Hard Working Hero

by Penny Wylder

  I'm waiting for him to kiss me. He's so close. I can feel the heat of his breath, and the intense pull of his eyes as he stares at me. And then he's gone. The weight of his body lifts as he steps around me and walks to the row of cabinets against the wall.

  My arms dangle by my sides as I stand still. Glancing over my shoulder, he has a shit eating grin on his face. “What? What's wrong? Did I do something?” He's teasing me and enjoying it. With a big sexy smile on his face, he grabs one of the cabinets and hoists it up on his shoulder.

  The muscles in his arms pop like mountains. Big, strong, and thick. I want to feel them around me, embracing me, grabbing me around the hips and taking me. There's a thin sheen of sweat glazing his skin, and his hair is peppered with yellow sawdust. It's a turn on to see him dirty like this.

  “You coming or what?”

  “Not yet,” I say playfully. “You left me hanging here.”

  Oliver chuckles. “If getting this done wasn't so important, I'd throw this damn cabinet to the floor and take you right here. But I can't afford to let your dad down.”

  “I get it, my father can be a hard-ass. What do you need me to do?”

  “Grab that drill and follow me.” He walks toward the kitchen, and I start to follow him, but hesitate. “You all right?” he asks, noticing my resistance.

  No, not exactly. But I will be. Face it! Face your fear, Narissa.

  “Uh, yeah, yeah, I'm good.” I force my feet forward and we go to the kitchen.

  The floor creeks under my feet, bowing under my weight. The kitchen has been gutted, but I can still see the outline of the old cabinets.

  I can still smell the same scents that I did as a kid in this house. The mold, the thick haze of dust that floats in the air like a blanket. There's a hint of mothballs, and the faint aroma of musky perfume.

  “I'm going to hold this up, and I need you to secure it in place.”

  Being able to focus on the cabinets helps keep my mind from straying. It takes us a little over an hour to secure all the new cabinets in place. When we're done, Oliver brings in a big five gallon bucket of paint. Linen is the color, it's bright cream with a little yellow tint.

  The floor is going to be redone, so we don't bother laying down any plastic. As we're painting, I can't help but think about how nice the walls would look with a little extra design to make it pop.

  There's a box of different size brushes on the floor, so I dig through until I find one that has a tapered end. The paint is still wet enough that I'm able to draw swirls across the surface.

  “Wow, that looks incredible,” Oliver says as he comes up behind me. “It's subtle but gives the paint a nice texture.”

  “Oh, yeah I guess. I was just staring at it and felt it needed something more.”

  “You're a natural.” He smiles, reaching out and touching my elbow.

  Taking a step back, I drop my eyes to the floor. “No, I'm not. It's just some stupid designs.”

  “What? No it's not. People pay big bucks for this type of detail.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Stop, it's not.”

  “Why can't you just take the compliment?” He eyes me curiously, watching me closely. “It's like you don't want to feel good about yourself.”

  “That's not true, I just don't think some dumb swirls are worth any praise.” I drop the brush into the small can of paint thinner and cross my arms over my chest. “It's stupid, that's what it is.”

  “You're in denial. You have a huge problem with anyone giving you a compliment.”

  “Stop acting like you know anything about me, because you don't.”

  “See,” he says, his eyes set on mine. “This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're hot and cold. I thought we were past this.”

  “You really have no clue. You don't know shit.”

  Oliver crooks his jaw as his back snaps straight. “I know more than you think.” He takes a big step forward, his eyes turning to slits. “I don't need to know you for years to see you hate being challenged. You think the world can be bought away. That if a problem comes up, your daddy will race in with a pocket full of cash and rescue you. You don't want to be held accountable for your own actions. Even if they're good.”

  “Fuck you,” I bark harshly. “How dare you try to label me as some spoiled brat. You're the one who fawns over money. Why else would you go out of your way to get my father to hire you? It's because you want to be big, you want to be powerful and have people like my father begging you for your business. I'm not stupid, Oliver, so stop trying to paint me like I am.”

  “Is that what you think? You think all I care about is money?”

  “I know it. Why else would you listen to my father and have me work with you? It's because you care about your name, you care about what my father says about you.”

  “You're wrong,” he says, his voice seething with temped anger. “I built my business from the ground up. I deserve to get noticed.”

  “Do you? You think getting noticed means high profile people know your name? Because it doesn't. Your name means nothing if I don't want it to. Your name could be as good as dead if you step wrong. One word to my father about this and he'll ruin you.”

  “Is that a threat?” he asks.

  “I'm not going to stand here and let you talk to me like this. You act like we're friends. Do you really think this is going to go anywhere? Is that what your problem is? You can't handle the fact that you're not good enough for me. This,” I say, flinging a finger between us, “was never going to happen.” I instantly feel regret as the words spill out of my mouth.

  His eyes ignite with hurt and pain, then quickly get doused by anger. But I'm too stubborn to take them back. I can't explain how hard it is to let people in. It's so much easier to push people away than feel the fear of getting hurt.

  I'm too broken inside to let him see me. I can't fix what I can't touch, and neither can he. I know he wants me to let him in, I'm just not sure I'll ever truly be ready for that.

  Tilting his head, Oliver's lips pull taut. “You want to play this game, fine. You said it yourself, your job's done. So go, get the hell out of here.” He throws his arm to the side, and points at the door.

  “What?” I ask, my voice fluttering out on an uneven gust of air.

  “You heard me, I said get out. You already gave up once, I'm not going to keep doing this. You want out, here it is.”

  “It's not up to you.”

  “Yes it is. This is my business, not your father's, not yours—mine. And now I'm telling you to get the hell out of here. I don't need you here, I never did.”

  That one hurt. If he didn't need me, why did he seek me out? If he didn't need me, why did he even bother to try?

  Why are you pushing him away? I ask myself.

  I can see exactly what I've done. I can see how I keep poking the bear. I honestly don't even really know why I made such a fuss about him complimenting the paint. It's almost a reflex at this point I don't know how to control. Someone tries to climb my wall, and when they get too close to the top, I kick them back down.

  I'm sorry! I know I'm wrong! The words are in my head, but I can't get them out.

  I can't stop the train I put in motion. “Fine.” Throwing my arms up, I whip around and storm to the door. “I hope you're proud of yourself.”

  “I am.” Oliver's hands fall to his hips as his brows furrow.

  I huff under my breath as I grab the handle for the door and slam it shut behind me.

  It doesn't matter how wrong I know I am, because I know what's holding me back. I'm afraid.

  I'm afraid of being happy.

  6

  Oliver

  Please leave your message. . .

  I've called her a few times over the past couple of days, but she isn't answering or returning any of my text messages. I've felt really bad about how things ended at the house the other day, and I'm trying to apologize. I want to make it right.

  But what's right for her? I
just don't know.

  I never meant to hurt her feelings, it's the last thing I wanted to do. She just ticked me off, and I let my emotions get the best of me, and now I feel like a complete asshole. She's all I've been thinking about. I can't get her out of my head and it's driving me crazy.

  I hang up my phone as her voicemail picks up again, not even bothering to leave a message. I already left two. If she's going to call me back, she would have by now.

  I'm parked in her parents’ driveway, on my way inside. Mr. Thayer wants an update on how the house is going and to go over the designs I sent him for the upstairs bathroom. I half thought I'd see Narissa's car in the driveway when I got here, but it's not.

  Exhaling a heavy breath, a piece of me is relieved while another is sad.

  I ring the bell, and her mother answers. “Oliver,” she says, welcoming me in with a big smile. “Ethan is just finishing up a conference call. You want some coffee while you wait?”

  “Sure, that'd be great. Thank you.”

  I follow Mrs. Thayer down the long hall and into the pristine kitchen. It's as big as the living room and kitchen combined in my house. Stainless steel appliances shine bright as the sun pours in from the giant arched window on the west wall.

  The cabinets are dark cherry with silver hardware, and the counter tops are a gorgeous white and purple granite. The stove is in the center island, with a rack hanging above where copper cooking pots dangle.

  Narissa's mother Audrey is a perfect mix of elegant and down to earth. She's wearing her money, but her personality reminds me of my grandmother. Her bright red hair is cut short and bound with tight curls. The blouse she has on is buttoned up to her neck, every last button secured exactly as it should be.

  Her nails are painted pastel pink, and her makeup is perfect. I can see Narissa in her, from the hair color to her thin nose that turns up slightly at the end. They have the same cheekbones, and the same smile lines at the corner of their lips.

  She takes a mug from one of the cabinets and pours me a hot cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Black is fine.”

  She passes me the cup and pours one for herself. “You know, I never thanked you for letting Narissa work with you. I'm sure she didn't make it easy on you.”

  “Actually, she's a natural. She did a great job with everything, it was like she's been doing it all her life.”

  Audrey smiles with her lips closed, and takes a sip of her coffee. “She's always been smart and a person who can pick up on things quickly, I can tell you that. So, it was nice to see her getting out of her house to work with you.”

  “It was a pleasure to work with your daughter.”

  “You know, she's been different lately, a good kind of different. It's been hard for Narissa to keep friends over the years, and because of that she's mostly locked up in her house or here.” She holds her mug in both hands, lowering it slightly as she stares off. “I hate that people she thought were her friends hurt her the way they did. It really affected her self-esteem. I don't know why, but it's like she just hasn't been able to let it all go to trust anyone.” Letting out a slow breath, her eyes meet mine with a look of surprise. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Oh lord, Narissa is going to kill me, I shouldn't—”

  “No, no, it's fine. She's your daughter, and you care about her.”

  “Yeah, but I should have just kept my mouth closed. She wouldn't want me telling anyone about that.”

  “Don't worry, I won't say anything.” I give her a confident smile and nod.

  Ethan comes in the kitchen right then, interrupting the conversation. “Sorry to make you wait, Oliver. Shall we?” he asks, guiding me to follow him in the direction of his office.

  “No problem, Sir.” I start to walk behind him, looking back over my shoulder and giving Audrey another smile. “Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Thayer.”

  “Of course,” she says politely.

  I had no idea that Narissa was hurt by people she thought were her friends. I knew something was holding her back. But to be hurt by people you thought you could trust is awful for anyone. And for a girl who's already battling the stigma of belonging to a rich and powerful family, I'm sure finding real friends was hard enough already.

  Her father owns half the homes in this town, his name is on everything in one way or another. I you say the family name in public, you’ll get smiles or frowns, but there will be a reaction. Everyone has an opinion. As a property owner, her father can't be everyone's friend. That can rub people the wrong way. Evictions, damages, arguments over rental increases or selling prices, buying out other people and taking over, it all comes with a price.

  People love to hate the bad guy. Still, business is just that, it's business. But to his friends, to the people who work for him, he's an upstanding man. He's fair and he follows through on his end of a contract.

  I talk with her father for over an hour about his vision for the upstairs bathroom and give him my input. He listens intently, nodding where he agrees, and adjusting my thoughts where he doesn't.

  By the time I leave, it's almost lunch, and even though my stomach is growling, I can't get Narissa out of my head. Her walls are up for a very good reason. Now I feel even more like an asshole for challenging her too quickly. I pushed her, and I shouldn't have. I should have just let her to come to me when she was ready.

  I leave and start to head to the shop. Narissa's angry scowl and frustrated green eyes are burned in my memory. I just feel awful. All I wanted to do was show her how happy she could be, and instead I hurt her more. I abandoned her.

  The light in front of me turns green, but instead of going straight, I make a hard left toward her place. I have to talk to her. I have to tell her I'm sorry for being such an asshole.

  She doesn't deserve to be scolded for not wanting to let me into her world. She's been hurt enough, and now I hurt her again by pushing her into something she's not ready for. It's not fair to her.

  I park in her lot and jog to her door. Knocking a few times, she doesn't answer. I'm not surprised, it's no different than my calls. She doesn't want to talk to me, but she needs to know just how sorry I am.

  “Narissa!” I call out. “Narissa, I'm sorry. I didn't know how badly you were hurt as a kid. I had no idea. I was an asshole the other day, and you didn't deserve to be treated that way. I'm a jerk, I completely understand why you don't want to talk to me. I'm sorry your friends hurt you. I'm sorry you put trust in people who didn't deserve it.”

  Laying my forehead against the door, I rest open palms on the surface. “You don't have to forgive me, but I want you to know that not everyone is like those people. I'm not here to use you or hurt you or ever make you question yourself. I would never do that. I—”

  “I know that.” Her voice comes in over my shoulder, startling me.

  Jumping slightly, I spin around quickly and see Narissa standing with a coffee and a small stack of books.

  “How much of that did you hear?” I ask.

  “Enough,” she says with a grin. “And I know not everyone is like the kids I grew up with. It's just hard to let my guard down. I'm trying to be less wary of people, but old habits die hard.”

  “If I had known—”

  “You couldn't have known, because I never told you.” She fumbles with her keys and opens the door. “But I'm guessing someone did. Come in, I'll tell you about it.”

  I follow her inside. She sets her books down on the coffee table and puts her coffee beside them. Taking a seat on the couch, she looks up at me and nods her head for me to sit too.

  “I was fifteen,” she says. Her eyes move to her hands and I can see her entire body change as she gives life to the old memory. “I had a small group of friends, and there was one boy who I thought liked me. He would tell me how pretty I was. How beautiful my eyes were and how there was no other girl like me. You know, all the things a girl that age likes to hear.”

  She's picking at her fingers nervously, so I reach out and ta
ke her hand in mine. Narissa sucks in a quick breath, and I can feel her reluctance to speak. “It's okay, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

  “No, I want to. I need to. I feel like once I do, it'll help. I've never actually told anyone the entire story before.”

  “Then keep going.”

  “Well, they all wanted to go up and explore the abandoned house on Belmont. There had always been stories that it was haunted, and we were going to go and try to stay the night inside. I wasn't too sure about going, but they all convinced me it would be fun.”

  She shifts on the couch, moving a little closer. “We broke in through the back door, and everything was fine until one of the girls started asking me questions about my family. She wanted to know why my father didn't have a better car and why I always wore shitty clothes. Weren’t we supposed to be rich? The other girls joined in, poking fun at my sneakers and the jeans I was wearing. Even the boy I was with started too, talking about how my hair was greasy and how I had pimples on my face. It was awful. They ganged up on me. I tried to stick up for myself, but it just made this one girl really angry, and she shoved me down. I thought they were my friends. But no one stepped in to help me, instead they ran out of the house and jammed up the door so I couldn't get out.”

  “That's terrible,” I say, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. “Kids can be real jerks.”

  “It really was horrible. Not only did I learn my friends weren't really my friends, but they locked me in that house, and I ended up having a panic attack. I never got over it. After that night, I just kept to myself. How could I ever trust anyone again? So, all my friends now are actually people I've never met in person. They're all online. I've grown to like it that way. It feels safer, I guess.” Her eyes gloss over with tears. Sniffling softly, she runs her finger under her eye, catching a loose tear. “I don't know, maybe I deserved what I got.”

  I can feel the pain and hurt in her voice. It stabs me in the chest to know she went through something so awful, and it was caused by people who she trusted. It guts me to see her so vulnerable right now.