Sounds Like Deception (Sounds Like 2)

He took my hand, threading our fingers together. I felt the heat of his palm. “Let’s get out of here. Ok? I don’t think we should stick around.”

We climbed the stairs and I felt the cool air at the street level.

“How about you? Are you ok?” I asked. “Did you hurt your hand? He looked heavy.”

He chuckled. “No. I’m fine. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or made you uncomfortable back there. But that asshole isn’t going to speak to you like that. He’s disgusting. What a dick.”

I looped my hand through the crook of AJ’s arm and sidled up to him. “Have you done that before?”

We walked along the sidewalk.

“Get in bar fights? I try not to.”

“You know what I mean.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “No. It’s not really ok with the Academy. I wouldn’t let him speak to a waitress that way, or one of those women at the bachelorette party in the corner. That bastard pissed me off.”

I looked up at AJ’s square jaw, shadowed when we stepped away from a street light. “Maybe you stopped him from making that mistake with another girl who won’t have someone to defend her. Maybe that’s the last time he’ll say something so gross.”

“I hope so.”

I leaned my head on his arm. “Thank you. More than thank you.”

“Does that happen often?” he asked. “Do guys pull that shit all the time?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Fuck. I thought I saw stars when he grabbed your arm.”

“He was drunk.”

“That’s no excuse.” AJ stopped walking. Another couple walked past us. “Why are guys such assholes?”

“You’re not.” I smiled at him. I appreciated his anger. I appreciated his loathing. I didn’t advocate violence, but I loved how he stood up for me. “You are the least asshole-ish guy I know.”

I pulled on the lapels of his jacket. He leaned over me.

“You deserve better than that trash, Syd.”

I looked in his eyes, and I believed this man wanted to give me the world.

I believed every word he said. He would have done the same thing if a soccer mom had been attacked, or one of the barbacks. It didn’t matter to him who the woman was. He wasn’t going to stand for it. His rage was justified. A little part of me felt better knowing there were good men in the world like AJ who were looking for the bad guys. He would do whatever he could to protect. He was willing to stand in front of ugliness, no matter how small. Even if it was in a quaint jazz bar on a date night.

That was five years ago. The rage I witnessed now was something far beyond what I had seen on his face during that scuffle in the swanky D.C. bar. I thought I knew how fiery his anger was.

“AJ.” I pulled on his arm. “Sit down.”

He paced and ripped into the mini-bar. There was a full bottle of bourbon. He yanked off the cork and began to pour into one of the highball glasses. I watched him knock it back in one swallow. I hoped it calmed him. Slowed him.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to put a bullet in him,” he seethed.

“Oh whoa, whoa, whoa.” I raced from the side of the bed, taking the bottle from him. “Just stop.” I poured a drink for myself. It burned the back of my throat, but I didn’t care. “You are supposed to be the professional,” I lectured. “I don’t think you’re an authorized assassin.”

“There is a fucking psycho out there who thinks you belong with him. To him. And you want me to be calm? No.” He paced in front of the window. “I didn’t know it ran this deep. I swear I didn’t know it was this bad.”

I bit my lip, waiting for him to walk it off, but I knew the suite wasn’t big enough. There were several rooms, but he needed a full football field. A place where he could run and pummel his frustrations into the ground.

“And you’ve known about this for six months?”