Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series) Persephone Autumn (black authors fiction TXT) 📖

Music blares from the speakers, masking the silence between us. Micah has no comprehension of what I am going through. My inner turmoil. A waging war roaring inside me. One side says I should head back to California when this shoot ends, leave her behind and allow her to resume the life she has built without me. The other side screams at me to return to California, sell my shit, strategize my future gigs and return to Cora’s side. Sensible versus senseless.

The decision is one only I can make, but I was hoping for some form of support. Maybe some strong words of advice. Or just some if I were in your shoes talk. And unfortunately for me, Micah is no help whatsoever.

“And now, someone else is trying to step up to the plate,” Micah states over the music. He states the obvious and my blood runs cold. I shiver at the thought of Cora being with someone. Someone who isn’t me. Yes, I am a selfish ass for even thinking that way. But I left my heart with her all those years ago. I refuse to let an outsider stomp his steel-toes on it and whisk away my girl.

He steers the car into a parking lot, finding a spot amongst the crowd. We step out of the car and head for the entrance. Music blares loud and obnoxious every time the doors swing open. As we climb the few steps, I slap the back of his shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me out tonight. And thanks for listening.”

“I’d be a dick if I didn’t.”

The whole situation with me and Cora is the furthest thing from what Micah wants to discuss, but he has always been a good friend. If anything, he probably just wants us to get things figured out—whichever way it turns out—and be done with all this back and forth shit.

We walk through the doors and the music hits me like a wall. Micah gestures to the bar when he steps up to the hostess stand and she signals us to head over. Both of us park on a stool and order a beer when the bartender comes over. After she deposits them in front of us, we each take a sip before sparking more conversation.

Micah and I catch up on life, avoiding all subject matter that could lead to Cora. He relays how the nightclub he manages is going. I suggest he brings me out there before I leave. He talks about an older woman, Rochelle, he dated for a little over a year. How serious his and Rochelle’s relationship was until he found her fucking another guy. A guy ten years younger than Micah, and twenty-three years younger than Rochelle. Many heated words were exchanged between the two of them, but Micah said he would never be able to trust her again.

Since the relationship with Rochelle, Micah hasn’t committed to anyone. He no longer sees the value in devoting yourself to one person. In his words, “setting yourself up for pain and heartbreak.” Now, over the last year since they broke up, he is a proud manwhore. And when he tells me this, a pang of guilt hits me over the manwhore moments I have had myself.

Because over the last thirteen years, I have never wanted a relationship with anyone other than Cora. Although, I have gone on dates. Fucked a sea of women. Never once feeling guilt over suppressing the loneliness inside me. But now that I am back here. Now that I am within proximity of her. Everything is changing.

Micah prattles on about themed nights they do at the club, and I zone out while my eyes wander around the bar. The place is packed, which isn’t abnormal for a Friday night anywhere. Bodies dancing on a makeshift dance floor. Tall tabletops littered with brown bottles, fried foods, and pint glassware. Horrible, screechy voices up on an eight-by-eight stage attempting to sing lyrics on a prompter. No matter where you are in the States, bars are bars. The only thing different is the accents and clothing.

As I make a final visual circuit of the bar, I freeze when I hit a tabletop close to the corner of the room.

Rage gushes in my bloodstream. My heart bashing against my ribcage like a boxer to a punching bag. Everything inside me molten lava and I am ready to beat the shit out of someone. Specifically, the brown-haired motherfucker touching my girl.

I kick back the stool, hitting the person behind me and causing Micah’s head to swing my way. “Dude, you okay?” he asks.

My eyes fix across the room, hands balled into fists at my sides, breath heaving in my chest. Micah touches my arm and I flinch at the contact. When I don’t answer him, he follows my line of sight and mutters fuck me under his breath.

“Let’s just go, man. They’re friends.”

I hear his words, but can’t take my eyes off his hand on her thigh. Friends, my ass. They may be friends, but he definitely wants to be more than her friend. And I am not having it.

Yanking my wallet out, I drop a twenty on the bar and storm off, half my beer forgotten. As I weave my way through the crowded bar, I hear Micah yelling for me, telling me to just leave it alone. But there is no chance in hell I am walking out of here and ignoring the two of them together. No fucking way.

I am ten feet and three bodies away from them when Cora looks up, her eyes going wide and her body scooting off the stool. She reaches me before I can get close enough to the table. Close enough to beat the shit out of this guy.

“Gavin!” she yells at me over the music. My eyes lock on his, and the self-assured smile he throws at me has me trying to push Cora aside. But her hand comes to my face