The Absolution of Aidan(12)
“She asked us not to, asshole. And get that finger out of my space.” He sidesteps me, heading straight for the weights.
“Where has she been?” I ask the same question I asked Alina, knowing damn well he isn’t going to tell me either.
“Wait? Are you guys talking about Deidre?” Cain throws his towel on a bench and starts to adjust his weights.
“Yeah. She showed up at our place last night.” Roan rubs the back of his neck.
“Wow. I’d like to know where she’s been, too.” Both of us look at Roan. Waiting.
“She’s here in New York,” he states calmly.
“I fucking know that, but where?” I abruptly shout, stammering backward, my head smacking against the wall.
“Come on, man. I’m telling you she looks good.” Roan comes and stands in front of me.
“You know the shit I went through. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but damn it, man, it’s something I need to see for myself. You of all people should get that shit.” I close my eyes, shaking my head. I never should have thrown what he’s been through in his face. FUCK. “I didn’t mean that. Shit, I’m sorry.” He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal. I know better. He went through the exact same thing I did, only worse. Time can never erase the helplessness a man feels when he’s ceased and forced to watch a woman get tortured.
“I do get it, brother. Doesn’t mean I’m going to betray her. Betrayal isn’t what I’m about. I stick true to my word no matter whom I give it to or whom I have to hurt in the process. But I fucking swear she’s good. Hell, she’s seems better than she was before.” He pats my shoulder. I know I’m not getting any more out of him. I respect him for his loyalty. Doesn’t do my bleeding brain any damned good, though. I will still look for her.
Leaving the two of them to finish their workout, I stretch my t-shirt over my head, grab all my shit, and bust my ass to get to my apartment to shower. The first place I’m going is straight to her and Alina’s old apartment. Opening the door to my place, I’m instantly assaulted with that damn silence again. I fucking hate it. Toeing off my shoes by the front door, I head right to my old stereo, lift up the lid, and place the old needle across the album. The deep smoky rumble of Bob Segar echoes throughout the built-in surround system I had installed. This stereo is older than dirt, one of the very few things I kept for myself after my grandfather passed. His record collection, too. They don’t make albums like this anymore. Everything’s all digital, computerized shit, which comes in handy when you’re driving around, but not when I’m home.
I let the music sink in. Bob talking about how guys love watching Her Strut. God, how I would watch Deidre strut her fine ass across her apartment with those tight jeans or her yoga pants, hell, even those short little pajama bottoms she used to wear.
Get that shit out of your mind, man. The woman hates you!
With Bob playing, I make my way down the hall to my bathroom, take a much-needed piss, turn the spray on in the shower, and drop my sweaty clothes to the floor. I clean and shampoo my hair in record time, have clean jeans and a light gray t-shirt and my boots on in fifteen minutes.
Digging my key to my bike out of my old Sinners leather vest, I reach for the door to leave just when the buzzer alerts me from downstairs.
“What’s up, Nerd Boy?” I chuckle at the nickname I call one of the security guards downstairs. He’s the opposite of a damn nerd. People think I’m huge, but I’m a goddamn chipmunk compared to him. He’s seven feet tall, burly as hell. In reality, though, they don’t come any nicer than him. The dude has been married for twenty years. Has five daughters who are all tall; every single one them has him wrapped around their finger. The oldest one plays basketball at NYU. He’s always riding Roan, Cain, and my ass to come watch her play. We can’t get away from him when he starts going on about any of his children. Can’t blame the dude. Who knows how I would be if I ever had kids of my own.
“Fuck off, dickface. You have visitors. Want me to send them up?” Them? I think to myself.
Maybe it’s Deidre and her parents. She’s afraid to be alone with me. I have no damn clue, all I hope is it has to be her. “Yeah, send them up.” I disconnect. Hell, I’m getting all sweaty again just thinking about seeing her.
A few minutes later, I’m standing in front of my door, gripping the handle when the doorbell rings, my nerves bouncing all over the place.
I swing the door open, expecting to see a dark-haired beauty, but instead I’m face-to-face with a blond-haired bitch, her finely coifed hair piled on top of her head, and her psychotic son.