"Thanks, Erin. Where's Tom?" I ask as I lean out of her embrace. She's been dating Tom Buck, the quarterback for Chicago, for a while now.
She smiles brightly. "He's around. He's nominated, so he went to do a couple of interviews with his agent. He should be back soon. I'm handing out the awards, I'm sure you noticed," she replies gesturing her dress.
I look down at her golden dress and nod, realizing she'll be one of those girls that stands on stage all night. For a fleeting second I picture that dress on Blake and think about how good it would look on her. Blake. Thinking of her brings back the tightness in my chest and the ball in my throat. I clear it, hoping to rid myself of emotion for now.
"That's great, Erin. I'll catch you later, Greg's waiting for me."
"Sure. Cole?" she says before I turn away. "She'll come back to you. I know she will."
I nod, because if I say anything right now, I would sob it out. I walk over to Greg, who's talking to his teammate, Trevor, the fucking asshole that was all over Blake when she went to New York last year. Trevor's not really an asshole, though, and I can see the sympathy written all over his face.
"Sup, Cole?" Trevor says, extending his hand. I take it and nod once in reply.
"I'm sure you're sick of hearing this shit, but I'm sorry about Blake, bro. If you need anything, I'm there," Trevor says.
"Thanks, man," I reply.
I greet the petite woman wearing a black dress standing next to him and she smiles at me sympathetically before putting her hand in Trevor's. I rub my forehead in frustration. Does everybody here have a fucking date? I guess I need to get over that, at least, but every time I see couples being affectionate it gets under my skin. Blake and I aren't even the type to hold hands. Now I wish I had held her fucking hand every chance I got. I wish I could go back to that fucking day and not have taken that damn flight to New York.
The rest of the evening went well enough. I got more "I'm sorrys" and shit, but other than that, I was able to present the award, and get the fuck out of there with no issues. Greg left when I did and opted to skip out on the after parties; I'm not sure if he wanted to spend time with me, or not piss Becky off.
I lay in the queen size bed of the hotel room staring at the ceiling, listening to Greg snore his ass off. How the fuck does Becky sleep with this every night? Fuuuck, this shit is annoying. I glance over at the time, three fucking thirty. Fuck me. Of course it is. This time, the sobs win. I hear the bed creaking from my shaking body. This shit happens to me every night. I want to say that this is when I miss her the most, but the truth is, I always miss her. Even in my sleep, I miss her warmth beside me. Why the fuck did they have to take her from me? Why? Why her?
"Damn, man," Greg rasps. "I'm so sorry, dude." I hear him sit up, but he leaves the lights off. Thank God. If he turned them on and exposed me, I'd fucking kill him. I feel vulnerable enough already. I hear him sniffling, and I know he's crying too. I know he misses her too. He loves Blake. Everyone does. I can't get her image out of my head. Her long, wavy dirty-blond hair, her big, stormy gray eyes, her plump lips, her pink cheeks, her perfect tits, her perfect ass, her perfect fucking legs. My princess. She flips the fuck out whenever I call her that. Even as kids, I thought of her as my princess. Now I only call her that when she's being a bitch, which is often. Damn, I miss her smart mouth, her fuck off attitude, our banter, our sex, our laughs. I miss everything about my life with her.
"You talk to Mark lately?" Greg asks hoarsely.
"Yeah, every fucking day. Fucker won't tell me shit. I'm gonna have to kick it out of him if he keeps playing games with me. Godfather or not, I don't give a fuck. I already warned him. He keeps saying he's handling it, but I don't see shit being handled. He won't tell me shit. Fucking Bruce didn't see anyone coming for her, which says a lot, since, well, you know Bruce. He's a fucking ex-Marine for Christ sake. What the fuck, man. What the fuck?" I sob.
"I know, dude. I fucking know. Becky can't fucking think, she's not eating right and that shit's unhealthy for the baby. She keeps talking crazy, saying she doesn't wanna be pregnant if Blake's not here. Doesn't wanna fucking have a kid if Blake's not gonna be around for it. I miss Cowboy to death, yo, but fuck, that's my fucking kid she's talking 'bout. I don't think she'd do anything stupid, but I'm fucking scared to leave her crazy ass for too long. With Mags gone, and now Blake missing, I'm about to fucking take Aubry's ass to live with us for a while."
I let out a shaky laugh thinking about that. "I doubt he'd go. Aubry loves Becks, I'm sure he wants to be there for her, but he's out of his mind without Cowboy." I hear Greg snicker. "Fuck you. I know I'm out of my damn mind without her, but he's hurting too, they fucking lived together their whole lives. They were attached at the hip. I swear if I didn't know for a fact that Aubry is scared shitless of me, I would have a problem with that."
Greg laughs loudly, making the bed creak. "Aubry wouldn't try to get with Blake because he knows she'd kick his ass."
I smile at the thought. "As long as he never touched my girl, we're good."
"Yeah," Greg yawned, "good night, man. Try to get some rest, tomorrow's gonna be a long day."
He's right. Tomorrow I go back to hell. Back home. Without her...again.
I turn my tender body in the mattress that has become an extension of my body. Sensitive to my surroundings, I pick up the sounds and smells around me. The voices outside the door and opening and closing of the fridge clue me in to the time of day. The schedule rarely changes, which is one reason I can't differentiate weekdays from weekends. Not that a Monday is different from a Friday to me, though it would make it easier for me to figure out how long I've actually been here. I could ask, but I doubt I'd get an answer. I only care because I like to torture myself wondering whether or not anybody is still looking for me. I know Cole's still looking for me though. He has to be.
When Dean comes to bring my food, he tells me that I'll be helping out in the kitchen upstairs, which surprises me since I'm rarely allowed up there.
"Why? What about Benny? Is he here?" I ask as my heart hammers in my chest. I don't want to think about seeing Benny or the possibility of him cornering me. I've only seen him once up there, and thankfully Dean was nearby, but even with the distance between us, he scares the shit out of me.
"I dunno where Benny's at, but you know he won't get near you. The maid's not here today and they have company tonight, so the kitchen needs to be cleaned," Dean says as he hands me my silverware.
As soon as I take a bite of the bagel with cream cheese I get grossed out and toss it back on the plate. I get up and let him escort me, passing the men sorting out pills and powder on the table in the middle of the room. I walk up the stairs behind Dean and finally into the house, and a shudder runs through me when my bare feet meet the cold marble floor of the mansion. I look around, taking in the details of my luxurious surroundings, a far cry from the murky basement below. When we walk into the open kitchen, I eye the clock that reads 11:00 as I roll up my sweat pants to just above my ankle and my sleeves to my elbows before filling the bucket Dean hands me with water and Pine Sol. The intense smell of the product makes me gag, but I take a deep breath and block everything out of my mind as I begin to clean, scrubbing and wiping down the surfaces while Dean calls some restaurants and finds out about food delivery.