Chapter 8
Uncertainty sends my already fragile stomach into a washer-like frenzy, hating that being in tune with him means I am so sensitive to exactly this kind of thing.
His car has been deposited on the sidewalk neatly, all four gleaming wheels on the concrete, of a sleek gray Mercedes he bought only weeks ago to replace his electric blue sports car. Arrick is growing up, leaving behind that young fast life, and settling down, and I don’t know how to feel about it. He’s changing, has been for a while, and I guess it’s one of the reasons we are not as close as we once were. He’s growing up and I’m too far behind him.
We move to the car, where an exceptionally large black-coated bouncer is leaning against it casually, with a beaming smile as he sees us approach.
“Arrick, my main man!” He grins and fist bumps him as we close the gap, still holding me firmly, heating up my body despite the chill around us and my lack of jacket. I smile weakly at the man, knowing the game I have to play when with him. He is sociable with everyone, has time for most people, and he likes those around him to have manners to suit. He’s fast becoming a celebrity on his own terms, not just another Prince of Carrero and following in his brother’s footsteps as the face of the company. His fight titles are making him known on his own, his skills and wins, making a name that means something more to him.
“Thanks, Bro.” Arrick smiles, handing him a hundred-dollar bill so quickly I almost miss it; a smooth operator in all things related to schmoozing and gaining associates. He pulls me forward so he can guide and ease me into the door that another bouncer opens for us with a half-smile, and nods towards him. All I have is the heaviness of fatigue, dizzy with it, just aching to sit down and have some peace. My head is banging and that nausea that has been swirling around is making me hot and stuffy. I fall into the cool seat of his car interior with sheer relief, so glad to be back on my ass and relax into the molded curves with a sigh. The urge to slide my shoes off is insane, but I have zero energy to reach down and unbuckle them.
“Anytime. See you at Saturday’s fight, man.” The male ducks and dives, throwing a couple of mock air punches with a smile, trying hard to impress Arry and getting all jocular and best buddy. I resist the urge to eye roll, now nestled in my seat away from his caring hands and slide down the leather to try and just calm the side to side waves going on around me. “My money is already on you, Bruv’. Tornado Carrero is a sure thing! I saw you at your last and you were on top form, that right hook is deadly.”
“Thanks.” Arrick smiles at him, giving the man some sort of bromance arm hug, then leans into shoulder bump before heading around the car. Very street ghetto and I suppress the urge to giggle at how many layers to him there really is. Businessman when he needs to be and the company requires him, then casual lad about town when he’s with me, or street thug when faced with adoring fight fans. He slides in his own side as the second bouncer leans into the frame of my still open door expectantly, waiting for Arry to get seated.
“I’ll catch you at the gym tomorrow, Kendall.” Arrick nods at him, leaning forward over me so his hand rests on my naked inner thigh innocently, to take his weight. He strains forward to see the towering figure whose head is still too high from his viewpoint.
“Looking forward to it mate, been practicing my uppercut since last time. Hope you see improvement in my form.” The bouncer nods a goodbye and my door is shut with a wave. Arrick leans back and removes his hand, leaving me with a sensation of warm softness there. He leans in close to me and catches my seatbelt over my right shoulder, pulls it across me with eyes on the task and buckles me in. Not that I’m incapable, but this is just one of the many things he has always done when looking after me. I watch his face closely, so close I can almost touch him. Eyes downwards, watching what he is doing and still that emotionless expression. He smells like he always does; a mix of him, his unique Arry smell and his favorite spicy aftershave. I catch hints of the body spray he uses too, but it all mingles together to make one alluring scent that is only ever him. It’s a heady mix.
He moves back into his own seat and buckles his belt, strong shoulders and arms moving under fitted tailoring alluringly, saying nothing when he gets the engine fired up and back into traffic carefully. I glance his way, more than aware that nothing about his mood has changed. He’s simmering, looks tense, and way too calm, despite how normal he was with those security men. That can only mean he’s really angry with me, and I just don’t need this right now.
He brings out this gnawing tension inside my stomach, that fragile emotion welling up inside, and I know it won’t let up as long as he’s pissed at me. Arrick’s poker face is one of the most infuriating things about him, even when framed with that sexily cropped sandy colored hair and those gorgeous hazel eyes. The deadpan nature of that face when he wants to avoid drama and argument. Even knowing him as I do, it still leaves me guessing sometimes at his ability to close down communication and deliberately shut people out. Something he never used to do to me at all, but I guess things change.
He’s been getting colder over time, not just towards me, but in general. The warmth and fun of Arrick of old have been lacking increasingly in the past months, even before I started partying harder and moved to the city permanently. Getting more like his dad I guess; he has that same cool and distant personality and crazily aloof way of dealing with stuff from time to time. I love Giovanni like a second or third dad, I really do, and he seems to have a soft spot for me, but it’s still infuriating as hell that they share this trait.
His girlfriend doesn’t exactly help curb it either. Natasha is a profoundly serious girl with little to no sense of humor, that same outwardly aloof way of dealing with life and always aware of how people view her. I feel like she is just rubbing off on him a little too much and making him become someone else. It’s always ‘looking to the future … planning … being super serious and devoid of personality’ with her, like she is sapping the parts of him out that I love the most.
There has been a growing distance; I guess it’s partly why recent calls to him have been more frequent. I just feel like I’m losing him and barely holding on with my fingertips, and a gentle breeze is all it’ll take for the connection to be severed. I know in part it’s why I have spent more time going out lately, dating, partying, and trying to find another him, anything to fill that void. All it has made me do is cry for him, anytime reality hits me, and I just want to go home. The horrible reality is that you can never replace someone you care about this much, no one ever measures up. He isn’t at home anymore, he's here in this infernal city… with her.
That churning fog of sadness threatens to strangle me as tears bite in the back of my eyes and I glance his way again, filled with complete heartbreak. That slight jaw tensing catches my eye and my heart sinks.
“You’re annoyed?” I whisper his way, watching his handsome profile, longing to see him react in any other way now we’re alone. I focus on his straight short nose, which was straightened and smoothed out after a complicated break a couple of years back resulting in surgery and has taken away his father’s hook nose. It still intrigues me that one minor change can enhance a face so much. I’ve always thought him one of the most beautiful boys I ever laid eyes on, even before his nose job, even as a fourteen-year-old kid seeing a guy who could have been a threat. But now he is almost flawless, maybe even perfect.
He has a face that’s just too easy to stare at. The same square masculine bone structure as his handsome older brother, yet with lighter hair and darker eyes so they look completely different in some ways, so alike in others. Arrick has a softer face that is less bad boy and younger Romeo or boy next door hotty.
He remains silent, watching the traffic and checking his mirrors as he gets us back into the lane and up to speed. He’s a confident driver, second nature, like breathing, and he’s dealt with New York traffic since he first passed his test, years ago. Like everything he does in life, it’s with ease and control and makes me wish he still helped my life feel this way. I could sure use someone else taking control lately and just fixing the mess that I exist in.
