Fireworks 1 and 2

Chapter Sixty-Three

    The limousine was full of noise. Everyone clamored to speak over each other.

    Ryan put his index finger and thumb in his mouth and whistled loudly. "Are we still having the party? I kind of need to know."

    Drake sat in the back seat with Mia examining the marks on his face. "We're still having the party," he told them.

    Mia frowned in disapproval. "You're not in any kind of shape to be partying, Aubrey." She couldn't help but feel like all of this was her fault. If she had brushed Trevor off, and hadn't humored him at the club, or gone out with him that devastating night, none of this would have happened. And now Drake's crew was caught in the middle of it all.

    "My boys deserve a party," Drake insisted, closing his eyes with a sharp intake of breath when she touched a bruise that was forming on his cheekbone.

    "Bruh, we can go one night without partying," OB said.

    "The party's on," Drake maintained, looking at Mia.

    She shook her head. "Trevor is such an asshole."

    "Oliver's going to flip," Ryan muttered. "The man was talking lawsuits."

    Drake opened his eyes and looked across the long stretch of the limo to where Ryan was sitting. "He was in direct violation of a restraining order and he was making threats," he said. "Not to mention he pushed Vanessa to the ground. I'm not paying him a dime."

    The limo went quiet.

    Mia dabbed a wet napkin to Drake's eyebrow and the cut on his lip, unable to keep the concern and sadness out of her eyes.

    "Stop worrying," Drake told her.

    "Easier said than done," she muttered.

    "Slap a few Band-Aids on me, and I'll be fine," he assured her. "The other guy looks much worse."

    "I saw," she said. Trevor hadn't gotten off the hook lightly, not in the least. His face has been bloodied, his nose had been broken, and Vanessa had to help him to the car that was waiting for them. He'd been doubled over in pain, a result of the blows Drake had sent into his face and stomach. "Thank you for...looking out for me."

    His brows furrowed. "Of course. I'm your man. That's what I'm supposed to do."

    She stared at him, her heart swelling with love. Then she leaned over and kissed him, briefly forgetting that he had a cut on his lip.

    He winced against her mouth, but kissed her back.

    OB threw a balled up napkin at them, or attempted to. It landed in the center of the limousine. "If you two don't get a fucking room!" he shouted at them.

    Mia pulled back, stared at Drake for a moment, then settled in her seat beside him.

    Drake grinned across the limousine at OB. "Don't be jealous, OB."

    OB balled up another napkin and threw it.

    "I'm fucking injured over here and you're throwing shit at me?" Drake demanded, laughing. "Boy, if you don't..." He reached over, ignoring the pain that shot up his right arm, and threw a balled up napkin back at OB.

    The entire crew erupted in laughter, all past tension forgotten.

                                                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Ain't no party like an OVO party, cause an OVO party don't stop, Mia thought, looking down on the back yard in bewilderment. There were so many famous faces, dancing and mingling around the swimming pool. A few of them had dared to jump into the pool. None of them had swim suits and none of them cared.

    Future The Prince served up the beats, standing behind a laptop and two turntables with a huge pair of headphones clapped over his head. He bopped his head to the beats of each song he played. You knew the music was good when even the DJ was into it.

    All sorts of food was served, from pizza to chicken wings, to salad, to a multitude of side dishes. Most partygoers had changed into more comfortable clothing prior to arriving.

    Mia turned away from the balcony railing and entered the master bedroom.

    Drake was sitting on the bed, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

    She walked up to him and knelt down to the floor, resting a hand on his knee. "Maybe you should go to the hospital. Get checked out."

    He shook his head. "I'm fine."

    "You don't look fine, Aubrey."

    He lifted his head and smiled weakly. The bruise on his cheekbone was darkening.

    She furrowed her brows together. "We should press charges against Trevor."

    "I ran at him first," he muttered.

    "So? Like you said, he broke the rules of the restraining order. He's not supposed to be within two hundred feet of me."

    "I'm a man," Drake told her. "A man bringing charges against another man for a fight like this... It wouldn't look good for me, for my image. Even if I were crazy enough to bring charges against him, it would ultimately be a waste of time. Nothing would happen. I'll be lucky if I get out of this without having to pay him for jumping him."

    She lowered her eyes and stared at the floor. "I'm sorry for this."

    "Don't apologize to me for what he did," he told her. "He deserved every hit. He deserved a lot more than that. For touching you. This pretty face. Every time I think about what he did...it makes me so..." He let the sentence trail off, sighed, and turned his head. "I need to get down to the party."

    "The last thing you need right now is being subjected to loud music," she said. "You need rest."

    "I won't stick around for the entire duration of the party, but I have to at least show my face."

    She looked up at his bruised and battered face. Cut on his eyebrow, busted lip. Cheekbone darkening with a bruise. She'd gone on a date with Trevor to try to show Drake that she was desired by other men. She'd wanted to show him that if he waited around too long, someone else might snatch her up. And that petty act had led to all of this.

    He stared at her. "Stop blaming yourself."

    "I can't. It's my fault." She stood up and wrapped her arms around herself.

    "No. You gave your phone number to a man. You went on a date with a man. There's no way you could have guessed that doing so would lead to this. It's not your fault. There's no one to blame. No one except him. And maybe Vanessa. There's no telling what kind of sick, twisted ideas she's feeding him." He took a deep breath and stood up. "I'm going to hit the head and then we'll check out the party. All right?"

    Mia nodded and watched him walk around the bed and into the master bedroom. She paced the room, and her gaze fell on the bed, where he'd left his cell phone. She halted her steps, remembering Rihanna's words from earlier that evening. She cast a glance over her shoulder, then looked back at the phone lying on the bed.

    "It's okay. You don't have to believe me. Check his text messages. You'll see."

    Mia bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. Hadn't she pushed those thoughts out of her head? Hadn't she told herself that she wouldn't allow Rihanna's words to poison her perception of a man she was growing to have strong feelings for? She balled her hands into fists and took a deep breath. Then, she opened her eyes and turned her back to the bed and the phone that was lying on it. She wasn't going to invade his privacy. She chose to trust him.

    The toilet in the bathroom flushed and a moment later, she heard running water. Drake exited the bathroom, walked over to the bed, and picked up his phone. Then he grabbed her hand. "Come on, let's go."