Page 141 of The True Garza
For two weeks, True shows up in the evenings, cooks dinner, then runs when I try to choke him with my love. Only to return in the middle of the night when I’m asleep, crawling into bed, and holding me to him as if he needs me to breathe.
By week three, instead of running when I tell him I love him, he replies with a random fact.
“I love you.”
“The most expensive coffee in the world is made from the dung of Thai elephants.”
“I love you.”
“The Romans called the middle finger ‘digitus impudicus.’ Meaning the ‘offensive’ or ‘obscene’ finger.”
“I love you.”
“Fruit bats enjoy fellatio.”
“I love you.”
“Oysters change their sex up to four times a year.”
I don’t know what the hell he thinks that’s supposed to do, but he’s not running away anymore, so I’m good with it. Now, when he comes over in the evenings, he doesn’t leave until morning. He watches television with me, plays cards with me, helps me redress my wounds, or “rehab” me in Brook’s gym as I slowly regain control of my arm.
“Are you getting enough rest, True?” I ask when he snuggles into bed with me one night. “You’ve been sleeping in my bed for weeks now, and I know you don’t sleep well unless you’re closer to the ground.”
“I could sleep in the clouds with you, London.” His arms tighten around me, and he runs his nose along my shoulder. “The only time I’m truly at rest is when I’m with you.”
I refuse to believe this man doesn’t love me.
~
“So, do Istill have a job at Red Cage?” I ask True, taking in his half-shadowed features under the moonlight. “Or am I getting the ax?”
Tired of being grounded and starting to regret my rash decisions, my misery and frustration have been manifesting themselves in crankiness, crabbiness, and straight up bitchiness to everyone around me. Tonight, my intolerable behavior finally led to a fed-up True dragging me out of the house and stuffing me in his SUV for a drive. Windows down, he cruised aimlessly for over an hour, which has really helped my mood.
At some point, we landed at the beach, and now we’re sitting in the sand, watching the waves crash to the shore.
“Talk to Trent about that,” he replies.
“You’re my boss, too.”
“Trust me, you’re better off talking to Trent. If it were up to me, I’d fire your ass and plant you somewhere with a desk job, buried under paperwork.”
“Seriously? I thought you loved me.”
“I don’t.”
Liar. “Eh, thought I’d give it a shot.” I bump my shoulder against his. “Catch you slipping.”
“Are you comfortable?” he asks. “Is your leg okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. Let me know when you aren’t.”
“My heart isn’t, though. Does that count?” I poke at his arm. “Will you tend to it?”
He sighs. “You’re never gonna stop, are you?”
“Nope. I love you.”
