Caught in the Devil's Sheets (8 page)

“We heard,” I say with a sarcastic grin. I have some strange way of making people think I’m joking when I’m really being a bitch.

The overly touchy couple laughs and kisses.

“So where did y’all get married?” John asks.

“Courthouse,” Odin says not missing a beat.

“Oh, that’s no fun!” says Blondie, and I’m thinking the same thing. “We got married on the ferry.”

I wish I’d had the chance to make up some lavish wedding story. I just want to top whatever Blondie’s got.

“Where did you meet?” she asks.

Before Odin can answer I get my chance to let my humor shine. “At a sex club!” I blurt out. “I was working as a stripper and Odin here came in looking for someone to tie him to the bed and beat him senseless. He found his girl!” I say loudly raising my hand.

John and Sidney are finally at a loss for words, gaping at us.
Victory is mine!

“Did I ever!” Odin says, carrying on the joke and slapping me on the ass.

“Oh,” says John, awkward as ever. They attempt at nicely excusing themselves from our conversation, turning around in line until it’s their turn to check in.

We’re up next. Odin tells the clerk we’d like two tickets to Los Angeles.

“I can put you on flight 750, leaves in one hour, has a layover in Denver. You’ll arrive at LAX at 7am. I have two empty seats but they are not adjoining, is that okay?” she asks.

“How about first class?” Odin asks the clerk, and her demeanor changes quickly.

“Let me check on that, sir,” she says, speed typing on her computer. “I have two adjoining seats in first class on flight 811. Nonstop to Lax, arriving at 3:10am. Cost per ticket is $1,078,” she says looking up at us with a gleaming smile.

“We’ll take it!” Odin smiles, pulling a credit card from his pocket. I gape at him.

“Really?” I ask almost in disbelief.

“It was a nice van,” he comments with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll just need some identification,” says the clerk promptly. We each hand her our California I.D. and she prints us tickets and checks our bags for free. “Flight leaves in two hours. Feel free to take advantage of our first class lounge.”

“Thank you,” Odin says, taking our tickets and our identification cards off the table.

“Have a wonderful afternoon, Mr. Swift,” she says.

Swift?
I guess I’d never heard his last name before. Odin and I make our way to the elevator and up to the security checkpoint. Odin hands me my ticket and ID to get through the gate.

“Delilah Marie Winter,” he says eying my card.

“That’s me!” I say cheerily.

“I figured you for a Mosley. I guess I’m not surprised.” His remark leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“You can really be a jerk,” I say with a big smile, like I’m stating a fact more so then being offended. I then gingerly turn and begin walking ahead of him.

“So I have been told,” he says behind me.

I’m not sure whether to roll my eyes, or smile.

We get through security with no problems. We are directed toward the first class lounge where we each enjoy a complementary drink from the bar and free Wi-Fi. We laugh about the joke we played on the couple downstairs. We have a few more drinks waiting for our flight to be called, and by the time it does, I am soused. We are last to board the plane with the other first class passengers. Our seats are large, and Odin has plenty of legroom. We each get our own small TV screen and the stewardess comes to ask if we need anything before the flight leaves the gate.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” Odin says flipping through the drink menu.

“Vodka and orange juice please,” I ask politely. I hope the alcohol mixed with the altitude doesn’t make me nauseous.

We take off from Chicago and I watch out my window as the things on the ground get smaller and smaller. Both of us are perhaps a bit more friendly and giddy than normal once we’ve had another drink on the plane. We joke about Kelli and other members back home. Our flight is smooth and the mood is overall light. There’s never any mention of the moment we shared on the way to Chicago. I fall asleep for an hour or so before the pilot comes on the intercom and advises the flight attendants to prepare for landing. After our safe touchdown to the ground, they announce the local time to be 3:30am.

“Noah is here to pick us up,” Odin says, checking his phone as we pull into the terminal.

“Cool.” I had wondered how we’d get home from here exactly. I have had a nap but I’m still totally exhausted, and rather tipsy.

We are some of the first to be let off the plane and my purple suitcase is waiting for me just outside the terminal door. First class has its perks!

Noah picks us up curbside. Leaving the car running, he gets out to help us with the bags. He greets Odin with a one-armed hug and me the same. It’s only a quarter after three in the morning, but Noah is wearing gray plaid shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt. It’s so much warmer here then it was in Chicago. I shrug out of my sweater before getting into the truck. I doze off again on the ride home, trying not to think about the fact that I’m going home to Jaime, who I haven’t heard from since I left.

I’m relieved when we pull up around 4am and he’s not home. If he does have a whore on the side, he’s at least smart enough not to bring her here. Noah waits in the car while Odin helps me inside with my bags. The house looks better, but it’s still in embarrassing shape to me. At least I have kept my bedroom organized.

“Some things still need to be sorted out between Felix and the Chicago crew. Felix should have our money ready to take home Friday,” Odin says, leaning in my bedroom doorway.

“Sounds good,” I say, setting down my purse and sitting on the foot of my bed facing Odin. His body mass fills most of the doorway and in my drunken mind I think how nice it would be if he’d just stay there and deal with Jaime when he comes home. A silly drunken grin spreads across my face.

“What?” Odin asks smiling down at me.

“Nothing!”
Trust me you don’t want to know.

“Suuure…” He’s obviously not buying it. He lingers in the doorway a while longer. In a perfect world, Jaime Mosley would be married to some dumb whore, and I’d be asking Odin into my bed right now. But this is my world, and it’s anything but perfect.

“See you Friday?” I shoo him politely.

“Until Friday, Miss Winter. Or should I say, Mrs. Swift?” he says, playing off the joke we pulled on the overly touchy couple in the airport.

His voice is too serious for me to laugh. Instead I my roll eyes in a sarcastic gesture. He stands there looking down at me with what I presume is a drunken twinkle in his eye for another moment, but then he lets himself out. I fall back onto the bed and in minutes, I’m dead to the world.

Chapter 7
Beach Day

I wake up in the morning if you can call it that, I roll over and check my phone but I haven’t missed anything, other than the first half of the day. It’s 2:00pm. I stretch as I lift myself off the bed. My hair falls in a mess over my face and I stammer off to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and am happy to see that despite just waking up, I look like a million bucks, with my hair in nice full curls all around my face. I brush my teeth and head out to the kitchen for coffee. I can hear Jaime in the garage working out. I wonder what he took to be so pumped up.

Erica and the kids are gone, to which I owe the pleasure of sleeping in. I take a glance around the kitchen and there are dishes everywhere. I don’t think Erica has done them since she moved in. It’s been way more of a burden having her here than I had bargained for, but it’s not like I have a choice. She’s family. All the kids’ bedding is sprawled throughout the living room. I try not to let it get to me while I finish my coffee. When I do, I add my mug to the pile and head back in my bedroom. I really just want to go back to bed, but I need to get dressed. I change into my jeans and an Iron Maiden t-shirt and pull my hair back into a messy bun. I put my headphones on and head back to the kitchen to begin cleaning up after everyone.

Rihanna sings about whips and chains in my ear as I’m washing up the dishes, and I can’t help but think of Odin and giggle on the inside. I have no idea why, but it puts a smile on my face and helps me distract myself from how angry I am that I’m doing an army’s worth of dishes after working all weekend. I get a beat in my ear and a rhythm in my feet when I clean and then I’m an unstoppable force. I clean the stove and the counters then move onto the living room. I move about folding blankets, bringing the plates and cups in from the coffee table, picking up all the toys and shoes and putting them away.

Then Jaime walks in from the garage and I pull my headphones down around my neck. He can tell I’m cleaning and he tries to avoid me.

Oh no you don’t.
“Hey, babe, will you get the vacuum out of the closet and vacuum the floors?”

He sighs at my request, irritated. “Yeah, sure. I’m not trying to get anything else done today,” he hisses under his breath.

“Maybe you need to have a sit down with your sister and ask her to clean up after herself so we don’t have to.”

“This mess isn’t just hers, babe,” he says defending Erica as he rips the vacuum out from the hall closet.

“No, but she lives here. You would think she could at least pick up after herself.” We instantly start arguing.

“What do you want me to do, Lila? Throw my sister and her kids out on the fucking street?”

“No! I just said if you don’t like cleaning up after them, maybe you should talk to her about her mess making habits! I don’t know why you always spin everything I say and turn me into a bitch!”

He slams through the dining room irritated that he’s been stuck with the task of vacuuming.

“If that’s how you’re going to act, I will just do it myself,” I say, already not wanting to deal with his shit. Truthfully, it would have been easier to just do it myself, I just don’t think I should have to.

“I got it!” he yells back at me.

“Clearly you don’t get it. You’re throwing a fit about it.” I’m feeding the fire by trying to defend myself. I feel like I’m a big part of the reason mine and Jaime’s fights get so ugly. Neither of us wants to back down. We just go at each other until one of us snaps and hits the other. Then it’s a full on fight, one that I usually lose.

Jaime tosses chairs out from the table to vacuum underneath it. They screech across the floor and one hits the wall with a loud thud. He must be on something to be this agitated over vacuuming.

I walk over to the vacuum plug and pull it. “Never mind! I will get it, just get out of my way.” Throwing my hands in the air I agree to do it myself like I should have in the first place.

“Fucking turn it back on!” he yells.

“No! I’m not gonna let you destroy the fucking house because you’re mad about vacuuming. Just go back to the garage and I’ll do it myself!” I’m raising my voice, but trying to avoid an argument.

But Jaime clearly doesn’t want to let it go. “Turn it bac—”

I put my headphones back on before he has a chance to finish. I hear a loud crash behind me and then the door to the garage slams shut. I turn around to see that he has shattered my vase full of glass flowers all over the table and floor.
Seriously?
My mom gave me those flowers.

My blood boils!
Now what? Do I just clean it up and keep going? Fuck that!
I’m out of here.

I run back to our room to put real shoes on then grab my purse off my dresser and throw my phone and some cash into it. I stop in the mirror to wipe yesterday’s eyeliner out from under my eyes, pull my hair back down, and rush back out to the living room. Jaime’s truck is gone and so is he. Since I have no reason to fear retaliation, I stop by the kitchen and I get his Harley Davidson mugs from the dish drainer. They’re still dripping. I take one of them in each hand for a moment, thinking about his attitude. Then I hurl them at the floor, and they shatter instantly against the tile.

Really Lila? Do you feel better now?
The voice of my mother in my head has her arms folded and is looking at me with one eyebrow raised.

Yes, I do!
My inner teenager says back with a grin that reaches my face. I get into my car and it’s not till I’m on the main road that I realize I have no idea where I’m going. I wouldn’t want to run into Jaime anywhere and I know Kelli is working or I would call her to complain. I decide to head to the beach to smoke a bowl in solitude. In fact, if I’m not mistaking, my beach bag is in the trunk still. There’s a towel and most likely a musty, possibly still wet bathing suit in there, plus some snacks and water. Perfect!

There are not a lot of people down on the beach either. I pick a spot close to the water and spread my towel down. The suit wrapped inside it is dry but smells of mildew. I roll my jeans up my legs and take the suit to the water and try to rinse it out. I lay it out in the sun and get back to my towel.

On the inside I’m still brooding about mine and Jaime’s fight, but it’s hard to be too mad when I’m lying on the sand in the sun at the beach on a hot day like this. I pack a bowl and make sure no one is too close to me to really see what I’m doing, not that I really give a shit. One glorious hit after another I watch the waves break. I empty my ashes into the sand and pack another. I should have stopped for alcohol. I could have spent the whole day here and driven home in a drunken rage later. Oh, wait no, that’s what Jaime does, not me. Why does he always give me a load of shit anytime I ask for help with anything? Yet if I so much as mention my reservations about doing his work without him, I’m a bitch that’s just trying to hit him in the balls. This whole situation is so fucked up.

After another bowl, reason begins to break its two cents through to my inner angry teenager who has been ranting since the incident. I wonder who will make it home first, Erica or Jaime. If Erica comes home first she’ll probably clean up the mess and Jaime will never know about it. But then maybe it would be good for her to see that her presence is causing us issues. Maybe it will push her to figure her shit out.

Devil’s Cut

Odin and Cole are sitting at a table having lunch at Charlie’s Steak and Hoagie. Cole has never been a fan of Jaime, which was a feeling Odin was beginning to adopt more and more these days. Cole had asked Odin out to lunch to see how working with Lila had gone so far. Cole was surprised that Jaime was okay letting Lila run with Odin, nevertheless that he set it up himself. In Cole’s opinion, it was a move made from desperation.

“She’s cool, man. It’s been way better than I had expected. I figured she’d either talk too much, like most chicks, or be awkward and quiet. But she’s chill and she is a good driver. Keeps a low profile,” Odin tells Cole, tossing fries into his mouth.

“Cool, cool. Keeping it all professional?”

Odin smiles. “I mean, I’d like to take it past being professional with her. She’s hot. I’d love to tap that. But she’s married to Jaime. Even if she wasn’t, I don’t know if she could handle the lifestyle.”

Cole knows exactly what lifestyle Odin is talking about and smiles a ‘you-never-know’ smile. “Still, letting his wife do all his work and take all his risk is a bitch move. Wouldn’t surprise me if she was seeing someone on the side, looking for a real man. No real man lets his woman take that kind of heat,” Cole voices his opinion strongly.

“Nah, she’s not like that. She’s loyal, despite the bullshit. I respect that. But if she was mine, I would never let her run. She says she enjoys it, she’s pretty good at it, a real confident driver, doesn’t get nervous.”

Odin finishes his lunch and tosses his trash.

“I got some parts in my truck, Dad asked me to run them by Jaime’s house. Would you mind taking them for me?” Cole asks slurping the last of his coke through his straw.

“Sure,” Odin agrees, and Cole helps him load the crate into the back Of Odin’s truck.

Odin takes the back roads to Jaime’s. When he pulls up, there are no cars out front and the garage is shut. He walks up to the porch, crate in hand and knocks, but there’s no answer. He walks back down the porch and around the house to the side gate. Reaching a hand over, he unlocks it, thinking the crate should be safe in the side yard. Once inside the gate, he’s facing the kitchen window, and can’t help but notice the broken glass splayed on the dining table. He puts the crate down hurrying over to the window. With his hands up to the glass, he peers inside, seeing more broken glass on the floor. The dining chairs are thrown about, and one of them is on its back, clear signs of a struggle.

Odin’s heart races. Having suffered more than his fair share of physical abuse from his father, he knows what it’s like to be terrorized, and feel trapped, scared and helpless. A sick feeling of fear creeps up his spine, afraid that Lila has been hurt. Odin knows how Jaime can be fueled by rage, and by the looks of the kitchen, there was definitely a fight here.

Odin reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell. His heart is beating fast as he dials Lila’s number.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Lila, its Odin. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She sounds confused, and relief washes through Odin’s mind.

“Where are you?”

“At the beach.” She doesn’t seem upset.

“What beach?”

“Mussel Shoals. Why?”

“Is Jaime with you?”

“No.”

“Care for some company?”

“Sure?” she says uncertainly.

“I’m on my way.”

“From where?”

“Your house.”

“Oh,” she says, with disappointment in her voice.

“See you soon.” It’s only now that his nerves have calmed that Odin realizes how much he cares about Lila. Something about her screams innocence. She’s caught up in the club and all its bullshit, Jaime, the running, the partying. This life is going to break her if she doesn’t find a way out.

*           *           *

I’m sitting on the beach still stunned when I hear Odin hang up.
Shit.
He must have seen the mess in the kitchen.
What was he doing there?

I shouldn’t be hanging out with Odin, not after the fight Jaime and I had after Odin and I went to breakfast. But I hate being alone, and Kelli is working. At this point any company is good company. And while I don’t need to give Jaime any more reason to fight with me, I could care less what he thinks.

I pull my swim suit on, then I head out for a dip. I see Odin walking down the sand, eying everyone in search of me. I wave my arm in the air as I make my way back to the shore. He spots me and waves back. I adjust my suit before exiting waist deep water, and saunter through the shallows as I make my way to my towel.

“Are you alright?” he asks me, his eyes filled with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I pretend like I have no idea what he’s talking about.

But before I can say anything else he notes, “Your kitchen is a wreck!”

Oh my God this is so embarrassing. “Err, yeah,” I say biting my lip. I’m glad my wet hair is hiding half of my face, as I’m surely blushing.

If he were Kelli, I’d hardly wait to tell him all about it. But he’s not my best friend. In fact, he’s Jaime’s friend. Odin and I have bonded, but I still feel that it’s totally inappropriate to lay my marital problems on his feet. I’m embarrassed to admit I married an asshole and that I’m such a pushover. I just hate people knowing that after barely two years my marriage is such a disaster. I always feel like it’s somehow my fault.

“Lila,” he says, catching my attention.

I look up to meet his gaze.

His eyes glow an angry shade of blue. “Did he hit you?”

I’m glad he didn’t, because Odin’s voice is so intimidating, I don’t think I could lie if I wanted to, not that he has any right to be asking. “What? No!” I say, trying to sound outraged, as though it’s never happened before.

“Okay,” he says, raising his hands in the defensive position.

I wonder what difference it would make. What would he do, confront Jaime? It’s not like the members of the club get into fights over how they treat their women. I know lots of members who hit their wives. I just hoped it would never be Jaime and me.

“What happened then?”

“Nothing, we just got into an argument about vacuuming and he broke my vase and left. I was pissed, so I broke his cups and decided to take the rest of the day off here at the beach!” It really is that simple, silly as it sounds. And yet it seemed like so much more than that. I was brooding over it just moments ago.

“Shit,” he says rolling his eyes, clearly feeling stupid for thinking it was much worse. “I thought,” he stops. I know exactly what he thought, and I avoid talking about it.

“Don’t you and your girlfriend ever fight?” I ask, taking myself off the spot.

“I told you, Samantha is not my girlfriend. And no, arguing with me is a strict violation of our agreement.”