The North Star

by Wendy Cole

The moment I stepped into the main room, Boe let out a low whistle. “Don’t you shine up nice?”

  My face heated.

  Zeke rumbled a laugh. “C’mere, Jessie. Have a seat.” He motioned to the station between his and the blue-haired girl’s. “You can just observe for today.”

  I walked over and perched onto the stool then offered each of them a look I hoped seemed friendly. Inside I was wound tighter than the ass of my new jeans. Not only did the unknown of my situation still put me on edge, but making friends hadn’t been on my list of things to do in a considerably long damn time.

  “Scarlet,” the blue haired girl said as she rolled her stool closer to me. She extended her hand, and I took it with a nod.

  “Jessie.”

  “What’s your story, Jessie?”

  My mouth clamped shut at the huge question.

  “Scarlet,” Zeke scolded. He was focused on his coffee, paper in hand, and didn’t even bother looking up as he spoke.

  “Scarlet is incapable of social interaction. The inner bitch inside her doesn’t know how to read people and be polite.” Boe sat with his back against the wall, hands clasped on his stomach, lips curved in a toothy cat-like grin, and eyes fixed on me.

  I looked away.

  Scarlet snorted. “It’s not a weird question. We all know Zeke treats this place like a humane society.” Her gaze met mine. “Don’t worry. Without the getting put to sleep part. Well, except maybe when Boe tries to be funny.”

  “I’m hysterical.”

  Scarlet shook her head slowly and mouthed, he’s not.

  “I just needed a job.”

  She rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back into her station.

  Boe pushed away from the wall and rolled until he was center aisle between the two of us. “Don’t let her scare you off.”

  “I’m not scared.” I almost laughed.

  I was fucking terrified, but not of blunt questions. If they knew the kind of trouble I would bring, the kind of disaster that would spill upon them just from association, I was sure they’d be far less open.

  “Might as well get her used to this place. Rip off the band aid,” Scarlet said. She set to work sketching something onto the pad held in her lap but looked up after she spoke. “Zeke and Charlene try to save the damned.”

  I looked over at Zeke. He slowly lowered his paper, his lips thinned; looking as if his child had just said a curse word at the table.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Like…a church?”

  Or a cult? Please tell me I didn’t join a cult.

  Scarlet and Boe laughed.

  “I give jobs to people,” Zeke said, his attention on Scarlet. “Perhaps too easily.”

  She mock-gasped and clasped a hand to the center of her chest. “You don’t mean that, Papa Bear.”

  Zeke grumbled under his breath as he turned back to his paper.

  “Fine. Since everyone wants to act like their shit story is a secret…” Scarlet sat her sketch down and crossed her arms. “Hi. I’m Scarlet, and I’m a lesbian with fanatical parents who shot one little firework at a cheerleader and got kicked out of school for it.”

  “You blew her finger off,” Boe said, his grin wide.

  “They reattached the shit! Her finger is fine!”

  “It was five years ago.”

  “Exactly!”

  I stared between them, my eyes round, brows lifted, and lips more curved than I’d have liked for them to be.

  The room settled as Scarlet stared at Boe.

  “What?” He sat up straighter on his stool. “This isn’t a thing, Scarlet. I’m not telling my shit like this is some kind of AA meeting.”

  “Why is it you feel like you can’t share, Boe?” Scarlet asked, her tone soft yet serious, hand propped under her chin.

  “Fuck off.”

  She laughed. “Fine. What you do need to know, though, is don’t go into the west wing.”

  Boe barked a laugh.

  “Scarlet,” Zeke said again, his tone a warning.

  “What?” She rolled closer to me. “The RV out back has a Sasquatch-like creature inside it. If anyone besides Zeke tries to go in there, it roars their ass right out. Trust me. I know. I was drunk one day and tried to take a piss in there. Almost damn died.”

  “You did not almost die,” Zeke sat his paper down and turned with a look that made her roll back into her station. “That’s enough. How about you finish the tattoo you’re supposed to have done in an hour. Boe, roll your ass back over and clean that damn station.”

  Just like that, the atmosphere shifted. Thoroughly scolded, neither one of the pair said another word, and Zeke met my gaze with an apologetic yet grim smile.

  “Don’t mind them.”

  He picked up his coffee, stared at the paper, then sat it back down as if whatever had been said had ruined his ability to enjoy it. “I’m gonna go see where Charlene got off to.”

  I watched him go then looked over at the pair still busy at work.

  If I’d learned anything my first day on the job, it was to avoid the fucking motorhome.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I cleaned stations, stocked supplies, talked to customers, and smiled like I meant it. For a week, that was the routine, and it felt oddly natural being there. Boe and Scarlet didn’t seem so bad once I had the chance to expect what would come from them. Zeke made it clear in every action he made that he cared, and Charlene never stopped her mothering.

  Every night, I’d visit the bar, and every night since he saw where I slept, the stranger hadn’t said a word. He studied the room and gave me my booze, but every once in a while, I’d catch those intense eyes on me, searching, reading.

  I still had his flannel.

  It wasn’t because I needed it. The jacket Charlene had gifted me was warmer than any piece of clothing I’d ever owned. Then why did I still have it? Definitely not because it smelled amazing, like earth and nature and man.

  No, I had it because I didn’t want to bring up the fact that he’d given it to me. I didn’t want to draw attention to how disgustingly damn sweet that was.

  But after a week of working, I had something that would rid me of my need for the stranger once and for all.

  A paycheck.

  “You should save your money, girl,” Mr. Frankfire said for what felt like the hundredth time.

  “I’ll make more. I’ve got a job. Once I start tattooing, I’ll make over double this in half the time. Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining when you were shoving that burger down your throat.”

  He glared at me, but his lips twisted. “I’m homeless. Of course, I ate the damn burger. Doesn’t mean you should have bought it. At the very least, you could have gotten one right down the road for a dollar and nineteen cents. Nine dollars for a hamburger!” He scoffed. “What kind of highway robbery are they pushing on people nowadays? There ain’t nothin’ special about that damn cow! I guarantee you Monsanto pumped the same amount of poison into that one as they did the other!”

  “Is that what that flavor was? I’m gonna have them dust a little extra on mine next time.”

  If poisonous cows didn’t kill me, the look on his face after that comment would have.

  It was late when we rounded the corner to the bridge; too late for a warm spot, but the night wasn’t as bad as the ones in the previous week. My eyes shot to Main Street, and I was overly conscious of the pack on my back. Crumbled in the bottom with the rest of my dirty clothes was a flannel three times my size.

  The time had come for me to return it. I’d buy a bottle with my earnings and offer a drink in return. The last thing I needed was to be indebted to someone. Then, after that, I’d buy my booze from the liquor store.

  For some reason, my stomach twisted. I couldn’t have cared less about the dark stranger with the sharp eyes that cut right through me. He was a dangerous man for the most dangerous of reasons. It had always been about the drink. My continued visits had always been to keep the nightmares away. It’d been over a week
since Drake found me in my dreams. The Wild Turkey blackouts had calmed my nerves like no meditation ever could.

  That and someone standing guard, inner Jessie whispered.

  I ignored her.

  “I’ll catch up to you,” I said, patting Mr. Frankfire’s shoulder. I dug the flannel out of my pack then passed the bag to him. “Keep it for me?”

  He grunted and grumbled beneath his breath, but his gnarled fingers closed around the strap, and he slung it over his shoulder. “Don’t spend all your money.”

  I grinned at his back as he walked away then turned to the waiting lights. As I made my trek up the hill and through the brush, a battle waged within my mind. It would be stupid of me to pass up a chance to drink for free each night. I should save my money and hold on to the handout. But I also knew all too well that this could be the fork in my current path that turned my life back to shit. There always seemed to be a man at those, and they were always beautiful.

  I shook my head. The new man wasn’t that, at least not from what I could see. He was the opposite of Drake. Drake kept his hair short, his face smooth―always immaculate, always clean. He was Prince Charming on a Harley.

  The stranger looked like a wild man.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized how different he was compared to every other man I’d encountered. He didn’t put on a show. Hell, he barely fucking acknowledged me other than to fill my drink.

  I stepped into the bar and almost stepped right back out of it.

  His hair was combed and tied at the back of his neck, and the lack of it in his face made his eyes cut deeper than they ever had. He’d trimmed his beard neat enough to reveal a perfectly shaped mouth, and while his clothes weren’t any less lumberjack, they were clean and entirely too well-fitted.

  He was gorgeous. He was hands down the most attractive man I’d ever seen. I took back every thought I’d had on the walk over. Drake didn’t hold a candle to this man, and it looked like he’d barely tried.

  Every lesson I’d ever learned the hard way resurfaced like a warning.

  This was the fork in the road. This man might as well have been holding a sign at the side of it, tempting me into damnation.

  I swallowed hard, closed the space between us, and fought to ignore that penetrating gaze, but it was impossible. His gaze burned me up and prickled my skin with awareness.

  I stopped an arm’s length away, desperately needing the distance, and practically shoved the shirt out towards him.

  “I came to return this,” I said, my voice hoarse and awkward.

  He looked down at the rumpled flannel then back to me. “Keep it.”

  “No.” It came out as a bite, a snapping jaw, a warning to stay back. Like a cornered animal, my hackles rose. To hell with buying him a drink. That couldn’t be the plan. Not now. Not with him so…

  I shoved the shirt into his hand and turned to the bar. “Bottle of Tequila!”

  The bartender stood on the opposite side, polishing a glass as he listened to some drunk talk about his problems. He tilted his head back, took one look at me, then turned away.

  The stranger tilted his whiskey to his lips then sat it down.

  “Bottle of Tequila, Paul.” His smooth deep voice didn’t lift in the slightest, but no sooner did the words leave his lips, the bartender turned and did as bid.

  I ground my teeth.

  “Paul only hears the people with money. Last time you showed any, it was loose change.” His lip twitched.

  I snatched a twenty out of my pocket and slapped it down onto the bar.

  This time, Paul the asshole actually looked me in the eye. He nodded his head―the first real acknowledgment I’d gotten from him―and slid the bill into his hand at the same time he placed the alcohol onto the bar.

  The stranger smiled. Dammit, he smiled, and with his face more visible, it was enough to knock the panties off a nun. “He’s not going to let you take that with you.”

  I opened my mouth then closed it as he pointed to a sign just behind the bar.

  Licensed to sell for here only. No alcohol to be consumed off premises.

  Shit.

  “That’s a lot of Tequila.”

  I met his gaze and saw a flicker of light in his eyes. It was subtle, but it was still there.

  He was laughing at me.

  “Who says I’m leaving?” I snatched the bottle from the bar and walked to a booth on the opposite side of the room.

  I didn’t like the fact that my new spot put the exit so far away nor how the people blocked my view of the front door, but I reassured myself with the fact that I was at least less visible. I slid all the way inside, lifted my hood, and huddled in on myself.

  My first sip of the tequila was like a kick to the throat. How many more morning dry heaves could I survive before my esophagus gave out?

  Hyperaware and on edge, I noticed the second he moved, and as he slowly made his way over and took the seat across from me, my heart did things worthy of a doctor’s visit.

  I wanted to snap at him, tell him to go away, but my throat had dried. My voice was gone. I bit the inside of my cheek and did my best not to look at his face.

  It’s a nice face, inner Jessie chimed.

  I shifted.

  Our new position put him directly across from me, and although I’d sat with him before, this was different. He didn’t turn to scan the room. He didn’t pause to take a drink. He just…watched me.

  My neck heated, followed by my ears, then my cheeks. Holy fucking shit. Was I blushing? I did not blush. Blushing was for embarrassed children and young girls too stupid to see through a man’s bullshit.

  I took a long, heavy drink and chanced a glance at him over the bottle.

  His lip twitched.

  “Why are you staring at me? Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the damn door?”

  He studied me for a long moment. “Is that what you think I do? Guard the door?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Do you like thinking I’m guarding it?”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  He lifted the bottle with three fingers, and the liquid swished as it tilted to his lips. When he sat it down, his chest lifted on a heavy breath. “You’re interesting.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I noticed that you cleaned up and got some new clothes.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Well, I’d fucking assume so since it’s been a week and you stalk the world.”

  He smirked. “So, I take it your new job is going well.”

  What is this? A fucking date? “I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”

  “Noted.” He leaned back and took a longer pull from his bottle. “How’d a girl like you end up under a bridge?”

  “Walked.”

  His lip twitched again, but everything else about him exuded absolute calm. On the table, his fingers idly turned the bottle in a slow, continuous circle. If I didn’t know any better, which I didn’t, I’d swear he was trying to hypnotize me.

  “Why are you sleeping under it?”

  “I get tired.” I met his gaze head on, tilted my head, and fluttered my lashes.

  Bring it, fucker. This isn’t my first fork in the road.

  He took a drink to cover his smile, but his dimpled cheeks and laughing eyes gave it away. The bottle made a thud as he sat it down and leaned forward. His expression fell serious.

  “What are you hiding from?”

  I scanned his face, from the clenched jaw to the piercing stare.

  “I came here to forget,” I said. “I don’t need reminding.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A chunk of my first week’s earnings went into that bottle of Tequila, and I’d be damned if I wasted a drop. The problem with that was I couldn’t leave until it was gone, and as long as I was there, the stranger seemed dead set on peeling away every layer of defense I had.

  Halfway down the bottle, I passed the point of simple buzz and entered the territory of stu
pid and sloppy. My brain stopped sending important signals like the ones that reminded me to avoid those intelligent eyes. I studied them in avid and open fascination.

  “What’s it like? Having freaky hawk eyes like that?” My uninhibited tongue rolled around each syllable, and my brain once again sat back as if too busy to do its job.

  Said eyes never left my face as he took a swig from his bottle. When he sat it down, the familiar twitch to his lips was almost undetectable.

  “Depends on what I’m looking at,” he said, his voice forever smooth and deep.

  God! Karma must have known I had my guard up more than ever. She’d gone from big guns to a full arsenal. Forget about the fork in the road. He was standing along a cliff face, and his voice alone was enough to make me want to jump over the edge. I’d sigh all the way down and hit the ground smile first.

  I needed him to stop talking, but I wanted him to recite the alphabet.

  “Like people in a bar? You choose some pretty depressing shit to use your super ability on, Captain Wilderness.” I snorted at my own joke then took a long drink.

  “Super ability?” As if he were timing each drink with mine, he took another, then pursed his lips into a half smile as he stared at me. “I don’t know about that, but I can tell you one thing. This bar got a whole lot more interesting when you walked into it.”

  I’d just opened my mouth to shut him down when raucous laughter pulled my attention to a group of men piling through the door. Leather cuts and rough faces stole my breath, but I couldn’t make out any emblems past the patrons and smoke between us. I threw my hood back up, let my hair fall forward, and released my grip on the bottle.

  “I got to go,” I said, already sliding out of the booth.

  “Do you know those men?” His easy tone was gone, replaced by something far more threatening.

  I shook my head, my eyes fixed on the exit. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to wait around and find out.”

  The world tilted when I tried to stand, but one very large hand reached out and steadied me.

  He stood like a hickory, tall, wide, and stable. Each one of his muscles was tensed and ready. A glance up at his face made my breath catch. Dagger eyes. Clenched jaw. His shoulders were squared like a junkyard dog who’d found an intruder after the trash. He pulled me close and all but snarled over me.