Page 31 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

Ren

I t’s strange when Roma leaves the next morning. I’m groggy when he kisses my forehead, the pain meds and exhaustion causing me to barely notice when he gets up and uses my shower like it’s his own.

He leaves a banana on the counter and a package of oatmeal with a note instructing me to eat it for breakfast. I eat half of the piece of fruit and chuck the oatmeal back into the pantry.

I’m rewarded a few hours later when a basket full of chocolate and sweets arrives at my door.

Ren: Thank you.

Russet calls me not even two seconds after I send off the text.

“Hi.” There’s an awkward pause. “The gift basket is kind of a mix of ‘I’m sorry about your wrist’ and ‘I’m sorry for being such an ass the other day’.”

“You weren’t being an ass,” I quietly say. I’m in the kitchen, exactly where I stood a week ago when she called to vent about Sailor’s party.

“No one likes getting bitched at in a bathroom during a kids party,” Russ replies. “It came from the heart, but the execution needed a bit of work.”

I snort, but my chest isn’t as tight as it was a few days ago.

“Seriously, how’s your wrist.” There’s real worry in the question. It reminds me of Ben. There’s this urgency and fear, assessing the wound like they can’t quite believe it.

“It’s not as bad as everyone thinks.”

“You cancelled work,” she says.

“That’s what you all wanted.”

“We wanted you to take a vacation in the Bahamas not end up in the hospital!”

Right. So I somehow still managed to end up fulfilling their worst fears.

“It’s fine.” My head is clearer than it’s been the past few days. “Hurts like a bitch, but I’m lucky it wasn’t a break.”

“I did some research. Don’t overdo it even if it starts to feel better. You don’t want to hurt the ligaments.”

“I’ll do my best.” I pull out a chocolate muffin from the gift basket. “Hey, did you know Tyler’s a doctor?”

There’s a surprised silence before she forces a few words out. “I mean, I knew he’d gone to med school. Nancy was so proud of him. But he got all funny at one point and said he didn’t want to do his residency. You saw him?”

“Trevino is very picky when it comes to medical care.”

“Oh.” There’s another drawn-out pause. It’s sort of refreshing not being the one thrown for a loop for once. But I want to eat my words when Russet speaks again. “W-what’s he like? Trevino?”

She’s not the only one to wonder, but her voice is hushed.

Of course, it would be. This is the man who killed Marissa. Who got Daisy’s will to us and later on killed the man who hurt her.

I start with the basics. The obvious things I’ve already noted or others do.

“He’s grumpy. He makes these disgusting kale smoothies and I mean literally all kale. They’re bitter as fuck. He’s got a lot of muscles but honestly other than the bodyguard thing, you would never realize his other ghostly activities because he reads boring books. Like the self-help kind.”

“Yeah.” Russet’s voice is clear but she sounds far away. “I guess I never thought to envision the Ghost drinking a kale smoothie.”

“He’s got a driver named Luis. I think he might be his cousin but I’m not sure.” He’d hate it even more if he found out I told someone. “He’s got a couple of other bodyguards working for him. From what I’ve heard he’s a good boss.”

And you better believe I’ve asked them. I went down to the lobby and started chatting. Trevino showed up minutes later, jaw clenched. His eyes flashed when one of his guys laughed at a question I asked.

“He comes across like a hard ass,” I say, “but he’s a total softie deep down.”

A burst of noise comes through the line.

“Hold on love,” Russ says to Sailor. “Right there on the plate.”

I wait, unbothered. It’s not like I have anywhere to be anyway.

“Sorry.” Russ pauses again, though. “D-does he. . . has he ever talked about Marissa?”

“No. And I’ve never thought to ask.”

Call me selfish, but with everything going on, it never occurred to me.

“Would you like me to?” I ask .

I’m not sure what he would say. He handed out more information on Cain Murray than I thought he would, but fielding questions about his mercenary activities is a different matter.

“I could ask about the will,” I say. “He’s not heartless. He’d probably explain.”

Russet audibly gulps. “No. . . no, it’s fine. I just. . . thought. Sorry. It’s rude of me after everything.”

I roll my eyes and smash half the chocolate muffing into my mouth. “You can stop acting weird about the whole bitching about balance thing.”

“The gift basket went a long way didn’t it?” she asks. I get off the phone feeling not quite lighter, but more level-headed than I have in a while.

I’m not sure why, though. Yes, I’m back on better ground with my friends after a rough patch. It hasn’t solved all the awkwardness with Ben and then there’s Roma, who slipped back into my life.

There’s also work. Did calling in sick unlock a truth? That the world won’t fall apart if I take one fucking day off occasionally. However, there have been a few annoying phone calls I’ve had to field.

I grab the giant gift basket and lug it to the door. It’s too heavy to hold while I open it with one hand so I have to place it on the floor. I scoot it into the hallway, close my door, and then move one door down.

Trevino opens his door before I even knock.

“You want something?” I ask, ignoring his ever-present scowl at anything good food-related.

“Your friends bitched at you about not eating enough vegetables and now they’re sending you sugar?” he asks, swiping it up from the floor. “What are you doing?”

I shove past him. I’ve never been to any of my neighbor's places before. It’s spartan thanks to the previous tenant having left a while back.

“Wow, this is. . .” There’s a fold-out chair and a box has turned into a makeshift table. “This is some serial killer vibes.”

“It is not.” He closes the door, not that he’s happy I’m here. I’m the customer, though, so he puts up with me.

I drop into the metal chair. “You couldn’t have found one with a cushion?”

There are only a few lights on, the sunlight streaming in from the windows doing the hard work. I notice a glass with the remnants of a green smoothie. He seems the type to immediately wash his dishes but who am I to judge?

“There’s all kinds of stuff.” I point to the basket. “Help yourself.”

He picks through it and finds dark chocolate-covered almonds.

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re kidding right?”

He pops a few into his mouth.

“You’re weird.”

There are a few laptops open, and camera feeds of my building play, but there’s nothing else. No music or reality TV shows. If it weren’t for the serial killer vibes I’d classify it as peaceful.

“Russet sent it to me,” I say of the basket. “You know the one from the party.”

He nods, throwing back a few more almonds.

“She, um, she. . .”

“Wants to know about her friend.”

“Jesus. Did you bug my apartment?”

“She kept staring at me the other day. Like she wanted to ask question.”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t know.” A lot happened that day. “I never got the full story either. ”

I hold my hand out and he grudgingly throws me a chocolate bar.

“There’s not much to it.” He remains stoic like always but I wonder if it’s hard. Talking about it. He didn’t witness Daisy after Marissa pimped her out, but he dismantled her business piece by piece before Russet took a bomb to it.

“What happened to all the women?” I ask. I saw footage from the attack. Trevino helped over a dozen women get out of Marissa’s. The bratva didn’t even make a move to stop him.

He shrugs and I think he’ll put a stop to the topic but after a second he clears his throat.

“There’s a church. They help out women who’ve been trafficked.” He picks up what looks like a protein shake, apparently done with his handful of almonds. “One of the women had the note. That’s what I thought it was at first. A letter someone wanted sent off. When I looked at it, though.”

He tilts his head back, to take a drink. Even the mundane task is enough to show off the powerful muscles rippling down his arms and shoulders.

“You did a good thing,” I say.

“I provided a legal means for the Zimins to adopt a child they would’ve kept anyway.” He sits down on the floor, loosely pulling his knees to his chest while leaning back on one arm. He almost appears relaxed.

“Russet’s a good mom.”

He nods but I’m not sure what’s going on in that head of his.

This apartment has a better view. I pull up one leg to my chest, my heel catching on the edge of the chair. Trevino didn’t take the floor to be nice. This chair sucks.

“You don’t think my friends are wrong do you?” I ask.

“You about to bitch me out again for being a traitor?”

I might’ve said a few choice words at the hospital after he asked Tyler to check my blood pressure again .

“I’m simply asking you for some advice. From one business owner to the other.”

“Your friends offer you advice all the time. You never take it.”

“Someone’s a bit feisty today,” I complain.

He messes with the protein shake. “I think you’re hard working.”

I pretend not to preen at the compliment.

“I personally loved how you bitched out Walkman the other day,” he admits.

The man wanted to sell some information about the cartel's drug smuggling operations. I told him to stop being stupid and give it to the Italians. Those types of favors are just as valuable as business deals.

He runs a hand over his buzzcut. “And you know Fujimori’s is a vibe.”

I knew the place would rub off on him. He picked out a song last week on the jukebox. A song he’d noticed Jane liked.

“Okay, stop kissing my ass,” I say. “I know you have opinions.”

“You need help.”

My shoulders sag. It’s exactly what I expected, yet what I didn’t want to hear.

“Taking twelve meetings a day doesn’t prove you’re the boss,” he says. “Delegating is part of leadership.”

“The men I work with aren’t interested in meeting with the help.”