Running From Forever (20 page)

After whipping up a quick breakfast of stale
cereal and milk, we got dressed and headed back to the train
station. I stored my trailer and bike at Bev and Steve’s, not
having any other place to keep it. Their property was so damn big
and not to mention, they were never home, so they couldn’t care
less about it.

We had much farther to travel today, so we had
to hop on a different train then take a taxi to where they
lived.

“No shit,” she said, hearing me give the address
to the driver.

“What?”

“We’re in Jersey.”

“Good observation, pilot.”

She nudged my arm at my sarcastic remark. “No,
my best friend lives not too far from here.”

“Really? Whereabouts? I’m from here,” I asked,
intrigued. I swear, the similarities just kept getting crazier.
Granted, I didn’t know who the hell her friend was or if she was
from here, but the fact that her best friend lived in the same town
of where I grew up was fucking weird. I wouldn’t be surprised if
she said my fucking sister’s name next.

“I don’t know her exact address, but I remember
her telling me that is was in East Rutherford, not too far from the
stadium.”

“I take it she’s a new resident?”

“Yeah, her fiancé just got drafted.”

“Drafted?”

“NFL.”

“No shit!” I didn’t follow football, but the
fact that her best friend was engaged to a pro football player was
pretty damn cool, making a light bulb go off in my head—I wanted to
fucking meet him. “You should call her. We could swing by
after.”

Her face lit up, telling me just how much this
friend meant to her. I’d give my left nut for anyone of my best
friends, and know when life is pulling a fast one on me, it was
always nice to stop in and shoot the shit with them—ground myself
again.

“Really? You don’t care? I haven’t seen her
since graduation!”

“Are you fucking serious? I get to hang out in a
pro athlete’s house. Definitely don’t care,” I told her but winked,
making sure she knew that wasn’t the only reason.

“Okay, so, it’s just like a stick shift.” I
sat behind her on the bike, my hands on top of hers, gripping the
handle bars. “Click it up into first gear with your left foot, give
it some gas, then come gently off the clutch while easing in on the
gas again,” I demonstrated, making us move forward a little. “Okay,
now you try it,” I told her, removing my hands from the bars,
gripping her waist instead.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced down at her
left foot, making sure it was in the right place, then flickered
the first gear up and revved the engine a little…

“Okay good, now ease up on the clutch while
giving it some gas.”

We jerked forward then stalled.

“Too much gas,” I informed her. “Try doing it in
sync—come off the clutch with the same pace you twist the gas.”

“Okay.” Her voice was muffled inside her
helmet.

She did the same as last time—glanced down at
her left foot, clicked it into first, revved the engine, then came
off the clutch, but this time perfectly in sync with the gas,
making her bolt forward instead of stall.

“Ahh! What do I do now?!” she screamed, going
faster than I thought she would, scaring the shit out of herself,
but making me laugh hysterically.

“Keep going!” I shouted back, still holding onto
her sides, shocked that she got it on her second try. “That’s my
girl!”

“I’m not gonna lie, you did
way
better
than I thought you would,” I told her once she finally stopped
doing circles around the house and attempting to do “jumps” on the
track.

She pulled her helmet from her head and I froze.
It’s a different sight seeing a girl pull up next to you on a dirt
bike, then see a flow of blonde hair fall after she removes her
helmet. It was fucking hot, actually. Again, if it was anyone other
than Kayla doing it front of me, I’d be on top of that in seconds
flat, but it was Kayla. She was different. I didn’t want her like
that. She was more than a good lay or someone I’d screw for shits
and giggles. She was Kayla.

She put her hand on her hip and looked at me,
insulted. “Why, because I’m a blonde?”

I rocked my head back and forth, acting like I
was contemplating my answer, making her blood level rise. She was
so frickin’ easy to irritate, it was almost addicting to do.

“Eh, I think it’s the blue eyes that accompany
the hair color, actually,” I said, like I was torn between the
two.

“You’re such an ass.”

“That’s what I’ve been told.” I smirked, making
the smile that she was trying to desperately hide grow into a
laugh. “But you can’t help but love me, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Something like that.”

Kayla called her friend and got the address.
They had just gotten home from somewhere so it worked out
perfectly, timing wise. Instead of calling a taxi, we took one of
the cars in Bev and Steve’s garage. Kayla was all gung-ho about
calling them and asking first, but I’d seriously been doing it
since before I had my license—they would’ve thought I was losing it
if I called them for permission, so she let it go and hopped in
instead.

“They just have all those cars sitting in their
garage for the hell of it?” she asked as we hopped on the
freeway.

“Pretty much,” I told her, weaving in and out of
traffic. “Cars are Steve’s addiction—have been for as long as I can
remember.”

“Well, I guess if you’ve got the money…”

“Which they do,” I finished for her.

It wasn’t long before we strolled into their
gated community. Given that he was a pro athlete living in New
Jersey near the Metlife Stadium, it was almost a given where they
lived. The address they gave Kayla just confirmed it. I don’t think
you could get a house in that neighborhood for less than a couple
million. The people living in that community were definitely
sitting pretty and could undeniably give that douchebag Miles
Blackwell a run for his money.

“I think it’s that one.” Kayla pointed to a huge
white house that sat back a little from the road, iron gates
attached to a brick wall towards the street. “Yup, definitely is, I
can see the ugly metal sculpture that Leah bought in Paris.”

“Who the fuck would pay a cent for that thing?”
I asked, getting a look at it.

“Leah,” was all she said, making me wonder about
this girl.

I had pictured someone along the same lines of
Kayla—hot, carefree, probably with big tits; you know, the
stereotypical girl you picture pro athletes with.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. Leah ran from
the front door to meet us, actually the complete frickin’ opposite.
She was a teeny little thing, dressed like one of those artsy girls
you see at the art museums in the city, slightly disheveled in a
flowy top and cutoffs, with brown hair that barely reached her
shoulders and huge brown eyes that were slightly hidden by glasses.
I was completely shocked.

Kayla started the introductory process. “Leah,
this is Merrick. Merrick, this Leah.”

I extended my hand, being polite. “Hi, nice to
meet you.”

Her personality was more subtle than Kayla’s—not
so full and bubbly. She was a cute girl, just plainer than I
expected. I kind of got the impression she was surveying me, making
sure I was suitable for her friend to be around, which was fine. It
was actually calming that Kayla had someone like that; someone that
wanted to protect her like I did. I just hoped she wasn’t thinking
I was looking for something I wasn’t from Kayla. Our situation was
anything but normal, I got that. Not many people go from strangers
to inseparable friends over night, shacking up for the weekend. But
that’s really what it was. We clicked. It was that simple.

“No shit! If it isn’t Kayla frickin’ Reynolds on
my doorstep.” We heard a male’s voice and I saw a big ass guy
walking through the front door. I almost laughed out loud, seeing
him next to this tiny little girl, Leah. From looks alone, they
were polar opposites, but hey, I guess opposites attract.

Immediately Kayla squealed and ran for him,
jumping into his arms. “Matthew frickin’ Jacobs! How are ya,
friend?” she asked, a huge grin on her face after he set her down.
The smiles were contagious; I couldn’t remove the one I was wearing
on my own face. They obviously all cared about each other—it was
like an effin’ lovefest here.

“Oh, Matt! This is my good friend, Merrick.
Merrick, this is Matt, Leah’s fiancé.”

“How ya doin, man?” he asked, shaking my hand.
It wasn’t often I found a guy bigger than me, but this dude
definitely was. He wasn’t fat or anything like that, he was just
tall and solid—he had pro football player written all over him.

“Good, yourself?”

“Life’s good—no complaints,” he answered,
nodding his head with a genuine smile.

As soon as we stepped inside, the girls took
off, leaving Matt and I by ourselves. It wasn’t bad, though. He
showed me their game room where we shot some pool and threw some
darts.

“So, how long have you known Kayla?” he asked,
sinking another stripe into the corner pocket.

I watched as he moved around the table, sizing
up another one then pointing to the side pocket as I answered, “Not
long actually, just a week.”

That got his attention, making him look up.
“Really?”

I nodded my head. “Yeah.”

He looked back down at the table and lined back
up to the shot he was just preparing, keeping his eye on the hole.
“She’s a good girl. Remember that,” he warned, his words clear and
point heard, making me snicker.

It was a friendly threat…a warning; one I knew
well and precisely the reason why I didn’t like Kayla with
Blackwell. He wouldn’t honor that nor remember. His blood didn’t
run honest, it ran black and selfish. He was out for one thing—his
own benefit.

It took me a minute to answer, having a personal
moment, feeling my heart fill with emotion. I cared about Kayla…a
lot. She was growing on me more than I think I was prepared for.
“She’s special,” I admitted. “I’d never let anything happen to
her.”

He looked up, intrigued, then put his cue down
and leaned back on the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do
you love her?” He wasn’t being rude, but he was definitely looking
out for Kayla like a big brother would. I wasn’t intimidated, if
anything, I was happy that she had someone like him.

The problem was, I didn’t know to answer. I bit
my lip and rubbed my face. I didn’t have a prepared response. It’d
only been a week that I’d known her, and only two days of hanging
out. Love was a strong label to put on someone that I barely knew,
but when it came down to it, I guess I did. I cared a whole lot for
her, worried about her well-being, and wanted nothing more than for
her to be happy. Yeah, I loved her, just not how he probably
thought I did.