety and security of my apartment. I need to bury myself under the covers and cry my damn heart out, for the loss of two men that I thought I could trust.

Well, sort of.

Chapter 19

Drake

Whatthefuckjusthappened? I’m furious and seething now as I scan the club, clenching my jaw while my head pounds. Everyone is staring at me, their jaws dropping and then I see Jackson. But he’s not looking at me. Instead, he has his back turned, leaning on the bar and looking at that young bartender Dennis.

I move quickly and pull Jackson’s shoulder to face me. His eyes go wide and I smell his breath, reeking of liquor. I fist his wrinkled shirt, my nose only an inch from his. “What the fuck did you say to Candace?”

He grabs my clenched fists and hiccups, “I, ah. I told her you won the bet!” He shoves me away.

Jackson just fucked up everything between me and Candace now. Her trust in me has now been broken and there’s no chance in hell she will ever believe me if I told her the truth. Of how I feel for her, how she’s all I have ever wanted. How much I love her.

I lose it and naturally react to my anger and dread as I smash my fist into Jackson’s jaw. His head flies back and he stumbles backward, losing his footing. His arm sweeps across the bar, and glasses come crashing onto the floor along with him.

My eyes pivot to Thomas standing only a few yards away. I see the whites of his eyes, as he raises his hands up. “I didn’t say anything, Drake. Jackson is shit-faced and blubbered out everything to Candace.”

I move quickly to Thomas, shoving him off his barstool. He stumbles as his bar stool tips over, “Who fucking asked you? When I ask, you answer. Otherwise, keep your fucking mouth shut!” I look down at Jackson passed out on the floor. “He’s done in this city. I’m unleashing hell on him. The feds and local law enforcement will discover all his dirty dealings.”

I turn away from Thomas and storm out of the club. I don’t see Candace’s car and have no doubt she just peeled out of the lot like a bat out of hell. And why wouldn’t she? I worry now for her own safety and hope she doesn’t drive recklessly.

I speed away from the lot in the Porsche, gunning and shifting at every traffic light down the boulevard back to my private office. I sit at my desk and spin the lock to the safe under it. The four-digit combo opens the door and I fetch the valuable flash drive that stores photographs and other incriminating material of Jackson dealing coke and selling to sleazy pimps in Vegas.

I slide the drive into the slot of one of many of my laptops and check on the files. I open a bottle of scotch, forgetting a glass, and just tip it up to my mouth swallowing a few good swigs. I shake my head, slam the bottle back on the desk and run my hands through my hair. My blood is pumping hard and fast through my veins and I feel like smashing my fists into someone or something. I should never have made that stupid fucking bet with Jackson and Thomas. It was all because of my own ego, that went to my head and my dick.

By early morning the local authorities are given the exact locations of where he stashes his product and the names of people he deals with. And I wake up still sitting at my desk. My mouth is dry as the fucking Nevada desert and my head is pounding, like a jackhammer about to crack my skull open.

The memories of the previous night come flooding back - the bravery and the look of fiery rage and pain in Candace’s eyes as she tried to slap me across the face in front of everyone in the club. And how my grip on her forearm was tight as a vice, and maybe even left her bruised. But the worst was knowing I had bruised her heart. No not bruised. I crushed her heart. My dark-haired baby girl. When she feels like she is falling again, will she trust me to catch her?

My phone buzzes on the edge of the desk and lights up with a text from Thomas that Candace’s father was attacked and killed last night in prison.

Fuck me. I wonder why Candace didn’t say anything to me last night! I suddenly realize the reason she stormed toward me the moment I entered the club and tried to slap me. It all makes sense. She would have never acted like that, even if she were as upset as she was unless something awful was just said to her. She must have just received that phone call about her father.

Chapter 20

Candace

It’sbeenaweek,a week of silence, continuing to be alone except for the few moments that Carly has been around. Half the time she’s been high, rambling on about some nonsense. Most of the time I don’t even pay attention, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the company. It’s odd having my sister around, especially since I hadn’t seen her for so long. But here she is raiding my cabinets for food and acting like a total slob. I doubt she’s even eaten in the last couple of days. Considering her line of work, I wouldn’t be shocked.

The only reason she bothered to show up is because we were burying our father. If she didn’t show up, she knew I’d never forgive her. There’s no excuse for that type of disrespect. Our father may not have been perfect, but she would show up to his funeral, and she did.

In the past week, I’ve done pretty much nothing. My days have consisted of sitting on the couch watching re-runs, eating too much frozen yogurt, and listening to my sister ramble on. Today would be different, though. I have big plans to go out into the city today and do something for myself.

I have to. No… I need to.

I rise up from my couch and walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth. No one likes coffee breath. As I stare at my reflection, I see a woman I hardly recognize. She’s tired with bags that weigh heavily under her eyes. Her color is drained from her face and she looks sad. No, she looks… drained. Like the events of the last week have torn every possible membrane from her body.

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