Wicked Restless

I’ve been waiting for Trent to ask about Emma, to want the details. He’s doing that thing where he talks about everything but the elephant in the room, though. He even asked me about laundry, and if I’d done my load for the week or not. He’s pushing me to let all of my baggage out, without prying—directly—and it’s working. His goddamned method is working.

“Emma’s moving in,” I sigh as we pull into the only open space along the street by our apartment.

“Aha!” he exclaims, as if that…that is the thing he honestly expected me to say. He remains still, his hands on his knees; he sits proudly, like a fucking peacock in the passenger seat, then the meaning of what I said sinks in. He jerks to the side to look at me again. “Wait, what?”

I lean back in the seat and pull my hat from my head, tossing it on the dash, then run my hand through my hair, holding it between my fingers. I nod as I speak.

“Emma’s moving in. Just…just for a few days. Lindsey’s pissed,” I say.

“Yeah, saw that coming,” Trent says with a short laugh.

“Okay, no need to be a righteous asshole about it. You were right, bad idea, I’m a dick, got it,” I say, glancing sideways at him before opening the car and slamming the door behind me. Trent follows suit and walks behind me up to our apartment door.

“Good, glad we’re on the same page with all of that,” he says. “So where, might I ask, will Emma be staying in our apartment?”

I sigh and let my head fall on our door as I wait for Trent to push his key in the lock. I shrug because I really hadn’t thought about that yet. I was assuming she’d just stay with me, in my room, but maybe that’s a little too presumptuous.

“Your ass can have the couch. No way am I giving up my room,” Trent says.

“I know,” I sigh and push through the door the second he unlocks it. I head straight to the kitchen and grab a beer, twisting the cap and gulping half of it down like water.

Trent sits on one of the stools at the counter and studies me for a few seconds. “What else?” he finally asks.

“What do you mean what else? Emma’s moving in because I fucked up her living situation. What else is there?” I say, pulling the bottle up to my mouth. Trent lowers his brow at me when I do. “What?” I ask.

“Nothin’ man. Just…slow it down. You got sloppy last night, and that’s how you fucked things up in the first place,” he says. I nod and slide the beer to the middle of the counter, then pull myself up to sit on the seat opposite of my friend.

“I fucked things up a long time ago. Last night was nothing—trust me,” I say. I let my eyes focus on the beer, on the label and the gray color of the paper, the way it matches Emma’s eyes. I can literally see her everywhere. I retrain my gaze to Trent, and he’s studying me. “I love her. And it’s so fucking bad. And it’s messed me up…damn. Trent, I’m so messed up over it, I don’t even know what to do.”

“You tell her,” he answers quickly.

I laugh in response, but he shakes his head and simply repeats his answer.

“Tell her what? Hey, I’m sorry I’m a loser who doesn’t know how to have a real relationship; so instead, I steal chick’s wallets—and love them and leave them? But really I’m not that broken, so maybe try me out?”

“Uh…no. You don’t say that,” he says, getting to his feet and grabbing my beer in his hand, finishing it. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he points a finger at me. “Hey, I don’t do dumb shit after a beer or two. That’s your thing.”

“That Graham dude wants to fight me,” I say, catching Trent off guard as he’s about to toss the empty bottle in our recycle box. He pauses, pursing his lips before finally throwing the bottle away and moving back to his seat.

“So he, what…like challenged you to a duel at dawn or something?” he jokes.

I shake my head and let my gaze fall to my lap.

“No, or maybe, yeah. I…I don’t know. It was before this whole thing happened, before last night. He knows Harley, and he’s got some major bank.”

“So you want to fight him for the money,” Trent says, and I can hear his disapproval loud and clear. I fill my lungs and hold my breath, letting the air seep out slowly before looking my friend in the eyes.

“At first, yeah. It’s a lot of money,” I say.

“At first,” he repeats me.

I nod.

“Now, I just want to beat the shit out of him for free,” I say, my mouth hard, my breathing stopping, my eyes angry as I imagine the feel of my fist landing on him. I want to destroy him.