Page 41 of Played
I’m not naive enough to believe in the fairy tales of equality and diversity the department and this country like to spout. Not when only 12 percent of firefighters are women and even fewer of those women are Black. No, I’m in an overwhelmingly cis-het-white-male field, and as Matt’s one of them, his version of the “facts” will likely be granted more weight than mine.
And then ... then there’s the part of me that just doesn’t want to complain to my shift CO. And not just because that would be Jared. It’s not fair that Ihave tocomplain. That I can’t expect the same freedom of the others in this house—the freedom to not be harassed. To clock in, do a job I love with people I respect, and then head home.
It’s not fucking fair, and IhateMatt for stealing that from me. For making me feel ... trapped.
“You and bitches like you are my problem. Acting like you’re so much better than you really are. Did you even love Keshaun? That man not even cold in his grave and you on the next man’s dick. At least I respected that reason you gave—”
“You didn’t respect shit,” I hiss, fury rolling through me like a swollen wave.
Pain radiates in my chest as if he slammed a red-hot knife into it. He crossed the line, bringing up Keshaun. Again. The fuck was he questioning my love for him, my loyalty? And no, even though I want to snatch his throat out, it isn’t lost on me that slithering underneath the rage is the guilt. Because in those dark, lonely, and unforgiving hours when everyone else sleeps, I’ve accused myself of the same thing.
That shame shreds my restraint and intentions to rise above this asshole.
Sorry, Michelle. I know I’m supposed to go high when they go low. But today, I’m digging a hole to the fucking basement.
“And I’m not gonna be too many more of your bitches. But speaking of bitches, you’d know a lot about that, since you up here acting like one with your feelings all hurt and your lip poked out. Now, I tried to be nice when I said I’m not ready to date. But since you don’t want to live, I’ll give it to you straight. I don’t want you. I’ll never want you. If you were the last man on earth, I’d fuck myself before you. So, you have a choice here.A, stop worrying about me and the next man’s dick and move on, orB, I report your ass for sexual harassment and being a tool. Which one is it going to be?”
Yeah, I should’ve probably stopped atspeaking of bitches. Definitely should’ve put brakes on my tongue atfuck myself before you. But he has me hot as hell, and when backed too far into a corner, my default is to come out swinging for blood.
Yet as his features darken, and his brown eyes deepen to an unholy black, I know I’ve said too much, gone too far. And he has at least fifty pounds and six inches on me. And we’re in a small room, with him between me and the door.
“You threatening me? The fuck you think you are? Go ’head and say something. You might be the captain’s daughter, but that’s not going to save you. At the end of the day, you’re still a piece of pussy who got here because the department neededdiversity”—he spits out the wordlike it’s covered in dog shit—“so the fucking liberals could get off their backs. Your father and a quota push got you through those doors. And everyone knows it. So yeah, go ahead and cry to the brass. When you’re out of this house or moved to some dusty desk where they don’t have to see you and forget your ass exists, I’ll still be right here. Where I belong.”
Every one of his words are like bullets piercing my body and leaving seeping wounds behind. Because he’s right. I know it; he knows it. He’s just reiterating and confirming all my previous thoughts.
Trapped. I’m back to feeling trapped.
“Get out of my way,” I grind out.
A mean grin spreads across his face. “Make me.”
Oily fear slicks a path to my belly, and my grip on the nearly forgotten toys tightens so the blunt ridges of the fake badge dent my palm.
A knock on the door breaks the taut silence that descended between us. And I both hate and detest the relief that floods through me, nearly dissolving the strength in my legs.
“Dina, you still in there?” Another hard rap. “Hey, we’re ready to show li’l man around the house.”
Though fifteen minutes ago I wanted to drop-kick my brother for showing his overprotective ass, now I want nothing more than to run to him and bury my face against his chest. And cry.
“I’m coming out now,” I call out, thankful my voice doesn’t tremble. “You going to move now?”
His lips flatten, anger and what I assume to be frustration glinting in his eyes. I don’t give a damn. Just as long as hemoves.
Matt turns and pulls the door open, coming face to face with my brother. I can’t see his expression, but the surprise, then suspicion, on my brother’s is crystal clear. He frowns; his dark-brown gaze drags down and then up Matt’s frame.
“What’re you doing in here, Matt?” He glances over the other man’s shoulder and looks at me. “You good?”
Before I can answer, Matt scoffs and steps out of the storage room. Malcolm doesn’t move, so he edges past my brother, their chests nearly bumping.
“Yeah, everything’s good. I just came in to make sure Adina found the toys for that hockey player’s kid. It’s been a while since we had to use them.”
Malcolm doesn’t shift his narrowed gaze away from Matt even as he asks me, “That right, Dina?”
Matt mutters something, as if offended that Malcolm isn’t accepting his word on the matter. Not that Malcolm gives a fuck. He still waits on my answer.
And here is where I could admit the truth about the months of Matt pushing up on me, of him getting disrespectful and now verbally abusive. Tell him how I’m being sexually harassed. My lips even part, but ...
But I already see the suspicion and concern in his eyes. And instead of it making me feel comforted, safe, I’m choking on my own weakness.
