J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forgive

I’m still coming to terms with the way Axelle was conceived. Anger, betrayal, and confusion all fight for control in my head. But none of them comes close to the guilt. I regret that I didn’t see through Stewart’s true intentions before I gave him my life, and I’m ashamed because I couldn’t protect Axelle from the ramifications of my horrible decisions. I see years of therapy in our future, but the prospect isn’t daunting. It’s comforting. Because in that future there’s no Stewart. There’s only us.

Only us.

I take a deep breath past the smothering sadness that has been my constant companion. I miss Blake. I’ve worried about what he must be going through. He lost his reputation, his career, everything he’s worked hard to accomplish.

All because of me.

Rummaging through my cupboards, I think back to that night in his music room. The despondent look on his face when he explained his reason for hiding his gift. He was forced to downplay and lock away his natural talent in order to protect himself. Even as an adult, he hides his music from his friends, all because he’s afraid that at any moment something will steal it away.

Then I come along and do exactly that. Rob him of the thing he loves most.

His fighting.

No longer hungry, I give up my search for food. My head is heavy, and I contemplate going back to bed for the next few days. Sitting at the kitchen table, I rub my temples. “I’m going to need a new job.”

Chances are I’ll be fired when the UFL’s parent company gets wind of my involvement in Gibbs’s arrest. I can’t afford to go more than a week without income, and even that’s a stretch. Lucky for me, Vegas has a lot of opportunities. An online job search should keep my mind busy for a few— knock, knock.

I stare at my front door. Who the hell could be stopping by? I finally charged my phone but haven’t checked for missed calls since I woke up.

“Who is it?” I make no move to stand. If it’s a door-to-door salesman, I don’t want to exert the effort.

“Open the door, bitch.” Eve’s unmistakable voice filters clearly through my open kitchen window. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

“You’re going to freak her out.” Raven’s hissed words make me grin… “Layla, it’s us. We’re just checking up, wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“Don’t lie, Rave.” Eve’s attempt at a whisper fails. “We’re taking you out. So let us in. Holding all these hangers is killing my fingers.”

“Eve, stop being so pushy,” Raven says.

I’m covering my mouth, laughing my ass off. These two will never leave, and if I know Eve, she’ll take extreme measures if I don’t comply.

“You haven’t seen pushy yet. But if she doesn’t open this door in the next three seconds, I’ll bust it—”

I scramble up from the table and fling open the door. “No, don’t. I’m here— Ompf! ”

Raven tackle-hugs me. “Oh my gosh, Layla. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” She stands back and holds my shoulders, checking me over. “Are you okay? You look okay. Tired maybe, but okay.”

Eve kicks the door shut and strolls past us, both of her arms weighed down with what looks like an entire wardrobe.

“I’m fine. Sorry about my phone. It died, and I finally got around to charging it.”

Her blue-green eyes continue to take me in from face to feet. “I think you need to get out.” She grabs my hand and drags me to my room, where Eve has laid hangers and hangers of clothes on my unmade bed.

“No, I don’t feel like going out.” I lean up against my dresser, eyeing the fabulous dresses and outfits that they brought over. I cross my arms, hoping they see it as a sign of defiance rather than what it really is. Me wanting to tear through those clothes like Bridezilla at a wedding gown sale.

“Uh-uh. I didn’t pull a muscle dragging all this shit up here to be told you don’t feel like going out.” Eve rubs her shoulder, grimacing. “So get your ass in a shower and let’s do this.”

Raven sits on the edge of the bed, pleading with her eyes. “Come on, Layla. It’ll be good for you. A night out with the girls, a few drinks, some laughs… what do ya say?”

That actually does sound nice. I could use a few drinks. And after my extended nap, I don’t see myself falling back to sleep anytime soon.

I shrug. “That could be fun.”

“She’s in.” Eve spins me toward my shower. “Now go get cleaned up, and then we’ll help you pick out something to wear. Lord knows there’s plenty to choose from.”

“Thanks, guys.” I leave Eve at my bathroom door, shutting it enough for privacy but leaving it cracked so we can talk. I flip on the hot water and strip down. “Where are we going anyway? I heard there’s a fun wine bar at The Cosmopolitan.”

“Oh, um… we thought we’d go somewhere a little more relaxed,” Raven hollers from my bedroom.

Relaxed sounds good.

“Just tell her,” Eve says loud enough for me to hear.

That doesn’t sound good.

I wrap a towel around my naked body and stomp into my room. Both girls are standing just a foot away from each other, locked in a heated whispered discussion.

“Tell me what?” I cock a hip and wait.

“Huh?” Raven tries to act clueless, but it doesn’t work.

“You should know that having a teenage daughter kinda makes me an expert lie detector.” I swing my scowl from one fibber to the other. “Where are we going?”

Raven clears her throat. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

Eve steps up to me and grins. “We’re going to The Blackout. It’s Battle of the Bands.”

“No, no way. I’m not going. I can’t go.” I spin on my heel and walk back to the bathroom to put on my clothes.

They follow me in. “Layla—”

“I’m not ready.” I shake my head. “I can’t do it.”

“He’s not going to be there. I had Jonah check. It’s his brother’s last night in town, and he’s taking him gambling,” Raven says.

“How do you know they won’t stop by? I’ll be a nervous mess all night wondering if he’s going to walk through the door.” I grip my towel tighter to keep from losing it.

“He won’t.” Raven’s expression turns sad.

“You don’t know that.”

She and Eve exchange a look. “I do know that. He’s taking some time off. Not just from fighting, but from everything. He told Jonah he needs a few weeks to be alone.”

“Oh.” Of course he is. He’s mourning the loss of his career and his reputation. Even the most loyal fans have reason to doubt Blake. Athletes rarely make a full recovery after a steroids scandal.

It’s all my fault. If he’d never met me, if I’d stayed in Seattle… I pinch my eyes closed and push back the searing thought.

Suddenly, getting as drunk as possible sounds pretty good. The burn of alcohol should deaden the ache in my chest. I’ll let Raven and Eve dress me up and drag me anywhere they want. As long as there’s a bottle to help me forget. Even for only one night.

I look back and forth between the concerned eyes of my friends. “Okay, give me fifteen minutes.” My voice sounds how I feel. Distant and robotic.

They nod and leave me to my shower. Guilt invades with vengeance, coaxing bitter tears to slide in silence. My hot tears dissolve into the steamy spray as if they never existed. If only I could do the same with the past.

“Layla, you might want to slow down,” Raven yells to me over the pounding music.

I throw back another shot called a Fireball, something that Mac told me is nothing more than cinnamon-flavored whiskey. Whatever it is, it’s damn delicious and burns all the way down to my stomach. “I’m good.” I bob my head along with the metal guitar sound of a band called Zombie Diet as they play their last song.