Slay (Storm MC 4)

“Yeah, it’s all good there. Not that he knows that, of course, but I wanted to give you a heads up. He’s coming for Storm.”

“Thanks,” Scott said, and I heard the honesty of that in his voice.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, and then added, “Thanks for your help the other day.”

“All good, brother,” Nash said. “Layla okay now?”

“Yeah.”

I have no idea.

I’ve got eyes on her; just not mine.

***

I walked into my office an hour later, dropped into my chair, leaned my head back and shut my eyes. My head ached to the point of desperation. I massaged my temples, praying that would ease it, but it hadn’t helped all morning so I wasn’t holding my breath.

“Have you still got that headache?”

I opened my eyes to find Merrick standing in my doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah.”

He uncross

ed his arms and walked towards me. “You need to go to the fucking doctor and get that shit sorted.”

“You’re worse than a wife, you know that?”

“And you’re a stubborn motherfucker who needs a fucking wife to kick his ass into gear.”

I yanked my desk drawer open looking for aspirin, but there were none to be found. I slammed the drawer shut. “Fuck.”

I pushed my chair back and stood before stalking to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the river. Clenching my fists, I took some deep breaths to try and get my shit together.

Merrick interrupted me. “Have you called her?”

I spun around and glared at him. “Fuck, Merrick. I told you I’m not gonna fucking call her. Don’t say that shit to me.”

His temper almost matched mine. “You need to fucking call her, Blade. It’s clear to me there’s something there, and it’s about fucking time you pulled your head out of your ass.”

My chest squeezed tight with the turmoil I was experiencing. “No, I won’t taint her with my darkness.”

“Did you ever stop to think she might not care? That she might share some of her lightness with you? She might be the best fucking thing to happen to you in a long time, and you’re willing to just throw it away before you even find out?” His voice gradually grew louder and he rubbed the back of his neck as he fought his frustration with me.

“And did you stop to think I might be the worst thing to happen to her?” The brutal heaviness in my chest made it hard to breathe.

Fuck.

I clenched my fists again, craving violence. It helped ease the demons.

I need to find another outlet.

You had one, asshole.

“Fuck!” I roared, and turned and smashed my fist into the wall behind me. The pain radiated up my arm, and I welcomed it. I’d learnt to embrace pain rather than fight it. I’d also learnt to inflict it upon myself: the distraction of physical pain calmed the hurt of emotional pain.

Turning back to Merrick, I demanded, “Is she okay?”