Loving the Man

Chapter 3: Fame or Shame

Sitting in the back seat in the middle, looking between Michael and Trevor, was eerie. It felt like any moment the car would blow up, due to the tension and awkwardness. They both stared straight, silent for a moment. I decided to stay quiet, studying Michael. The long ten years of not hearing from him and thinking he was dead. I was at his 'funeral', mourning over someone different. How did he pull all this off?

I opened my mouth to start a conversation with Michael but him looking over at me made the words get caught in my throat. 

The same blue-grey eyes as I remembered from 10 years ago. I blinked my eyes and kept staring into his eyes. They were.... mesmerizing. 

"You know, I could probably handle this myself." Michael spoke up. "Let's say we grab a beer in a few hours and catch up properly."

"I'm good homie." Trevor said, looking over at Michael then back at the road.

"She's my daughter, I'll handle it." Michael said, sounding a little insulted at the fact of Trevor's thinking he can't take care of his own daughter.

Trevor laughed a little. "Judging by past behavior and the state of the rest of your family, fuck only knows what that means."

"Hey, fuck you!" Michael said, his voice raising a little.

"Yeah, you're a model husband and a wonderful parent, I can just tell." Trevor said sarcasticly.

"You walk into my home and try to tell me how to run my life. Don't work like that, amigo." Michael said bitterly. "It's nice to see you and all, but you stink like piss, you got blood under your nails, and you look like you've been up for what, a week? Who the fuck are you to tell me anything?"

I sat deeper into the leather seat, hating the fact of Michael insulting Trevor like that but he was right, Trevor did stink like piss, has blood under his nails, and he probably has been up for a week or more.

"I'm someone who knows you, you fucking slippery snake." Trevor spat. "I know the second I leave you, you'll just go home. We're gonna get your girl from these assholes. You're not abandoning her like you did me and Brad."

"Yeah." Michael's voice was softer. "Brad."

"Poor motherfucker must have woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed after that stunt of yours. He still writes to me from the joint, you know." Trevor growled.

"Really....?" Michael said, all mysterious like.

"Yeah."

"Okay." There was a short silence. "So how have you been doing?"

"Oh, I'm getting by, aside from the loneliness and heartbreak of course." Trevor spoke normally.

"Live in Los Santos?" Michael asked.

"I live a few hours away."

"Okay. So where?"

"Sandy Shores. The Alamo Sea." Trevor explained.

"Ahh, I hear it's nice there." Michael said with a hint of that poisonous sarcasm in his voice.

"It's fucking beautiful. I mean, we ain't got the tennis courts, golf fields, and all the plastic sluts like you do out here but you know, it'll do."

"Yeah, well, I'd ask you to stay but---" Michael was cut off by Trevor, who pulled the car into the parking lot. I hardly recognized where we were, considering I was intrigued by the two talking. We were at a large arena with a lot of people swarming and accumulating everywhere.

"Yeah, don't worry, alright? I got somewhere to crash while we work things out. With actual friends." Trevor shot back at him.

"We got things to work out?" Michael asked, shifting a little in his seat and looking over at Trevor.