Thin Ice (Power Play Series Book #2)

Chapter Seventeen × Documented by TMZ

I've never been one for confrontation - which I know is ironic, coming from me. But it's the truth. Ever since I was a kid, confrontation has been something that I have both avoided like the plague and flocked to like a cow to shit. I have both wanted nothing more and nothing less at the same time.

I think it's because, as a kid, I never knew when confrontation would take place. Confrontation being my mother, who would reck havoc on anyone that dared to defy her - and me, being a shit-stirring ten year old that loved nothing more than to cause a tornado.

It was a hard childhood to say the least and is the single factor that I attribute to my therapy bill being so high. If only there was a way to chargeback for trauma caused to you as a kid; trauma which never would have happened if the people that brought you into this world, actually did their one job in life: protect you.

My inner dramatic monologue aside, I do know that sometimes confrontation is not avoidable. Hard conversations, talking about feelings, pouring one another's hearts out to each other - some of the worst things in life can't be avoided, kind of like going to the dentist when you need a root canal, they come back for you when you least expect them.

"Thanks for the ride." Kayden belts, after letting out what can only be described as the most disgusting burp known to man. I don't know what it is with men, but they seem to think that burping is a substitute for a dick measuring contest - of which all of us, are the losers.

Erik cringes a little, as if contemplating whether he should say anything or not. Given that Kayden's ass is halfway out the backseat and headed for the condo building's front door, I would normally say to forget it.

But given that circumstances aren't normal and I've been dreading the moment my boyfriend's curly haired best friend would leave us alone, I'd rather the two get into a sparring match so intense that it allows me to slip through the back door. Hell, at this point I would jump out the passenger door of a moving car to avoid the conversation that's about to be had. Or I suppose, forced upon me.

Much to my disappointment, Erik just frowns to himself and waves his friend off. "No problem. See you later." He says, clutching the steering wheel a little tighter than usual for someone that should be used to their best friend's antics by now. Maybe he's just as stressed about this conversation as I am; or maybe he's been secretly stewing in silence for the last thirty minutes because I forced him to buy me pads.

Part of me wonders if this is the moment he snaps. Much like everyone else in my life has, loses his mind and says things he'll never be able to take back; things I'll never be able to stop from cycling through my brain. It's happened to everyone that I've known, everyone that I've trusted; maybe with him, it was just a matter of time.

As he pulls away from the sidewalk and rejoins the flow of Sunday drivers, I find myself gripping the door handle. I'm waiting for something; I'm not quite sure what, but I'll know it when it happens. The signal that it's finally happened; the person that I once knew, slowly slipping away. Man, I need to eat something because being hungry turns me into a depressing monk. One that's had an erection for thirty years and no way to treat it; not realizing that his hand is as viable of a candidate as anyone breathing.

"I'm just gonna grab us some coffee." Erik explains, seeming to notice the way my eyes are wider than a child whose seen his father dressed up as Santa Clause. Or maybe a child that's finally realized the Christmas jingle I saw my mommy kissing Santa Clause, could have been about his parent having an extramarital affair.

I nod, not being able to make eye contact for more than a millisecond. However fast sound travels, that's how quick my eyes are able to meet his before they dart away like a squirrel that's been caught with a nut.

The car is dead silent, the only sound being the hum of the heater and rain smacking against the windshield. It's not uncommon for us to partake in comfortable silence, but this one feels more tense than the band of my leggings after dinner. It feels awkward and tense and like I'm in a cart that's stuck at the top of a roller coaster. Except in this case, I don't know where the roller coaster could go.

Maybe this is the end of Erik and I. Maybe this is the moment that he decides he's done with all my shit and leaves me in the Starbucks parking lot with nothing but an iced latte and a face of tears. Blueberry muffin possibly included. I am getting kind of hungry; I don't remember the last time I ate something that wasn't my stomach acid.

"You want the usual?" He asks, practically making me jump out of my own skin when his hand touches my knee. There's a moment that feels it stays frozen in time: me flinching from his touch and him looking at me like a dog I just kicked. Physical touch is Erik's main love language and me moving away from him is like spitting in his face when he's giving me head. Or maybe that's a weird comparison.

"Sorry." I apologize reflexively, not knowing exactly what I'm apologizing for. There are many contenders for what I could be professing my condolences for - but none of them seem like they could fit in the duration of this drive-thru line up. "I'm okay, thanks." I tell him, deciding to answer his question rather than my own.

He furrows his eyebrows together like he does whenever he's confused about something. But there's almost a layer of glassiness to them; a darkness that feels like if poked, a teardrop would break through. Maybe he's sad about me being cold; me killing our unborn baby; or the fact that this is the last time we'll ever go through a Starbucks drive-thru. Maybe this is our parting latte time before he touches my shoulder and tells me he needs time to think. Only to be documented by TMZ a few days later, locking lips with a swimsuit model or porn star.

"Welcome to Starbucks. How're you doing today?" The overly enthusiastic and peppy voice asks, sounding out through the microphone. It's familiar; and safe; and so far away from the uncharted waters that I've fallen into.

Fifteen minutes later, Erik and I are pulling into a nearby parking lot of some random high school. It's Sunday, so the only cars that are here are teacher workaholics and other people that would work overtime for a job that barely gives them a living wage. There are a few teens at the basketball court, smacking the ball against the ground. But they notice nothing unless it has tits or an ass - of which the exterior of Erik's truck, does not.

We sit in silence for a few minutes: him, staring out the window at them - probably remembering his glory days of High School; and me, staring at the melting ice of the iced latte he insisted to get me. I wonder how long before the ice turns into water and the blueberry muffin warms down. I'm both hungry and wanting to throw up, at the same time.

"I'm sorry." He finally says, breaking the silence with his soft voice. It's chiseled and perfect and feels like butter to my ears; or the corn growing on my feet. The words themselves, slightly less refreshing. What is he sorry for? Did he cheat on me? Is he breaking up with me? Are the rumors of there really being no happily ever-after, true?

Scratch that last question, I already know the answer.

"For what?" I ask him, my voice coming out nervous and timid like a pre-pubescent boy about to touch his first pair of breasts. I suppose I am equally parts nervous and terrified; also slightly excited? Because after this conversation, I'll finally be able to rest in peace. I don't mean offing myself; I mean crawling under a rock and never coming out.

His fingers run through his hair, the knuckles of them slightly bruised from a recent game. He got in a fight in Tampa and I scolded him when he got home. He promised he wouldn't do it again and then we had sex. Or made love, as he would call it.

"I don't know." He answers honestly, making me wonder what monkey inside his head refused to work overtime. "That you had to go through that alone. That I couldn't be there for you. That we got into this situation in the first place." He spits out, making me think the monkey was just running late from their fifteen minute break.

I look over at him and he's staring at me; so, I look away. I can't look at him and talk about these things at the same time; just like I can't pat my head and rub my belly. But that's more because both of those things cause me unnecessary discomfort that I don't wish to have in my life. I have enough of that just being me.