Blue’s Precious Gem
It’s been a week since that disastrous dinner. I haven’t had any contact with Isabel, which is a good thing. I haven’t been able to concentrate on my writing, though. I’ve been stuck on the sentence for an half an hour now, just staring at the blinking cursor:
Lucy crumpled into bits when her eyes landed on Ford Pittman. She swept silky raven-colored hair behind her ears that escaped from her ponytail and tugged down the navy baseball cap on her head, feeling underdressed in her gray sweatpants and sweatshirt.
Jesus, she thought.
I wished I picked a better outfit to grocery shop in.
Ten years had passed since she last saw him. She was a timid senior in high school when they were together. Lucy, a now powerful woman of a fortune five hundred company, took concealment behind a large display of Power Bars as Ford paused at an aisle near her.
Her ego rather shrunk quickly when she noticed Ford. Father Time had been more merciful towards him than her, she thought. At twenty-seven Lucy was aging quite gracefully. But if you told her, she’d deny it.
A few laugh lines around her eyes and mouth were the only evidence time existed past her twenty-first birthday. But Ford managed to wear his seniority with pride. It was as if he almost flaunted it. He was dressed just as casually in a cotton T-shirt and workout shorts. Lucy noticed everything about Ford. Like the way he bit his lip when deciding between which pertain powder to pick.
Old habits die hard, she thought.
Something shiny on his finger winked at her. She sighed inwardly and stood on the tips of her toes to see Ford’s ring finger. She wanted to know if he was married or not. But as soon as his naked ring finger came into to view, she collapsed into the mountain of Power Bars. Boxes fell down like dominoes and it seemed as if the entire store stopped just to take in the train wreck that was her. Lucy was humiliated when Ford offered her a helping hand. Her bronze skin flushed a deep red and she refused his hand. Lucy gathered her composure and swiftly stood on her feet. Ford continued to hold out his hand in a kind gesture but she stared down at his welcoming palm in disgust. She pulled the fallen straps of her purse back on her shoulder and said…
What?
What did she say?
Ivy walks through the door of my study with paint splattered all over her tattered denim overalls and apron. She runs her stained fingers through my hair, looking over my shoulder at my laptop screen, at the one sentence that I can’t seem to finish. When I’m in writer-mode I get aggravated easily. I abruptly shut the laptop and turn to face her.
“Yes, dear?” I say sarcastically.
Her fingers massage my scalp. “Don’t be so cranky, Hunter. I just wanted to let you know I’m about to pick up Blue from the airport. We’re having pizza tonight. Do you want anything special?”
“Nope. I’m good, Tinker.” I can be such a dick sometimes. “Just you,” I add.
She gives me a megawatt smile and leans in to kiss me before she leaves. I decide to take a relaxing scalding shower to prepare myself for Blue. I need all the tranquil time I can get before she shakes up my world and spins it on its head.
It’s ten thirty-five when Ivy and Blue make their way through my front door with a stack of pizza boxes and plastic grocery bags. Blue kicks off her leather boots and drops her black cat, Berry, on the floor and heads into the kitchen after Ivy. She doesn’t acknowledge me with a simple greeting or even the briefest of looks. After all the times this has occurred, I don’t understand why this time bothers me more. Blue never acknowledges me. And I ponder on it. She gets under my skin when she blatantly and blithely disrespects me in my home, in a place I consider sacred.
With arms crossed at my chest, I lean in the entryway of the kitchen and watch as Ivy and Blue stack the fridge with beer and variety of alcoholic drinks. Blue pops open a can and slurps it down while eyeing me with open curiosity and unapologetic abhorrence. She’s a Ukrainian supermodel almost as tall as me. Her stark blue eyes are a deep contrast against her golden skin and charcoal-colored hair. She doesn’t fool me, though. Underneath that blinding beauty is a vigilant, soundless, stealthy assassin.
Danger recognizes danger.
“Little town you live in, Hunter. No paparazzi. This is good,” Blue says, her gaze extremely watchful over the can of beer. Her ascent is thick but I’ve come to understand it.
“Yes. You’re free do as you like and no one will ever find out. But this is a big change from New York. You might come to miss getting your picture snapped while you walk to Starbucks,” I say.
She glances at Ivy, who is opening a box of pepperoni pizza. “I will sacrifice anything to be with my love.” Like Isabel, I have to read between the lines when dealing with Blue. Blue can be a sarcastic little shit. Before Ivy begins to eat her pizza, Blue stops her and removes all the greasy pepperonis. “Never eat American meat. Gives you cancer. Nasty Americans put weird things in meat.”
Ivy shrugs and eats her slice of pizza. “She’s probably right. My mom said she went vegan because she read an article that said fast-food places use horse meat with all kinds of fillers instead of real beef.”
“I don’t know. I like my meat and I like my burgers,” I declare.
Blue’s eyes dart to me and she smirks cruelly. “Of course you do, Hunter. American boy devours his American meat. There is nothing new about this.”
I doubt that she has just given me a compliment. “Shouldn’t you be drinking water? Beer makes you bloated. You’re a model, right?”
Low blow.
I know this.
I’d never criticize a real woman on her body or weight.
But if you know me as well as you think you do, then you know I don’t give a fuck when it comes to hurting Blue’s feelings.
She shoots me an evil look, then deliberately cracks open another can and drains the life out of it. “How is your writing, Hunter? Ivy told me that you are having trouble…writer’s block. What is holding you back?” I lift a challenging brow and Blue narrows her eyes. Right then and there I know she’s about to go in for the kill. “Is it because your love loves another, or maybe because Mommy Dearest kept you in the dark—”
“Blue,” Ivy admonishes sharply.
Ivy told Blue about my horrifying childhood and about Isabel. She probably needed someone to vent to after I laid all my baggage on her. This comes to no surprise. Blue’s going to use it against me each and every opportunity she has. I don’t blame her though. If I knew any personal information about her, I’d drill it into her ass and make sure she never forgets.
Instead of fuelling her fire, I shrug indifferently. “I don’t know it could be both.”
Ivy runs a hand down my heated face and gives me a quick peck on the lips. “I’m so sorry, Hunter.”
I smile down at her. “It’s okay.”
She shakes her head. “No it’s not. I shouldn’t have told her. I’m sorry.”
Blue groans, picking up a bottle of vodka and a box of pizza. “I’m spent. I’m going upstairs.” My lips curl as I watch her skeleton frame leisurely walk up the stairway.
My phone rings. I retrieve it from my pocket and glance down at the name and my finger slides across the screen, then I hold it to my ear. “Hero. It’s been a while.”
“Can you come and pick me up?”
“Where are you?”
“In front of Luck’s.”
“Have you been drinking?” Without another word the phone disconnects.
Twenty minutes later I’m parked in front of Luck’s wooden shack of a bar. The dirt lot is full of bikers and motorcycles. Hero is nowhere in sight. Grabbing my .45 from the glove compartment, I shove it within the waistband of the back my jeans. I’m not opposed to blowing holes in things, but if the night ends without me shooting up half the bar I would definitely give thanks to St. Peter.
Breathing evenly, I make my way inside the dimly lit bar and I’m quickly greeted with cigarette smoke and stale urine wafting from the fifthly bathrooms. Immediately I note that there are way too many grim, gruff bikers and not a lot of biker babes to equal out the equation. I spot Hero in the corner of the bar by the pool table. An overly muscled biker has him lifted by the collar of his shirt and pressed into the wall. I sigh and rub my temples. I didn’t imagine my night would end with me confronting Hulk Hogan on steroids.
I display my most charming and biting smile. “Gentlemen.”
“Hunter, ’bout time you made it. Tell these fuckers to let me go,” Hero mumbles through a bloody grin and split lip.
“This fucker here owes me money,” Hulk says, continually jerking my brother by his collar.
“Let him go,” I say.
He lifts a sardonic brow. “I’ll let him go when I get my damn money.”
A red-hot fiery heat surges through my body. It’s been too long since I’ve been a fight. “Right. You have about five seconds to let him ago. If not, you’ll be paid with a bullet instead of cash.”
He stares at me, his mouth tilting up. I don’t understand why he’s grinning when my face is cold hard stone. I’m actually looking for a reason to pull out my gun, and this would be a suitable one.
Other bikers cluster around us, ready for the signal to jump me. The head honcho releases Hero, who stumbles backward. He’s absurdly drunk.
“Wait for me in the truck,” I snarl at Hero. Complying, he coolly strolls out the door like he isn’t surrounded by a gang of brutal bikers who aren’t eager to kick our preppy-looking asses. I blame my blue eyes and blond hair for people not taking me as serious as they should.
“How much?”
“Four.”
I pull out my wallet. “Four hundred?”
His shit-eating grin broadens. “Four grand.”
I glance at the ATM with an out-of-order sticker slapped across the busted screen and back to him. “Do you take checks?”
His taunting eyes run the length of my body. “You seem good for it, pretty boy.”
After writing a check out to Nancy Smith, I walk to my truck where Hero stands by the passenger door, feet crossed in the dirt, head down, and smoking a joint. Wisps of thick ghostly white smoke curl around him, obscuring his face from my sight. I snatch the weed from his hands and toss the cigar somewhere behind me, gingerly lifting his blood-splattered face towards the moonlight to get a better look.
Hero’s infuriated blue eyes meet mine. “What the fuck?”
“Hold still. Is anything broken?”
He angrily slaps my hands away. “Fuck no. Take me home. I’m tired and hungry.”
When we’re halfway home, I take in the appearance of my battered little brother and his bloody clothes. I’m doing one hell of a job taking care of him.
When the house is quiet, I leave out and take a very long night run.