Chasing Blue Roses

9. A Good Escape Means Not Running into the Enemy.

9. A Good Escape Means Not Running into the Enemy.

   Sirens rang out on the streets below, as I stepped my way down the fire escape noisily – hoping that no one had their windows open to witness two crazy people walk down a building. James clanged his way down behind me, ducking to avoid the railings, because he was tall enough to give himself a set of stitches that would match mine.

   The stairs beneath us whined under our feet. I gripped the black, steel rails tightly, the bones of my knuckles prominent under my skin. This was a death trap. And I was desperate. I took a slow breath. Seven levels to go.

   “How you feeling?” James asked. “Your head and that.”

   I wasn’t sure whether he was asking because he’d caught the slightly green expression on my face, but I welcomed the distraction.

   “Fine, I guess.” I shot him a surprised smile. “I mean, I’m not bleeding or anything.”

   It was strange of James to notice any of my injuries. It was just a known fact that after every fight, you walked away with a bruise or two. Sometimes a broken bone if you were unlucky.

   Between the two of us, we’d broken more bones than I could count. In fact, I was pretty sure that James was mostly made up of metal pins at this point. It took him a hell of a long time to get through airport security.

   Either way, we’d developed an unspoken rule over the years. A ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy that meant we never complained about any of our injuries. I’d picked it up from my dad, if anything. It helped make sure the boys didn’t see me as a ‘weak little girl’ when I was in the ring with them. I didn’t want them going easy on me.

   “You might get some shit from them today.” James warned, reading my mind. “They’ve all seen the footage.”

   I nodded. I expected that.

   “How’s Javier? Was he really pissed?” The stairs squealed under my last step. I jumped down and let my feet hit the pavement.

   “No, he’s just... worried.” James shot me a tight smile. “No matter what he says today, he gets what you did. I didn’t even have to explain it to him.”

   I absorbed the information, hesitant. The city smelled of smoke and fried food. Adrenaline from our uninterrupted escape coursed through my body.

   “Because he knows any one of you would’ve done the same.” I squinted at the street signs in the distance. “And we all know it.”

   A crooked smile. That was the only sign I got that James had heard me. “Come on, this way.” He pointed across the road. “My bike’s down the block.”

   He was talking about his 364 Turbo powered Indian, his dream bike. He had assembled the engine lovingly from the ground up - using fixed and refurbished parts, fitting them together easily, like a kid playing with Lego’s. He treated that bike like it was his first born. I had to admit, it was a real timesaver in traffic.

   I paused, as I followed James onto the street, checking both sides of the road for oncoming traffic.

   “Ava?”

   Oh, shit.

   I recognised the gravelled edge of his voice before I turned around. Harry Styles, popping up like something from Paranormal Activity.. he was starting to make a real habit of it.

   “Fancy seeing you here.” His gaze was unwavering and his lips tilted into a crooked smile that let me know he wasn't exactly surprised. “Where’s Andy? Or Preston?”