by R. S. Elliot
Most days, I got a thrill out of it and was energized by my work. But today, I was beat. I felt wound tight as a spring, and I needed to do something after work besides go home and stare at more work emails or expense reports until I fell asleep. I always ended up taking work home with me no matter how many times I promised myself that I wouldn't. I had found that the only way to guarantee I didn't fill my free hours with work was to remove myself from work and home entirely. Most nights, this would mean going to a bar with music blaring so loudly that I couldn't hear myself think about work. To pass the time, I’d engage in that old game of seduction with some other willing party looking to blow off a little steam. It was a surefire way to get my mind off business and to give my body something to do with all that pent-up energy, but I didn't have that in me tonight. I was already feeling achy and tired, and I wanted to go somewhere where I would be left alone. Gino's was my best bet.
I had been going to Gino's off and on for the last few months, always late at night when most respectable people would be home with their families or out drinking with friends.
I enjoyed the anonymity of the place, how it was tucked down a side alley where no one I knew was likely to find me. I could just settle into my usual booth, switch off my phone, and relax into the knowledge that for an hour, I didn't have to be Aiden Carrier of Carrier Solutions, business magnate and marketing wunderkind. I could just be myself and revel in my averageness.
Gino's wasn't exactly fine dining. There wasn't much on the menu that didn't come fried, slathered in cheese, or dipped in gravy, but that didn't matter. If I wanted foie gras and salmon souffle there were plenty of upscale restaurants near my condo to cater to those appetites with important mineral water and ambient string music and a ruby-red glass of hundred-dollar wine to top the whole experience off. But that wasn't what Gino's did for me; Gino’s was there when I wanted a messy cheeseburger and some onion rings, or a milkshake so dense you could stick a spoon up in it. Simple food that reminded me of scraping together dollar bills with the guys on my team to hit up the soda shop in town after practice, food that would have given my personal trainer a heart attack. When I got that craving, only Gino's could satisfy.
The bell above my head dinged brightly as I entered, but almost no one looked up from their plates of food and private conversations. Perfect. After a long day of being stared at by the press and looked up by starstruck interns and scrutinized by business partners, it felt good to be invisible.
I nodded at the man at the register, who flashed me a tight smile and waved me on to my usual booth. I always sat in the same place, as far away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the restaurant as possible. Soon, one of the waitresses would be along to set down the sticky laminated menu on my table and fill up my water glass, and I could slip into my usual quiet rhythm. They knew me by now, if not by name then by my face. I almost never spoke to anyone beyond a few polite exchanges with my waitress, and that felt perfect to me. Gino's was my preferred spot to unwind after work on those nights when going straight home felt like too much of a chore, or too depressing.
I ordered my usual, a burger, fries, and a large fizzing Coke that would have tasted too sickly sweet to me at any other time but felt perfect alongside the rest of my Americana meal. I had just started to really dig in, losing myself in the simple enjoyment of a hot meal, when someone quickly approached my booth. Just as I looked up to see who they were, my mouth full of french fries, the interloper slid into the seat across from me, tugging her skirt down nervously over her knees. It was one of the waitresses, one I didn't recognize, with a bob of curls cropped close around her face. It was a pretty face, but white as a sheet, as though she had just gotten the scare of her life.
"I'm so sorry," she said in a half-whisper, barely able to pull her eyes up from the table. She seemed mortified, the appealing spattering of freckles across her nose only accentuating how deathly pale she had turned. Something about her struck me right in the gut, in a way I couldn't quite put my finger on. Had we met before? She wasn’t one of my recent nightclub conquests, was she? The odds of that seemed astronomical in a city this large. "I’ve got this guy following me. I don’t know him, I didn’t know what to do…"
I reached for a napkin to wipe the mustard off my face. Obviously, this girl was in trouble, and as irritated as I was at being interrupted, I wasn't about to throw her out of my booth. People didn't just deposit themselves at someone else's table unless something else was going on, especially not wait staff.
"Just take it easy," I said in what I hoped was a soothing voice. I leaned in slightly across the table towards her, lowering my voice. She seemed afraid of speaking too loudly, as though we might be overheard. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"
"One of the customers grabbed me," she said, eyes still fixed on the tabletop between us. "A big, scary looking guy with a bunch of his motorcycle buddies. He pinched my ass, and I slapped him."
"Good for you," I said and meant it. As far as I was concerned, assholes like that needed to get slapped around a little more often.
"I think he’s following me. Please, will you look? I’m so sorry about this."
God, I was sure I had seen her somewhere before, it was right on the tip of my tongue. My stomach was tangling itself into ever-more-complicated knots like I should be afraid of her or excited to see her.
"It’s alright," I insisted. "Don’t worry about it. This is exactly the kind of situation in which you should find somebody else. Do you want me to call over your manager?"
"No, he's the most unhelpful person in the world. I tried that already."
"Alright, I'll look."
As casually as I could, I leaned out of the booth so I could see into the rest of the restaurant and scanned the crowded floor for someone who might fit the description the girl had given me. At first, everything seemed normal. But then I saw a hulking man in a motorcycle jacket, throwing his eyes around the place like he was a lion on the hunt for a gazelle that had narrowly escaped him. His face was beet-red with anger. Obviously, this wasn't the kind of guy who would take a pretty girl slapping him across the face lying down.
I pulled myself back into the booth, trying to keep my expression and body language as neutral as possible. She looked like her heart might burst from fear, and I didn't want to shake her up any more than she already was. She still couldn't quite meet my eyes and was tangling and untangling her fingers in her lap in an attempt to soothe herself. The gesture was so damn familiar, it was driving me crazy. Who did she remind me of? Where had I seen that before?
"Big ugly guy with a dead rat for a mustache? That guy fit your description?" I asked.
She nodded, and finally, her eyes came up to meet mine. They were pleading, and emerald green, and they pinned me to the spot like a stake through the heart. A flood of memories came rushing back so forcefully that I thought I would drown in them. Memories of her smiling on the fresh-cut grass of a football field, of her little smirk shot my way over a stack of calculus books at her father's kitchen table, of her writhing underneath me and clutching at me with eager fingers as I lost myself within her for the first time.
The hair had thrown me off, and her face was thinner without the soft curves of teenage baby fat, but I did know her. I knew her well, almost better than I knew myself.
"Oh my God," She breathed, realization setting in behind her eyes. She looked terrified or like she had just seen a miracle performed in live time. "Aiden."
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to speak and make sure that I wasn't just lost in some vivid dream produced by sleep deprivation and too much caffeine. This couldn't really be happening. Mia was a ghost from my past, lost on the other end of the country never to be seen again.
But before I could say anything, I caught the biker moving towards us out of the corner of my eye. We'd been spotted.
"Just one second," I said, pushing up from the table.
"Aiden!" She whispered vehemently, grabbing
for my wrist. "Don’t."
I moved as though in a daze, like my limbs had a mind of their own. I had never been the type to seek out conflict; on the field, I was usually the guy breaking up brawls before they got out of hand. It was one of my strong suits as a leader, nipping arguments in the bud. But it didn't look like this guy could easily be reasoned with, and to be honest, after hearing about what he did to Mia, I didn't feel like playing nice.
He stopped right in front of me, too close to be friendly. He probably thought he could intimidate me into sitting back down, but he was just letting the suit and tie fool him. I could still get rough if I had to.
"I’m trying to talk to her," the biker said, moving to push past me. I blocked his path with my body, staring him dead in the eyes.
"She doesn’t want to talk," I said. It came out sounding more like a command.
"That little bitch just slapped me; she’s gonna hear what I have to say."
Heat flared in my chest, a rage that made me itch to slap him again, just to prove the point Mia had made earlier. Someone seriously needed to teach this guy a lesson.
"Did I stutter?"
"Listen, buddy, don’t get involved in this, okay? This is between me and her. Stay out of this unless you want to get moved to the top of my shit list."
He pressed past me in a lurching step, nearly knocking me off balance, and pressed himself in towards the mouth of the booth where Mia was hiding out. He grabbed for her with a clumsy paw and she shrieked, shaking all over. Her face was streaked with tears and looked so horrified and helpless. No one else in Gino's seemed interested in helping her, and even her manager was off doing something else so he wouldn't have to deal with the mess.
I yanked him back from the booth with a tight grip around his arm, wedging myself between him and Mia.
"Get lost," I spat.
He showed me his teeth, his voice coming out in a guttural snarl.
"Listen, man, fuck yo—"
My fist connected with his jaw before he had time to say another word, and while he was doubled over, swearing a blue streak and swinging wild in retaliation, I kneed him in the sternum. I hadn't hit anyone since college, but I was willing to beat his ass right here in the middle of Gino’s until he went down and stayed down if that was what it took to keep him away from Mia. Picking up a chair and knocking him out flashed through my mind, but then I saw that his table of friends was getting rowdy, shouting and crawling over each other to get out of the booth. They were coming for me and Mia, and it didn't look like hell or high water were going to stop them.
The restaurant descended into chaos, and the manager at the register started shouting at us with fire in his eyes.
"You can’t fight in here!" he shouted over the din. "Take that shit outside! I’m calling the police."
He wasn't bluffing. Moments later he was striding over to us with his cellphone pressed to his ear, giving our address and my description to the call operator. The biker gang was halfway across the restaurant on their way towards us, and the huge man groaning on the ground at my feet was slowly coming to his senses. I had seconds to figure something out, some way to keep Mia safe.
My hand shot out and wrapped around Mia's wrist, hauling her out of the booth by the wrist. I pulled her in tightly to me as I slammed through the waitstaff-only door into the kitchen behind us. The bikers were blocking the front entrance, which would soon be swarming with police, and that was something I had no intention of dealing with tonight. If the tabloids got wind of this whole situation, that would be a whole new level of hell. Best to make a quick getaway.
The short order cook swore a blue streak at us in Italian as we weaved between long stainless steel countertops and ducked underneath hanging pots and pans. I had never been in a restaurant kitchen before, but I figured it must have an exit, although God knows where we were going to come out. Mia darted down a side corridor, pulling me close behind her as she panted and ran as quickly as she could. I trusted her instincts to lead us out of the building, and she never once asked what I was doing or slowed her pace. She had always been willing to follow me wherever I led, no questions asked. Apparently, some habits died hard.
My car waited patiently for us in the side alley where Gino’s was located, black and shining and subtle. If we managed to get away before the cops got a clear look at the license plate, we would be golden.
A police siren whooped a few blocks over and red and blue lights flashed through the alley, reflecting off the oily puddles on the ground and the dark sheen of my car.
I yanked out my key fob and lit up the headlights with the unlock signal, then yanked open the passenger side door for Mia. She folded herself inside without a word, fingers shaking as she fastened the passenger seatbelt. She was probably fired and could probably never show her face at Gino’s again, but at least she was with me, safe and secure. I didn’t think twice about ushering her into my car, about taking her away from her negligent employer and those bastards in leather and whisking her to wherever she needed to go. Usually, I was the kind of guy who didn’t like to get involved. I let people make their own choices and fight their own battles. But Mia was different. I had been her protector when I was young and optimistic, when I hadn’t known any better, and now those old instincts were in complete control.
I didn’t know where they were taking us, but I trusted them implicitly.
I threw myself into the driver’s side of the car, revving the engine to life. Moments later, we were pulling out of the alley, wheels screaming against the pavement as I turned tightly onto the thickly congested road. Neither of us might ever be able to get dinner on this side of town again without causing a commotion, but it looked like we were in the clear. As the police lights faded behind us and the Ferrari was swallowed up by the anonymity of New York traffic, I relaxed, if only a tiny bit.
Mia was here. Mia was with me. And Mia was safe.
Nothing else mattered.
Chapter Eight
Mia
My heartbeat pounded in my ears as we roared down the back alley, the tires splashing up oily water and skidding against the pavement when Aiden made the tight turn onto the road. Police lights flashed in the rearview mirror but quickly disappeared as we wove through the streets. Traffic was dense as always, but we were soon swallowed up in the ever-changing sea of cars as Aiden’s Ferrari wound serpentine patterns down side streets and one-ways. Despite the erratic nature of his driving, he was doing his utmost to get us as far away from the restaurant as possible. For some reason, despite the harassment at work and the quick exit and the car chase in progress, or maybe because of it, I found myself laughing. Really laughing, from deep within me as I clutched onto the car above the passenger door for dear life and pressed my free hand to my overheated chest. This craziness was my life. I had been swept up by Aiden Carrier and into another rule-breaking adventure, just like when we were young, dumb high schoolers. I felt lighter than air and absolutely untouchable.
I nearly toppled into Aiden when he banked hard around a tight turn, nearly getting caught in a red light, and we both burst into breathless laughter all over again. The whole situation was so insanely improbable, so absolutely unexpected, that there was nothing else we could do.
"Are you alright?" he asked finally. Once we were sure the police were no longer following us, Aiden had slowed us down to a pace that wasn’t going to attract more law enforcement. He had gotten older, and I had never seen him in a suit before, which was probably one of the reasons I hadn’t recognized him at first glance. But his eyes were the same searching, concerned brown, and I recognized the timbre of his voice, gentle but commanding. For a moment, I was eighteen again and entirely enamored with someone who would move the moon and the stars to make me happy. Then I snapped back into reality. I was well into my twenties, broke, in a car with someone who may as well be a stranger after all these years, on the run from the cops, and almost certainly fired. I needed to keep my head on straight.
"Um, I thi
nk I’m okay," I said, straightening up in my seat and making sure I was still buckled up and all in one piece.
"I’m sorry I decked that guy, he just went for you and I—"
"No, it’s alright, I’m happy you did something. No one else in that restaurant was going to."
We drove in increasingly awkward silence for a moment or more, with Aiden keeping his eyes on the road and on the lookout for cops while I took in the lush interior of the car. I was afraid to touch anything for fear of leaving fingerprints on something. An inkling began to form in my mind that between the suit, the car, and the giant gold watch winking at me from his wrist, Aiden had somehow become very wealthy. What had happened to him in the years since I saw him last? Where had the working-class, football-loving boy next door gone? Suddenly, I felt very shabby in my messy hairdo and my threadbare Gino’s dress and apron. Working the night shift at a discount diner wasn’t exactly life in the gutter, but I’m sure it came pretty close to someone like Aiden.
"I can’t believe this," he said eventually, glancing over to me out of the corner of his eye as we crept forward down a backed thoroughfare. We had gotten ourselves deep into midtown, which meant plenty of traffic ahead for the conceivable future and nothing to look at outside the window except glaring LED displays, chain hotels, and traveling hot dog vendors shouting about dollar soda from their carts. "Mia Prescott. I never thought I was ever going to see you again. God. What a small world."
He didn’t sound angry or delighted, for that matter. Just baffled. It sounded more like he was commenting on the mysterious ways of the universe than telling me anything about how it felt to see me again after all these years apart.