#2fic returns!!! im all caught up

[narcolini]

in his shadow - pt. 4

ez reyes x oc: ava gomez (& bonus angel), 3072 words

for day 26 of whumpril, using alternative prompt: words that can’t be taken back

a/n: ahh i love making drama for the sake of drama, it’s so good for the soul

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc​ (let me know if u want to be tagged!)

previous part here

It’s been a week, well, a weekend and a day, and EZ still hasn’t heard from Ava. The last he saw of her, she was leaving the trailer, hair a mess, jacket and near-empty tequila bottle stuffed into her bag. It’d been good. Real fucking good. Nice, like they were dating, or something. Like there was a genuine connection between them. And then, nothing.

No text, no call.

He’s trying to be chilled about it. No biggie, because they aren’t dating, are they? They barely even know each other. Well, that’s a lie, even if it does make him feel better to think it. They’d gotten close fast enough to feel like he’s known her as long as the rest of the guys have. Longer, even. Maybe. He knows things she’s never told them. Heard the shit that goes on behind that doe-eyed expression, that endless look of kindness. It sits in her features even when she’s swearing, or chatting shit with liquor on her breath. Just endless, endless, kindness. Like she’d been drawn up by Disney or some shit.

‘The fuck you smiling about?’ Angel asks, lips tweaking like he’s in on it, catching his brother’s attention.

They’re parked up outside the sandwich place they can’t get enough of, waiting for the food coma to settle before they leave again. Angel’s reclined on his bike, head against the handle bars, EZ’s standing on the sidewalk, shoulder to the nearest pole.  

‘Nothing.’ EZ shrugs. ‘Just thinking.’

‘Bout what?’

‘You want a list or something? Stuff, things.’

Angel slides the shades up from his face, into his hair. He’s scrutinising him like he knows something, or is about to. Like he can read the thoughts in EZ’s head. ‘Did you get laid?’ he asks, uncertain of his guess until he sees EZ’s chin dip in response. ‘Ho—ly fuck. Little bro finally got his dick wet.’

‘Shut up, man.’

‘Who’s the lucky princess?’ He smirks. ‘I know her?’

EZ’s head shakes. He hates when Angel’s like this, hates even more when he’s right about it too. ‘I’m not telling you when you’re being a dick about it.’

He sits up, boots planting on the ground either side of his bike. ‘Shit, it’s that serious? Why am I only just hearing about it now?’

How does he answer that? Logically, he know’s it not serious, not by their standards. Not by Ava’s either, probably. But he has to physically stop himself from saying yes, because that’s the answer that tries to fly out. Yeah, kinda. Yeah, I hope so.

‘I don’t know,’ he says instead. ‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’ Angel’s teetering on a laugh, pure glee at his brothers uncertainty sitting behind his eyes. He could do this for hours. ‘You gotta give me a name, Romeo. Who’s got you all caught up like this?’

EZ sighs. He’s got two options, a long death, drawn out and real fucking annoying, or the short, merciful one. Sure to sting, but quicker to fade. ‘Well,’ he starts, hanging his thumbs in his jean pockets, ‘me and Ava have kind of…’

‘Kind of…’ Angel winds his head in EZ’s vision, trying to lure the rest of it out of him. ‘Started a bookclub, or what? The fuck is it, bro?’

‘We’ve been hanging out.’

He squints, then his eyes go wide. ‘Oh, come on, Ezekiel.’

‘There it is.’ He shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve lied and said he was smiling about his fucking sandwich.

‘You slept with her?’ Angel’s voice pitches up, like he can’t believe it. ‘Damn, bro, it’s like you fucking hate happiness. My God.’

He’s shaking his head at him, but EZ’s no idea why. Honestly, he hasn’t a fucking clue. What was so bad about it? They’re both adults, they’re both single. He know’s Ava’s baggage as well as anyone, better even, than Angel himself. If anything, spending time with her had made him happier than he’s been in years. The first real good thing to happen since getting out.

‘The fuck does that mean, Angel?’

He ignores the question, muttering to himself, as he toys with the helmet in his lap. ‘That’s so fucked up, man.’

‘Why is it?’ EZ's back straightens, a defensive response. He’s starting to get irritated. ‘It was her idea.’

‘Yeah,’ Angel nods, ‘and now you’re all up in your feelings, falling in love with her, while she’s out, acting all new and sexy and shit, thanks to your dumbass self.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘What’s wrong with…’ He scoffs, looking up again. ‘You realise she’s about to go out and get a man that isn’t in a fucking MC now? Probably on Tinder already. You’re a rebound, boy-scout.’

EZ bristles, jaw clenching. He tries to shake it off afterwards, like Angel’s words are nothing at all, just noise without weight. It isn’t convincing, even he can tell that. He’s got a face like a scolded child. ‘You don’t know that,’ he says.

‘Don’t I?’ Angel laughs. ‘Been in this club way fucking longer than you, and I ain’t never seen a widow go for a Mayan twice.’

He’s right, EZ knows that. Even though he’s not seen it himself, he can recognise why. One death would put you off for good, but it isn’t like that, is it? Ava hadn’t used him as the jumping point for the return of her love life. Wouldn’t mess him about for the sake of messing about. And it wasn’t like he was in love with her, or falling, even. They were just hanging out. It was fun, mutually. It still is. It can be as simple as that, no matter what Angel puts into his head.

‘You spoken to her since?’ Angel asks.

He doesn’t answer, which says all Angel needs to hear. Tutting, laughing, head shaking like EZ is utterly clueless.

‘You’re full of shit, Angel,’ he snarks, pulling his own helmet from the seat of his bike. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yeah, cause you’re the expert on women.’

I know her, he wants to say, clicking the strap under his chin. I know her, and you don’t, even with all the years you had to get there. Maybe it was rebound, maybe he’s the rebound, but so what, right? That doesn’t mean he’s fucked up, or ruined whatever they’d started. Ava had wanted someone to treat her like a normal fucking woman, and he’d done that, that’s all.

That’s all, isn’t it?

*

‘There’s someone out front for you, Ava.’

‘Really?’ She looks up from her work, hand mid-wipe over the leather seat. ‘I’ve not booked anyone in for the afternoon.’

Her colleague shrugs, not lingering long enough to explain beyond, ‘He said he’s here to see you.’

She only has a handful of male clients—eyebrows, botox, lip-filler—but none of them are due anytime soon. If one of them’s back already, then it can only be a bad thing. A complaint, maybe, a mistake on her part. God. She hates dealing with that. The guilt over it, no matter how small, is enough to knock her confidence for weeks. To make her doubt her qualifications entirely. She chucks the cloth on the side, peeling the gloves from her hands to toss them in the trash on the way past. It’ll be okay, really, she doesn’t have any clients that would hold it against her. I mean, she’s an aesthetician, not a robot. Mistakes happen. Bodies react in different ways, even if you’ve had the treatment before.

She rounds the corner, into the small shop front that acts as a greeting desk and waiting room all in one, and finds it’s not a client at all. It’s EZ, full leathers and helmet, standing dark against the blinding pink of the walls.

‘Oh,’ she can’t help but feel relieved, ‘it’s you.’

He smiles, looking shy from her reaction. ‘Yeah, hey.’

‘D’you need something?’ She pauses behind the desk, waiting as he dawdles forward. It’s obvious he isn’t comfortable here. He looks seconds from sprinting out the door, knocking fake palms trees and magazine stands on his way. ‘Did you call me?’

‘Nah, I figured I’d just stop buy. Speak to you in person.’ He puts his elbow on the desk in front of her, leaning like he’s comfortable. Or trying to be. ‘You got a minute?’

She has an entire afternoon, technically, but she also has a shit load of paperwork to catch up on. Expenses to list, lash in-fills to count. ‘Sure, I got a window.’ An hour, for him, is nothing.

She nods toward the back, inviting him to follow. They could talk here, sure, but he looks like he wants privacy. And, well, she doesn’t really want her colleagues to see them chatting in the first place. She’d got this job after Seb had died, unable to go back to her last one. So the shock of a man in a kutte, lingering in the middle of the shop, might send a gossip shockwave strong enough to unsettle her peace forever. The questions would never stop—and God knows, she doesn’t have the patience for that.

‘You been good?’ he asks, walking behind her.

‘Yeah, busy.’

‘Though I might’ve heard from you.’

She lets him into her room, and shuts the door behind. He looks just as out of place here, standing by the reclining seat, under the white lights, as he did out front. ‘I know,’ she sighs, ‘I haven’t had a minute to stop.’

He nods but doesn’t look convinced. It’s not like she’s lying, not like she has any reason too. They’d made up, she thought, more than made up. The last time they hung out, they’d ended the day on a high she’d never even imagined. Swollen lips, fresh spirit, an electricity under her skin that she’d forgotten the feeling of. She didn’t think they had any more catching up to do. Let’s call it even, he said, and then sweeten the deal on top of it.

‘Is something the matter?’ she asks, because he clearly isn’t going to start himself. He’s standing like he’s scared to move, one thigh against the leg-rest.

‘Nah.’ His head shakes, brow pinching. ‘Not really.’

‘But?’

He sighs, settling his hands on the edges of his cut, fists over his chest. ‘Honestly, Angel got in my head about something,’ he confesses. ‘Thought I could talk to you about it.’

Now it’s her turn to frown, because she never got the impression Angel had the ability. EZ’s the brainy one, the logical one. Angel surely had no way of twisting his thoughts away from himself.

‘Oh boy.’ She lets out a breath, moving to lean against the nearest counter. ‘Should I be worried?’

He smiles slightly, just enough to put it into the creases of his eyes. ‘Depends,’ he says, ‘on whether I’m a rebound or not.’

‘What?’

‘Angel thinks you’ve, I don’t know. Shit.’ He sighs. ‘Can we start that again?’

‘A rebound?’ How could he be, how could he or Angel even think that? For starters, it’s been three fucking years since Sebastian died. If he was a rebound, it was less of a bounce and more like a delayed crack, a skimmed stone that made one fucking ripple, way out into the bay. ‘As in, what? I used you to make myself feel better?’

He’s exhaling through his teeth, rubbing the back of his head. ‘That came out wrong, was trying to make a dumb joke, lighten the mood. Sorry.’

But it came from somewhere, out his lips like he’d been wondering it his whole way here. ‘No, go on. What did Angel think?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Well someone’s gonna have to explain that rebound line, EZ.’

He looks like he wants the ground to eat him, whole and scrambling, but he carries on. To his credit, he carries on. ‘He thinks us sleeping together was a mistake.’

She doesn’t comment on the fact that telling Angel in the first place, is the real mistake, but from the looks of him he’s knows it already. Like he regrets it enough to make her overlook it, focusing on the next problem. ‘And that matters because…?'

‘Like I said, he got in my head about it.’

‘How?’

‘How what?’

‘How did he get in your fucking head?’ she stresses, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. They’re parroting each others words like they’re speaking a different language. ‘Angel thinks a lot of dumb shit, and you never take notice of that. Why does it matter now?’

Why is it any of his business? How can something like that even be a mistake, when it’s just fun, just two people enjoying themselves. If Angel’s said she’s using EZ as a rebound, to propel herself forward in some way, why would he care, why would he—

‘Oh my god,’ she breathes, ‘you believe him, don’t you? You think I’m using you?’

‘What?’ His face scrunches, disgust showing in the kiss of his teeth. ‘No, course not.’

‘Well, you believe something, EZ. What the fuck is it? A rebound or a mistake?’

‘Neither.’ His voice is sharper now, words hardening into annoyance. ‘I just want to know what the fuck the plan is from here,’ he says. ‘Cause, you know, I’ve not heard from you at all since it happened.’

‘So, naturally, I have to have been using you?’

If she’d known he’d be this concerned, this paranoid about five days of quiet, she’d have never bothered. Honestly, she’d have never let it get past kissing in the first place. Some people can’t do just sex—Hell, she used to be one of them—if she’d known that was the case with him, she’d have stopped that train long ago. Saved them both the stress.

‘You know,’ he says carefully, like he’s holding something back, ‘you know, I wouldn’t think that.’

She flaps her arms up. ‘You near enough said it yourself, EZ. The fuck am I meant to do? Read minds?’

He turns away, just for a moment, to take a breath big enough to lift his shoulders. She watches them go up, down, up again. When he’s facing her afterwards, he looks calmer. Not believably so, but in the conscious, put on like a mask, way. He’s trying, at least. She appreciates that, as much as it does nothing for the sourness in her stomach. The quiet anger beneath her ribcage.

‘Look, I just, really didn’t know what the fuck to think, okay?’

She nods. Carry on, keep digging.

‘Angel said all this shit, and I hadn’t heard from you.’ His voice lowers a fraction. ‘And I know the stuff with Seb is always gonna be there.’

‘Make your point, EZ.’ She tries to sound commanding, but it comes out too quiet, almost like a plea. The mention of Sebastian now, right now, in relation to whatever she’s started between them, is the last thing either of them need. It doesn’t help his argument in the way he thinks it does.

‘I don’t care,’ he says, ‘if this goes no where. I don’t care if we never fucking touch each other again.’ He’s closer now, eyes intense on hers. ‘But if your plan is to avoid me forever—’

She cuts him off. ‘When have I said that?’

He waits, searching her expression.

‘I’ve been busy,’ she says, for what feels like the hundredth time, true or not. ‘I didn’t think sex came with a contract, y’know? One fuck equals three texts a day.’

He laughs, but it’s dry as anything, stripped of all humour. ‘Come on, Ava. If you don’t wanna talk like adults, I don’t know why I’m even here.’

‘Yeah, me and you both.’ This wasn’t even an issue before Angel had spoken to him, wouldn’t be something worth talking about at all, if she’d just been allowed to come back to him in her time. Of her own accord. ‘I had no intentions of blowing you off, EZ,’ she says, putting it like an insult somehow. Too highly strung to use it as the mediator she intended it to be. ‘If anything, I was really fucking happy with, y’know, whatever we’ve got going on.’

It still works, though. Words tight, or not, they land all the same, softening EZ’s shoulders. Putting a lighter breath into his throat.

‘Yeah, sure,’ she continues, ‘I’m not planning on having a relationship any time soon—but that doesn’t mean I’m using you.’

‘I know.’

‘I wouldn’t do that.’

He sighs, repeating it. ‘I know.’

‘I should’ve text you,’ she admits. ‘But I didn’t think you’d be taking advice from Angel, of all people.’

He catches the slight smile she’s offering, doubling it himself, and partnering it with a half-laugh. ‘Shit,’ he says, ‘I might kill him, actually. Think that’s probably the best solution.’

‘That or sewing his mouth shut.’

He snorts, head twitching sideways with he force of it. ‘That’d solve half my fucking problems in one.’

‘Yeah,’ she agrees, ‘me too.’ Someone should’ve thought of that sooner. ‘So, are we good? No pressure and no panic either, right?’

He doesn’t want it to be just sex, doesn’t want that to signal the end of them hanging out at all, but she equally doesn’t want it to be a promise of anything more. If he can’t meet her in the middle, then a clean break is all they have left. Back to how it was, with her as the widow, and him as the prospect. Nothing more, nothing less. Two people with one foot in the ring.

But he nods, and she sighs like the alternative would’ve made her collapse.

‘I really gotta stop saying shit without thinking,’ he says, smiling faintly.

She mirrors him. ‘True, but I have to stop saying nothing at all. Keep forgetting you you aren’t as old and fucked up as me.’

‘Woah,’ he frowns, ‘old? Come on, you got at least ten years before retirement.’

She laughs, too caught off guard to be offended. She’s got six years on him, max, but it’s not worth fighting over it now. ‘I like how you’re fine with the fucked up part.’

‘Oh, you’re definitely wrong there too. Fucked up beyond imagination, really.’

‘Mhm,’ she nods, matching his tease, ‘keep going. Your chances of never touching me again are really starting to sky-rocket.’