Slay (Storm MC 4)

J gave me a chin jerk, and I watched them leave. Scott had come through for me today when I’d called and asked for his help. I hadn’t wanted to ever ask him for it, but when Layla called, I was dealing with a situation I couldn’t leave, and Scott was my best option.

***

It was ten o’clock that night before I saw Layla again. She sat in the corner at a table.

My table.

Her head rested on her arms on the table, and, as I approached, I sensed she was asleep. She didn’t stir when I sat, so I rested my hand on her shoulder. “Layla,” I murmured as I gently nudged her.

Her head shot up, and groggy eyes stared back at me.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” I apologised.

“You okay?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

I frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

“I never heard from you after you left, so I’ve been worried.”

I’m an asshole.

What the fuck am I doing?

I leaned back in the chair and stretched my back. My muscles were all knotted, and the pain I always felt there had intensified this afternoon. Raking my hand through my hair, I said, “I took care of Mario. You don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

She stared at me silently. Her quick nod was all she gave me before she stood and walked away.

Fuck.

I dro

pped my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

She’ll never accept your demons.

What the fuck are you doing?

I took a deep breath. Best to face the truth before beginning something. Disappointment washed through me, though. I’d thought the connection had been there. I’d thought she might accept my darkness.

I opened my eyes and lifted my head.

She stood in front of me.

“Thought you could do with a drink,” she murmured as she passed me a glass and the bottle of scotch.

Fuck.

You don’t deserve her.

“Thank you.” I poured a drink and asked, “You want one?”

“No, I’ve already had a few tonight. I’m so tired that another one might knock me on my ass.” She sat down again, her movements sluggish.

I eyed the scarf around her neck. Reaching across the table, I loosened it to reveal the marks I’d left there last night. The asshole in me loved those fucking marks.

Her hand landed on mine and held it there. Our eyes met. The noise in my mind that never shut off quietened. The ache in my chest that clung to me and never gave me a moment’s peace ceased.

“Thank you,” she whispered.