Aaahh, yes... It's been a while, and I... I have no excuse whatsoever, other than, I was really tired and confused at the same time...

So, I needed some time! (Is this what writer's block feels like? Cause, damn... it was... hard... and confusing.)

And like... can we talk about this title? I spent another half an hour on deciding that.

I know where the book is headed, but, damn, this chapter was a whole thing... A lot of things need to happen, for the other things to come to fruition... So, I was really stressed, since I needed all these things to make sense for first, before you guys could have a taste...

Thankfully, for all of us, a friend, a very, really, really good , pushed me in the right direction of finally getting this chapter out there!

So, yeah... you should! Cause she's ! <3 (agkape, I'm talking about you!)

That being said, I think we have it now!! ^_^

At least, I think? :'D

Never mind, don't let my babbling bother you... Enjoy this chapter, and be ready for the rest to come your way! 

~ Yours, Dear J

It wasn't obvious to everyone, but truth was, I was avoiding Jax.

I took Brandon's story as it was. A chapter in his life he half-closed ten years ago.

But Jax knew him and pretended he didn't. I wasn't expecting him to tell me everything from the get-go, but a heads up would've been nice.

I didn't know what I was expecting. Obviously not something like: Don't cause him too much pain, because he could...

He could, what?

What could happen, really, if the pain pushed him deep enough to desire the same remedy?

Was I being unreasonable?

Probably.

All I wanted was a warning.

I knew I was rather overdramatic. But at the same time, I blamed him; the sixteen-year-old Brandon.

I blamed Jax and James and pops.

I blamed everyone!

I blamed his sisters, his friends... I blamed his mother, for leaving a young, hurt teenage boy carry the weight of the world on his shoulders until he almost killed himself.

I had no right, but I blamed her the most.

She was watching me, reading the emotions on my face. It was a known fact, that I wore my emotions on my face, on display for the world to see. And she wasn't happy to find me in his life.

I also blamed myself, because when I first met him, I didn't have the brains to ask him about any past medical admissions to the hospital. I didn't ask him if he ever abused substances.

I just assumed he was this perfect man in front of me, covered in scars that carried a different story, forgetting he's only human.

Dr. Marshall knew; he told me on one of our meetings during these last few days. It was the reason he was so watchful and prepared. He knew Brandon would probably lie, anyway.

It was towards the end of another shift when Jaxon spotted me. It took him just a couple of angry strides to catch up to me, after I walked out of Dr. Marshall's office. It was another fruitless meeting, where I was impatiently awaiting any update concerning the new 'project' I took upon myself.

"He told you!" he stated, his hand grasping my forearm, ceasing my escape.

"About the illegal street fights? About the drugs? About you finding him overdosed, dying?" I jerked my hand away, meeting his eyes with equal annoyance. "Yes! Yes, he did."

"Look, Erika, it wasn't my place, okay? I told you why he hates me. That was part of my past, but I couldn't tell you his. That part belongs to him."

With a deep sigh, I continued down to the ER. I was paged along with Stella, to stich up two teenage boys who got caught up in a heated argument.

Jax had a point. It wasn't right going around spewing Brandon's past. I was more than grateful he trusted me with that part about his life. Having someone else narrate Brandon's life wasn't what I wanted either.

But still...

"How are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" I asked with a scoff.

"You scared of him?"

"Him? No. But I'm scared shitless of his world."

"Look, if-"

"Jax! I have to go..."

"Ricci, don't do this."

"I have no shift on the weekend, so I guess... I'll see you on Monday?"

I felt a pang of guilt taking my heart hostage when I saw the look on his face.

"You'll see me tonight, Ricci," he corrected me just before the elevator doors separated us.

I raised my head, only to be met with my surprised reflection in the mirror of the elevator doors. It left my mind completely, but tonight was the MMA Gala everyone was expecting, ever since Brandon made it into the league for this season.

Rubbing my face with my hands I groaned, inhaling the disinfectant infused into my hands for the duration of the elevator ride down to the ER.

It should've been obvious, but damn it, I wasn't mentally prepared for something like this. Especially with everything going on.

To top it off, I haven't seen Brandon himself since he left me at the hospital, Sunday night. Work had caught up to us after our weekend together, and we had to face the harsh reality of being adults with jobs and secret hobbies, sooner than later.

I missed him.

I needed to feel his warmth and his presence to ease my mind more than anything.

I hated the hell he was going through to find answers. He needed to make things right for himself first, but I hated the danger surrounding him constantly.

I'd be there for him, though. Every step of the way.

The harsher, bitter scent of alcohol and potent disinfectant hit my nostrils; I had arrived at the ER. Pulling my head out of the clouds, I walked through the floor, when I found Stella waiting for me.

"You can have the brow. I'll take this one to get a hand X-ray." She motioned with her head towards the teenage patient, still in the middle of an argument with his young friend left behind.

"The brow?" I asked, taking in the chaos around me.

It was ironic, but hospitals still felt cold to me. Nondescript corridors, intimidating medical equipment, and a palpable tension between life and death. Although this anxiety was muted long ago, the ER still seemed like a cold, unwelcome environment.

A cacophonous circus, where babies cried, adults writhed in agony, spouses worried, and teenagers complained, while others visibly grimaced and bared the pain. A drawn-out, multistep process, inevitably extending a patient's stay and feeding into the chaos of the inefficient circle surrounding hospitals.

"Ah, ha!" I exclaimed when my eyes landed on the culprit.

Christopher Reed, fifteen, caught in a quarrel with his friend, that ended up being less friendly when it encompassed more fists and kicks.

At least that explained the split brow. And his disheveled appearance.

He needed a couple of stiches but seemed to be in a good general state. If the continuous banter with his friend was any indication, then I'd say he was more than well to go home. And, hopefully, get grounded.

After a quick check-up of the boy, I got down to work: first numbing, then sewing the wound. Ever since I was thrust into Brandon's world, I became quite acquainted with split eyebrows, so it was a piece of cake.

"So... what was that about?" I asked, trying to distract him from the needle piercing his skin, tying the last knot.

"We were just being stupid." He bit through the pain; hands clenched in fists by his side.

"Shut up, idiot. You know I'm right," spoke the other kid, the moment Stella brought him back. She was still waiting for X-rays, but in the meantime stepped away to contact their parents, since they were both underaged.

The two were exchanging death stares, and I held back a chuckle at their antics, until things took a turn for the worst.

"Just because your dad said so, doesn't mean it was the truth."

"Oh, come on. Everyone knows about The Guardian's history with drugs. Who says he hasn't been using now, as well?"

"Shut up."

"Maybe this time it's not just that. Maybe he's takin' enhancing drugs and steroids. Remember that athlete, who overdosed and lost his life?"

"Shut up. Shut up!"

"You bet your ass, Guardian's takin' the worst kind."

"God, damn it. I'm gonna kill you!" Christopher lashed out, knocking the material I was using to the floor, scattering threads, needles, and scissors all over the place. Before things got any worse, I took ahold of his wrist, snapping his attention away from his friend.

My mind was seething, but my expression was still calm, as I turned towards the other kid, when Stella joined us.

"Christopher, your parents are here," she said, and took him for a final check-up, before signing his papers.

"What's your name?" I asked, still furious.

"Taylor," he said, voice unsure.

He was so young. Bruises and fractured bones didn't belong on his body. Bloodied knuckles had no place, either. He easily reminded me of a younger version of Brandon. A version I only ever saw in photographs. A version I didn't know but felt inclined to protect.

"Taylor, do you know how much trouble you'll get yourself into, saying things like that? Without proof?"

"Without proof? The guy punched the Lion 'til tomorrow. What more do you need?"

"You know..." I breathed in, my words nonchalant. "Defamation of character could be prosecuted by law. Do you think you could survive anything close to a juvenile center or correcting camp?"

I heard Brandon taking on a case about something similar, but truth was, I had no idea what I was talking about. Still, I hoped my words were enough to stir a teenager away from getting himself hurt.

Luckily, he didn't know either.

"Geez, mom. Fine." He turned to look for his friend, saying under his breath, "'m sorry," before his eyes met his parents' instead. "I'm not sayin' he didn't, but... I'll stop talkin' shit about 'im. Okay?" His eyes were pleading, just before his mom reached him.

My anger melted into a feeling of dejection, as she hugged him close to her. He was just a kid. Of course, he needed guidance and comfort.

This world was too cruel for anyone walking into it, oblivious to all the threats, sharp claws and strict eyes following you around, always out to get you.

The irony...

"Hey, chica? You good?" Stella asked on our drive back home.

A rough sigh left my lips; the only answer she needed.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Kinda?"

She didn't ask about what the boys were talking about, but I knew she heard of the theories and stories before. Still, she never pressured me about anything surrounding his figure.

Brandon's story was his to tell. But I had to tell her at least some things before I went crazy.

I told her about his father's accident and the drugs, his overdose and rehab. I kept out the details about the threats, the secrets behind his injuries and why he was cornered into returning to the ring. In my best efforts not to overshare, I told her what everyone already knew, or at least suspected, by the time we reached the comfort of our apartment.

"Wow!" was her response after a few moments of pure silence.

"Yeah..."

"That's... a lot," she said, her hand rubbing the side of her neck.

The stillness was comfortable, what my mind needed, as we shared the same pillow of my bed.

"There were rumors about him... Markus told me bits and pieces. He must have a killer-defense team if all this was kept under wraps for so long." She was scratching her chin, deep in thought. "We didn't know about juvie. He always wondered how he disappeared off the face of the earth for an entire year."

She turned to me, her eyes calculating as always. "There's more, isn't there?"

She knew me so well.

I told her about Viviana; her words still haunting me.

"That bitch!" Her exasperation was refreshing, bringing a smile to my face. It shouldn't come as a surprise, but this, her raw reaction, was all I needed to feel like myself again.

I felt better after talking to her. Somehow the worries were tucked neatly at the back of my mind, and I finally managed to relax.

There was a shift in the still environment, a smile appearing on her face full of mischief and bad intentions. I should have expected it, but her words brought a new wave of warmth, coloring my cheeks the deepest color of pink possible, as she nudged my shoulder with hers.

"You fucked!"

"What?" I sat upright, alarmed.

"You had sex with him." Her words were easy, like breathing.

It wasn't a question.

All the facts were right there in front of her.

"And it must have been good, too." Her eyes narrowed to slits, as she emphasized her words by pressing a finger down on a fading bruise on my collarbone.

"Hey, stop that!"

She was already chuckling, more than happy with her discovery.

"So how was it?" she asked once she calmed down from her giggles.

"We are not talking about this!"

"Oh, come on. My best friend would never keep something from me."

She was fucking pouting.

"Fine... it was... it was good." Was I honestly doing this? "It was more than good, actually."

My cheeks flushed a warmer color, as I thought of him; his touch against my skin, teasing words spoken hoarsely against the shell of my ear, as he took me to highs I never experienced before.

I wanted him. I needed him like my breath. And these past few days of not having him by my side left me breathless and more irritated than before.

He spoke of his past addiction, trying to describe what it felt like to crave that high and be pained after the effects wore off.

I knew my understanding would never come close to his experience. But being deprived of Brandon after having a taste, felt like my addiction.

I didn't kiss and tell, and I'd be dead before she got more out of me. But she knew from my reaction, that I was happy. Needy, but happy.

It was between easy talking and light giggles, that we got ourselves dressed for the night. Stella seemed more excited at the prospect of another party with free drinks, but I'd be a lie, if I said I wasn't excited myself. Not really about the party per say, but about finally spending more time with him.

My blood was boiling, and I couldn't sit still for a second. I wanted to feel his touch, lose myself in his warmth, because only then did I feel truly at home.

If only things were as simple as that...

"Seriously, calm down," my brother said, his hand clenched around the drink he was holding.

The blue lights and the rich music surrounding us were not comforting anymore. Rather, they seemed more ominous than when we entered the Venue.

And Markus wasn't wrong.

Trying to concentrate on one thing, my hands kept playing with the slit of my dark emerald dress. The silk felt light against my touch, but I wasn't being fair to its quality, as I tugged on it repeatedly.

I was on edge.

It was always like this. While I was at home, I felt sexy and beautiful and ready to face the world; Stella's cocktails helped as well. But now, I felt uncomfortable, and couldn't stop from questioning myself.

Not just because of my attire, but everything.

Stupid wardrobe malfunctions couldn't compare to a certain rumor that had started stirring the masses.

And everyone was on edge about one thing:

Was Brandon A. King, MMA Champion who newly returned to the ring, consuming drugs?

Of course, said rumor hadn't yet gotten large enough, but it wouldn't be long before it spread like wildfire. Rumors like this were like birthday cake to the media, and I couldn't begin to imagine, the different ways they could blow things out of proportion.

On top of that, I went behind his back, deciding it was wise to take on a line of criminals associated with human trafficking, all by myself. Dr. Marshall was guiding me in my pursue, and Savi seemed to know more than enough to help, but I couldn't help but feel like a small fish in uncertain waters, surrounded by wild sharks.

Sharks that were already surrounding us in this place.

Calm wasn't even on the menu tonight.

3,000-something words later, and I feel like this is getting out of control.

I had to cut this chapter 3 times. THREE f**ing times, because it kept getting longer and longer. (Blaming the chapter as if I'm not the one writing it.)

Anyhow...

: . (Worst case, on Sunday the 22nd.) Because your girl treasures you, and won't let you wait for longer.

Thank you for being here! I take nothing for granted.

~ Yours, Dear Joanna.