Mess Me Up
Page 28

He blinked in confusion. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want him to lose everything,” I whispered. “Because when he gets out in a couple of years, I want him to have a place to go. Somewhere that isn’t tainted by my parents—who tried to take over the payments on it so that Slate would owe them. This way, if I cover it, when Slate gets out, he doesn’t owe them a goddamn thing.”
His eyes were intense on me.
“Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to drive,” he muttered. “And today we’ll do whatever you want to do. I don’t have anything going on that’s important.”
I looked down at my hands.
“You’re a good man, Rome,” I whispered. “Whether you think so or not, you’re a good man to me.”
He stood up then, drawing me up off the arm of the couch and wrapping his arms around me until I was plastered to him. “You were a good woman, first. Trust me when I say that I haven’t always been a good man. It was only when you came along that I pulled my head out of my ass.”
I looked up into his eyes, craning my neck almost as far back as it could go, and realized that this man was it for me.
He was my one.
All these years I’d been handed disappointment after disappointment, and I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I couldn’t see that life would ever get better.
But then Rome happened, and it was getting to the point where I didn’t think I could live without him.
This thing we had happened fast. So much faster than it probably would have had our situation been different.
However, what we had was right. It was good. It was mine, and I would fight for it no matter what. Seeing the look on Rome’s face as he stared down at me, I knew that I’d never be able to walk away from him.
“Where are we going?” he asked, lifting his hand to push one of my curls out of my face.
I swallowed at the sweet act and said, “To Shreveport.”
He didn’t ask questions, and I was glad that he didn’t.
Instead, he let me go after a quick peck on the lips and then went to get his socks and shoes on.
Ten minutes later, we were in his truck driving down the interstate.
Forty-five minutes after that, we arrived at the man’s house that I was buying my item from.
“What is this, a tattoo parlor?” he questioned, looking around the area with an eye that clearly said he was ready to defend me from harm at a moment’s notice.
“Um, no.” I shook my head. “It’s something…else.”
Tugging on his hand, I led him to the door.
I could feel his hesitancy as we made our way up the uneven, broken concrete walkway that had weeds growing through the cracks. Rome did not like this place at all, and it showed in every aspect of his body language.
His shoulders were stiff, and his eyes were constantly scanning the area. His mouth was set in a firm line, and the hand holding mine was hanging on a little too tight. Not because he was scared for himself, but he was scared for me.
“Izzy…” he started.
I pulled free of his hold and knocked on the door. Rome cursed up a soft blue streak.
“Izzy, seriously, this isn’t…”
A teenager answered the door, and the smile on his face clearly conveyed his excitement.
“Ms. Izzy!”
Rome’s voice halted mid-reprimand, and I turned to him and gazed at his now-curious eyes.
They said, ‘what did you do?’
I turned with a smile tugging at my lips and said, “Chaz! We made it!”
Chaz, the boy I’d been talking to over the last week, not to mention FaceTiming with to make sure that I made the right choice, pumped his fist.
“And is this your man?” Chaz asked just as excitedly.
Rome was wearing his MC vest and had his scowl firmly in place.
There really was no smiling when Rome was in public, at least not unless I was the only one around.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “He’s who we’re getting him for.”
“Chaz rescues box tortoises,” I said softly. “I don’t know how I ended up looking at his page, really. It all started when I read a story about tortoises crossing the road, and someone explaining that a tortoise lives within a square mile area, and if you move them too far out of that area, you put them at risk of never finding their way back home again. Anyway, long story short, Chaz here was commenting on the thread about the tortoise, answering the questions people had, and I noticed his name. Chadwick Box Tortoise Rescues. I clicked on his link because I was curious at first. I remember Matias mentioning a box tortoise.” I didn’t expound on the day. He knew the day just as well as I did, as well as the exact moment.
He’d told me the story in a letter that he’d written only hours after the conversation.
Yet I didn’t want to remind him of what I’d kept from him.
Instead, I just explained the tortoise’s story.
I was too scared to look at Rome, so I kept my eyes on Blitz’s cage, where he munched happily on a piece of lettuce.
“Chaz, you want to tell him about Blitz?” I asked hopefully.
If I told the story, I’d probably break down in hysterics.
It was just too close to home for me.
“Sure, Izzy.” He grinned. “Blitz came to me via courier. Apparently, I’d made such a name for myself that I was left Blitz in a kid’s will.”
I felt Rome stiffen next to me.
“Blitz was owned by a fifteen-year-old who passed away from cancer about a month and a half ago,” Chaz started, unaware of the spiral of grief that Rome was currently dealing with. “His mother sent Blitz to me when her son passed away, as per his wishes. I was sent a letter from Blitz’s owner, Seguin, asking me to make sure I found the perfect owners for Blitz. I was given three requirements. One, the new owner had to be a male. Two, the new owner had to like football. Three, the new owner had to be willing to sign a contract with me agreeing to follow the care instructions and if anything happens and Blitz cannot be cared for by you, Blitz would return to me for rehoming.”
Silence. Deathly so.
I chanced a look at Rome and wished I hadn’t.
Rome looked like I’d taken a bat to his stomach and beat him with it repeatedly.
“And then there’s this last letter.” Chaz held it out to Rome.
Rome looked at it like it was a ticking bomb, but ultimately reached out and took it with graceful swiftness.
He didn’t hesitate to open it.
His eyes quickly scanned the page, his shoulders drooping with each line he read.
By the time he handed it over to me, I thought he was on the verge of tears.
When I read the letter, I knew why.
Dear Blitz’s New Owner,
If you’re reading this, it means that the cancer won. I knew with this last round that I likely wasn’t going to make it. I’m not sure how I knew, it was just a gut feeling since the outlook on my recovery was fairly high.
I’ll start with how I came to own Blitz.
He was my grandfather’s tortoise, and the tortoise was handed down through each male generation in our family—or was supposed to be at least. I guess now that stops with me since I’m fifteen, and, well, I won’t be having any kids.
Anyway, back on topic, my mom is a single parent. When I got Blitz, it was with the understanding that I would work to put food on the table for Blitz. However, now that I know that I’m not going to make it, I want to find him a proper home with a man who will enjoy seeing him as much as I did.
I know Blitz isn’t the ideal pet, but I also realize that you’ve done your homework if you’re the person that Chaz has chosen, so I hope that you come to care for him like I do.
He’s named after one of my grandpa’s favorite plays in football—which is also my favorite sport.
If it’s at all possible, once you get Blitz at home and settled, would you take the time to send my mom an update on Blitz, tell her how he’s doing?
I know she’ll appreciate it.
I’ve listed her contact details on the back of this letter, as well as everything I know about Blitz and how he came to be.
Take care of my heart, I’ve left it with you.