The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 3: 3

“Hey, Darling, are you almost here?” Natasha had a soft feminine voice that made her sound like a child most of the time, and he was hit with that pang of guilt at the fact he was doing this to her again.

“Hey, Tash. Look … I’m sorry, but I need to cancel our plans tonight. You go and meet everyone and enjoy dinner. I need to go deal with Sophie.” He waited with paused breath at the long silence which stretched between them, zero response as she took it in, and he could already picture the hurt expression on her face. Knowing that she was taking a moment to choose her words wisely and think about her reaction. Natasha was always someone who remained composed and liked to see everything from everyone’s perspective before flying off the handle. She was the picture of mature and refined, outwardly calm like him, and he guessed it’s why they got on so well. The complete opposite to Sophie, and usually why Sophie was the one to start major rows with her, pushing her buttons and making her snap, despite it going against Natasha’s nature.

“Again?” She inhaled desperately, no real anger in her even tone, only disappointment. He took a long slow breath, exhaling even more slowly, knowing that this wasn’t fair on her; it never was. Yet glad she was taking it well, despite bailing when he was supposed to be there already. Natasha had put up with so much in the past eighteen months that was causally related to Sophie.

“She’s a mess, and she’s alone at Randy’s bar. I can’t leave her there and I think it’s best if she comes back to my apartment tonight for a real talk. I can’t keep ignoring this.” He hated the second stretch of silence, knowing Natasha was seriously upset with him, but the anxiety concerning Sophie vulnerable out there far outweighed anything else.

“What good does talking do? She has been getting worse over the last year, and the last couple months she has had you run after her almost three nights a week, every week.” Natasha’s voice wobbled when she finally responded, and he knew the tears had started. He felt like shit for letting her down, but in this, he had made up his mind. He could see his friends and her another night when Sophie was safely back where she belonged, and nowhere near any form of danger.

“I haven’t actually sat her down alone in a long time and just tried … I need to do this my way. I’m worried about her, Tash, and I can’t just let her go on living like this.” The visual of Sophie crossed his mind and that same rise of anxiety that he was still stuck in traffic and not there yet. All he could picture was her big tear stained blue eyes and terrified face and he tapped his hand impatiently.

“Fine! You know you’ll do whatever you want anyway when it comes to her. Good luck, I guess. If you think it will make a difference then try, but we can’t keep on like this. I can’t keep on like this.” Natasha sniffed softly, no real anger; picturing her wiping her eyes, he frowned hard at the cab in front, willing it to move with more aggressive steering wheel tapping.

She was pissed at him, disappointed in ruining their night, but he knew she would get over it quickly. Deep down Natasha was a compassionate person, and in the end, she always agreed that he couldn’t leave Sophie to her own devices. Anytime the two women argued it had always been Sophie who sparked the girl-on-girl feud, and despite it all, Natasha just wanted to like her and get along for all their sakes. Natasha was a sweetheart and he knew she didn’t deserve this at all, she didn’t deserve the hard time Sophie always gave her.

“I know, and that’s partly the reason I need to do this. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow. Have a good night with Nate and the guys; wish Lydia a happy birthday for me.” Arrick growled at the Cab driver in the guy’s mirror, urging him to move now the lights had changed, and getting hostile as hell, rapping his fingers loudly. He heard her sigh, resigned to the fact that he wasn’t coming, and not really the kind of girl to have a go when at the heart of this was Arrick’s caring side, his loyalty for his friend. She couldn’t be angry at that, even if it did interfere with them.

“I love you, Arrick.” Natasha added hesitantly that tender affection she said often, and it tugged at his guilt, his chest aching a little, knowing she hated being mad at him and this was her way of saying she understood.

“You too, Tash. Now go. Tell me how it went tomorrow. I’ll hopefully get through to her and have something positive to tell you.” He glared harder at the car in front and resisted the urge to hit his horn. His feet were ready to ram the gas.

“Goodbye, honey,” she breathed gently, lingering.

“Bye, Tash,” he answered distractedly.

He hung up before she did, getting seriously pissed with the yellow car now, weaving in and out and making it impossible to pass. If it weren’t for this asshole, he would have been there minutes ago and already scooping her up and out of harm’s way. He slammed his horn angrily and sighed with relief when the car pulled into the side to let him pass.

Thank fuck!

***

Sophie Huntsberger NôvelDrama.Org exclusive content.

I drag myself heavily through the crowded club once more, everything moving and tipping like I’m at sea, disorientated and foggy, although I’m less drunk than I was. My phone is still glued to my ear, even though I seem to have lost Arrick and hear nothing but silence. Pulling my cell down to look at the blank screen I realize my battery has died and I just sigh in complete deflation. Fed up with how my life is turning out lately as nothing seems to go right anymore.

Taking a long deep breath to try to center myself into sobriety, my body sagging, drying my face halfheartedly with the back of my hand now that my tears have once again subsided, and my heart has resorted to numb emptiness. I don’t even care if my makeup is smeared or even cried off. Arrick has seen me worse so many times.

I let my cell drop in my hand, beside my body and hold it loosely, too disconnected to really feel anything but heavy fatigue from stupidly sobbing, swaying from being under the influence and bumping into things clumsily. I’m just empty and done, completely over my night and not caring that it isn’t even late enough to be bailing.

“Hey, sexy … wanna dance?” Some husky male voice assaults my senses as I try to fight my way through the heaving, dancing crowd, that is more like a sea of tar, shrugging by without a response and hoping he leaves me alone. He taps my shoulder as though I haven’t heard him, and the rise of hairs and goosebumps run across my skin in automatic response. That internal rearing ache in my stomach that happens anytime a guy touches me. I long ago identified it as repulsion. I shrug it off and keep going, eyes forward, not reacting in any way, body simmering with that restless cranky energy that seems to plague me of late.

My steps are labored, and off balance and I know that even if I take off my heels, I won’t be able to keep walking around before face planting the floor. Everything aches, legs like rubber, my feet are burning and sore in my new Jimmy Choos and now I’m irritated and nauseous beyond belief. Everything is surreal and yet shittily familiar. It’s fair to say my mood has seen better days and I really cannot be assed with this shit anymore.

A hot iron-gripped hand catches my upper arm, startling me and halting my progression through sweaty bodies; biting into my naked flesh and pulls me back ungracefully, so that I almost go over my heels. My heart jumps at the action.

“Hey, I was asking you a question!” He yells right into my ear to be heard above the thrum of noise, as he catches up and puts himself right against my ass, heat hitting me, accompanied by that familiar rising panic from deep within. The inner psycho bristling up to take on another sleazy asshole who thinks he has a right to touch me. I inwardly recoil at the unwanted contact.

Annoyed at the nerve of the creep and outraged at my near trip, I flash an angry glare his way over my shoulder and yank myself free. Responding into aggressive mode as rage spikes inside of me like a hot fiery spear. That inner fury, which always bubbles below the surface drunk, and has been ingrained since childhood, sparks up to take on the world. Shoving him hard in the chest with the flat of my palm, putting every ounce of strength into it and almost knocking myself off balance too. I want him to go away and leave me alone, shaking my hand to remove the sensation of his hot clammy body when I manage to gain the space I need.