Page 93 of The Blessing

“Leave,” I spit out.

“Thanks, man, I got your message loud and clear,” he has the audacity to laugh as he pulls away from the wall. “Just hear me out. Man to man. She was a whore then and she’s a whore now. People don’t change.”

I ram my knee into his crotch and smirk as I see a tear escape his eye. This time, he doesn’t smile—nor does he smirk. Instead, he cups his balls with his hands and begins to limp his way down the stairs.

“My girlfriend isn’t a whore,” I snarl at him, wanting nothing more than to kick him while he’s hurting. “Stay away from her, or you’ll have more to worry about more than a knee to your nuts and a broken nose.”

“Fuck you,” he spits out as he continues to limp down the stairs.

I snort. That’s all he can say to me? “Fuck you”? How pathetic. I smile as he leaves my sight. I clench my fist, enjoying the way my broken skin splits even further. It reminds me of the old days when I’d take out all of my frustrations and anger on a willing opponent’s face. I’ll never fall back into those ways again but I can’t help enjoying this small taste of it. If anyone deserved the release of my built-up tension—it was that fucker. I don’t have to know the particulars; I know he hurt my girl and I couldn’t let him walk away unscathed because of it.

I rest my head against the wall and take a couple of long, shaky breaths, trying to ride out this rush before I return to my family. I don’t want them to see me like this because I know how fucking frightening I can look. I remember catching a glimpse of my reflection once after a fight in an abandoned building on the edge of town. I looked downright menacing and strangely mellow at the same time. With the endorphins rushing through my veins and the satisfaction of winning, I looked like a frightening fucking force to be reckoned with. That was the night I received a blow which caused a small scar on the side of my neck; a man’s ring slashed part of my neck open. Despite being mostly covered by my lotus tattoo, the jagged scar is a reminder of the person I used to be.

The man I used to be—as well as the man I am today—is the exact opposite of that fucker Ronnie used to date. There’s not a single similarity between us, and in many ways, I assume that’s a fucking good thing. However, I can’t help but feel a tinge of inferiority when I think of him and what Ronnie is probably used to. I run my bloodied hand through my cropped hair and tug on it by the roots, trying to release some of the excess energy and stress.

When I’m ready to re-enter Ronnie’s apartment, I find her rocking my crying son in her arms. Her eyes instantly shoot up to meet mine and widen as they take in my appearance. Suddenly, I feel ashamed of myself. Now that the adrenaline is subsiding, I realize how stupid it was for me to lose control like that. I couldn’t help but react when he uttered such disgusting words; I only saw red. I wipe my bloodied knuckles against my shirt before crossing the living room to sit next to her on the couch.

When she doesn’t speak, I quietly say, “He shouldn’t be coming back,” as if that made everything that happened tonight all right. She nods, seeming content with this information. “I came as soon as I could,” I quickly continue.

“Thank you. I texted you right as he arrived.”

“He just barged in on you?” I ask, looking around to see if there were any signs of forced entry.

“Pretty much. I opened the door and he was right there, in my face. When I told him to leave, he insisted on coming inside, despite my efforts to stop him…” she trails off, taking a deep breath before continuing. “He never did like to listen to me.” What a domineering asshole. “What did he say to you?” she asks as she looks down at my busted-up knuckles.

“It was nothing, baby. Don’t worry about it.”

She gives me a dubious look as she rocks a now silent Grey in her arms. “He must’ve said something, Trev. I heard you guys going at it.”

Knowing how horrible it fucking sounds, I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want her to become as upset as I feel. Just thinking about his words makes me want to heave. So, why voice them? “Babe, it doesn’t matter. I just couldn’t control my temper. That’s all.”

“Tell me,” she presses, pivoting her body to face mine.

“Ronnie,” I sigh, rubbing a hand over my tired face, “It’s not important.”

I feel her stiffen at my side. “I didn't know we were keeping secrets from each other now.”

“I’m not keeping secrets—” I stop mid-sentence before I say something stupid. “Look, what he said was horrible, okay? He said it because he knew it would piss me off.” When she gives me an expectant look, I finally breakdown and say, “He pretty much said that you were sort of ‘prudish’ and needed a few drinks in your system before you could loosen up enough to have sex.” I spit the words out in a way that screams, You’re the one who wanted to know, so don’t blame me for telling it to you straight.

Her beautiful features scrunch up in anger before she turns her face away from me. Looking to the floor, she takes a deep breath before covering her face with one of her hands. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and give Grey one of my fingers to latch onto while I wait in silence for Ronnie to feel comfortable enough to say something.

When she doesn’t, I hesitantly ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head and continues to look off into space. We sit in silence for a long time. I move Grey onto my lap and play with him while my girl sits in a trance like state at my side. I want to do something to make her feel better, but I remember what I feel like when I’m like this. I know the best course of action is to provide her with a quiet comfort, a shoulder to cry on, and an ear to vent to if she needs it. I don’t push. I don’t pry. I merely wait for her to direct me in the best way to care for her. But Ronnie—being the selfless woman she is—wants to care for me, instead. She looks at my hands; both of which are covered with my and Preston’s blood. Finally, she takes one of my hands into her and gently rubs the top of it with her thumbs. My left hand aches for ice; I know my knuckles will be throbbing tomorrow.

“Let me wash you up,” she says as she lets go of my hand and rises from the couch.

I rock Grey on my lap as I watch her walk to the kitchen and return with a washcloth and a bowl of water. She sits down on the couch beside me, putting her supplies on the table before giving me a shy, sympathetic smile. I can’t believe after everything that just happened, she wants to take care of me. I should be the one caring for her. Before she begins, I brush my lips against hers and smile, wanting to make sure she’s really all right. She smiles in return, but I can’t help notice how drained she looks. I kiss her again before she begins to tend to my hands.

Ronnie starts with my right hand, washing the blood off in the soapy water before covering the wounds with antiseptic. She kisses each one of my fingers before giving me a flushed smile and moving on to my left hand. I’m so relaxed I barely notice what she’s doing as she removes the bandage wrapped around my ring finger.

“I love you,” I whisper, moved by her tenderness.

“I know,” she says with a soft smile. “I love you, too.”

She looks down to get a good look at my wounds. My entire body tenses up as I realize what she’s bound to find. My eyes shoot down to my exposed ring finger and wait for her to react. Shit, what if she hates this! I haven’t even proposed to her yet. I don’t dare look at her face as I watch her slim finger trace the cursive lettering wrapped around my ring finger. Finally, I take a deep breath and muster the courage to look at her beautiful face. I find her features filled with confusion as she studies her full name inked on my skin.

“Trev… What is this?”