by Jaime Reese
He couldn’t nod quickly enough. He glanced over at Matt and nodded some more, finally excited about the prospect of working at a job that sounded interesting.
Matt smiled. “There’s our Ben,” Matt said, returning his gaze to his laptop. “I don’t see a bakery listed on that street. I can have J stop by her shop to talk to her or give you the paperwork and program information to pass along.”
The detective reached for his phone, scowling at the display. “I’ve got to go. Give me the forms and I’ll stop by Nat’s bakery later today.” Aidan stood and glanced back at Ben. “I don’t know what she would have you do there, but if she’s got you working in the back and helping her bake stuff, you have to make me a promise.”
Ben nodded.
“She makes - - there.” Aidan stopped at Ben’s frown.
He glanced up at Julian, watching as he fingerspelled c-r-o-i-s-s-a-n-t-s, filling in the missing word Ben hadn’t caught. Aidan pursed his lips, as if a thought had crossed his mind. “How do you sign twisty breads?” He nodded after Julian responded.
Emotions swelled in Ben’s chest, as it always did when someone tried to communicate with him.
Aidan returned his attention to Ben. “Jessie loves those croissants.”
Ben remembered meeting Aidan’s partner at the barbecues. He was always kind with a ready smile.
“You and I…” Aidan began, flicking his finger back and forth between them. “We’re good as long as you don’t fuck with those twisty breads,” he finished, repeating the signs Julian had provided.
He held back a smile at the mirth reflected back in the detective’s hazel eyes. Ben nodded and extended his hand, sealing the promise with a handshake.
“Any questions?” Natalie signed as she spoke. Natalie del Toro, owner of the small bakery shop and Ben’s new boss.
Ben couldn’t have imagined that Aidan’s casual suggestion the day before would have ended up with Ben starting work the very next day. Natalie had been interviewing for a new hire and Aidan’s afternoon visit had pushed her to fill out the forms and visit the halfway house to personally meet Ben and conduct the interview on the spot while Matt processed the paperwork.
Aidan had been kind when he said she was a hard-ass. Natalie was five-six with dark hair and eyes. She was respectful and direct, but her no-nonsense interview paralleled an interrogation, and her work ethic was strict. It was obvious there would be no coddling. And Ben welcomed it like a cold drink in dry weather.
After touring the impeccably clean small bakery and learning about each of the desserts sorted in the display case, he was blindsided by a fact…he was officially in love with every single piece of dessert he saw, smelled, or tasted. Napoleons, palmiers, both sweet and savory tarts, and so much more. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of sugar and sweet spices blended with the warmth of freshly baked bread from that morning, the lingering heat from the large commercial ovens in the back area still enough to warm the entire store.
Natalie baked in the early morning and opened her store at seven. She didn’t bother with coffees or cookies or brownies, claiming the bulk of that business went to the larger chain with the drive-through windows at most street corners. Instead, she focused on various types of pastries, to-die-for éclairs, bread varieties she made from scratch—including Aidan’s don’t-mess-with-them croissants, and bite-sized cream-filled desserts that teased and tempted the eyes as much as the taste buds.
He wanted to sample every dessert and bread. He could eat, sleep, and live in this sugary and doughy heaven if he had to. His head whipped to the side when Natalie touched his arm.
“Sorry,” she signed. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Ben shook his head and smiled, bouncing on the balls of his feet, unable to stifle the energy thrumming through his body. “I’m a little distracted. In a good way. Thank you for hiring me.”
“Well, now that you’ve taken the tour, tell me what you’d like to help with.”
“Anything I can.”
“You mentioned you liked baking.”
He froze and stared. And blinked. Repeatedly. Did she ask because she wanted to have him help bake or was that her attempt at small talk? He usually steered clear of chitchat, preferring the direct approach when signing to avoid misunderstandings. He finally nodded when her lips thinned as if holding back a smile.
“Did you go to school?”
“I finished high school—” He stopped when she shook her head.
“Cooking, baking, or pastry school,” she clarified.
The air rushed out of his hope balloon. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head in response. Those schools were far outside anything that had ever been within his financial reach. Tag on the need for an interpreter so he wouldn’t miss any of the classroom details, and that pretty much ended that dream before it had a chance to gain traction.
He wouldn’t let his mind go there.
Surviving had been his priority for the better part of his life, and he had made it this far. That was an accomplishment. That was the positive he chose to focus on. That was how he found his way through life, refusing to let the darkness weigh him down for too long. He just wished prison hadn’t dimmed that light so much, making it tough to find again.
A small hand on his arm pulled him from his melancholy thoughts.
What were we talking about?
He shook his head, then signed, “No baking school.” He shrugged off his response, refusing to allow any negativity to ruin this opportunity.
“Then we’ll start with the basics.”
He straightened and inhaled sharply. Had he misinterpreted her signs? Was she going to teach him how to make her desserts?
“I have one request.”
He anxiously waited for her to continue.
“You leave some treats for the customers.”
Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he nodded again. And again. He was practically hopping in place, something he used to do when he was a young boy and the excitement was almost too much to contain.
“Before we do anything, we need to set you up to take the online course today for the food handler license you’ll need. I believe there’s a text-only option, but I’ll double-check. It’ll take about two hours, but you need to have that license before you can tackle any prep work.”
He nodded and smiled as Natalie outlined a typical workday schedule. She would arrive at her usual early morning hours to prepare the items for the morning rush. While she manned the store opening and morning crowd, he would help with the prep work for the afternoon baking. She would start him off with the basics. Then, add in tips and techniques until he could handle some of the items on his own. Afternoons were reserved for any required cleanup and preparation so that she could start the process all over again the next day before dawn without delays.
She promised to teach him.
He promised to absorb every lesson.
For the first time in a long time, a grin dug into his cheeks for so long they ached.
Ben pulled the pillow under his head, hoping sleep would come. After only a handful of days on the job, his excitement to learn more grew with each new task and responsibility. Natalie pushed him to work harder, learn more, and practice. He couldn’t wait to find out which new technique Natalie would show him next week. In addition to her lessons, she brought in a few baking books for him to read. In the afternoons, she would let him practice, both her recipes and ones he had read.
He read every page of every book. Absorbed them. Bookmarked pages and added sticky notes with comments. He wished he could access the Internet on his phone, but that went against the rules. Instead, Matt let him borrow the laptop and oven, fueling his eagerness to explore and experiment with combining different ingredients.
Natalie had told him he was a natural. Matt was excited Ben had found his calling, and Julian was thrilled Ben brought leftover goodies to satisfy his sweet tooth. He had finally found something he loved doing. If only
he could get some sleep, the night wouldn’t drag so much and he could do it all over again tomorrow. He turned again and pulled up the sheets, tucking them under his chin. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, trying to cleanse his mind of lingering changes to recipes he wanted to try.
Finally relaxing, he took another breath, and then exhaled again, repeating until the tension left his body and sleep teased him.
A hand covered his mouth.
Breaking through the haze of sleep with jarring speed, he jolted in bed. Instinct drove his hands in the air, ready to strike.
A firm grip stopped his hands midair.
Am I dreaming?
Opening his eyes, he willed his vision to adjust to the darkness. His hands were thrust up above his head and hot breath blew across his neck as the weight of a body pinned him down. His heart thundered as the breath pushed through his nose with force. Writhing and bowing his body, he fought for the slightest inch of space. The grip on his hands tightened and the weight on him grew.
No, this was real.
A hint of light peeked through the slats of the blinds.
David.
Ben bent his knees, shifted, and tried kicking, needing to use every limb and twist of his body in defense. If he could reach his phone stashed under the pillow, he could call up the app with the bullhorn. He couldn’t hear it, but he knew everyone in the house would.
One second to escape. Another to grab his phone.
In the back of his mind, he sensed he didn’t have that much time.
He glanced over to the nightstand at his side as he pushed and struggled. Maybe he could reach something there, use it as a weapon on David or throw it at something. Anything to alert the others in the dead of night. His prior term at Halfway House had taught him Julian was a light sleeper. One loud sound was all he would need.
He roared under the palm covering his mouth. Screamed as loud as his lungs allowed. It didn’t matter what was said. All he needed was sound. He stole a glance over David’s shoulder. He whimpered at the shut door, something he never did. The thumping in his chest quickened, he would need to make a sound loud enough to pass through his closed door…
And the hallway.
And hope it was loud enough to pass through Julian and Matt’s always closed bedroom door.
David’s body pressed harder against him, the hot breath hitching by his ear as a growing hardness pushed against his leg. He tried and failed to bite at David’s palm against his mouth. He tilted his head upward, glancing at his hands being held above his head near the headboard. He jerked his hands upward, knocking them hard against the wood.
Once, twice, three times.
Bruised knuckles be damned. His legs were locked in place by David’s unexpected strength. Gritting his teeth, Ben pulled his head back as far as he could to gain a little space, then pushed his head forward to headbutt David.
The pain was instant.
It looked much easier in the movies.
Black and white spots dotted his vision. The grip on his hands tightened and his fingers numbed. He slammed his hands against the headboard again and rocked his body up and down on the bed, forcing it to move. Bile rose as he pushed against David, but he hoped the bed creaked or made some sound against the wooden floor.
He pushed and knocked, kicked and yelled.
The lack of circulation to his digits lessened the pain he would otherwise feel.
Another twist of his body granted him a tiny scrap of space. Just enough. He bent his leg as much as he could and channeled all his strength, thrusting his knee forward into David’s groin. David instantly curled into himself, rolling onto his side. Gritting his teeth, Ben jammed his feet against David’s shoulders and kicked him off the bed with force.
He winced at the flash of light. Eyes still adjusting to the sudden brightness, he caught sight of Julian, yanking David up off the floor and thrusting him up against the wall, pinning him in place with a wooden bat pushed up against David’s throat.
Ben quickly crab-walked backward on the bed, stopping against the headboard. He swiped at his mouth with his forearm and rubbed his wrists. His hands shook. His fingers tingled and ached. He splayed, then fisted his hands, willing the circulation to return to his numb and pained fingers.
Calvin appeared in the doorway, freezing mid-step with his hair tousled. One glance at Julian and David, his next to Matt standing by the door as he spoke into the phone.
His housemate stepped inside the room, standing in Ben’s line of sight, blocking his view of Julian and David. He waved his hand, gaining Ben’s attention.
“Lookame. Notem.”
Ben screwed his eyes shut. Covering his face, he shook his head. That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Every second replayed in his mind. Over and over again. Each breath came in short pulses as his thoughts spun inside his throbbing head, spinning with what-if scenarios of what could have happened if Julian hadn’t walked in.
A small weight pressed against his foot. He kicked away the unwelcome touch, once, twice, and a third time just to be sure. His eyes sprung open as he gasped each breath.
Calvin held his hands up in surrender, his attention solely targeted on Ben. He turned his phone and held it toward Ben, keeping as much distance between them as he could.
Ben hesitantly inched forward, just enough to read the message. The throb of his head drummed louder, deeper. He blinked repeatedly, needing to read the tiny line of text on the phone’s display.
Look at me. Not them.
Ben glanced up at those piercing green eyes. Calvin immediately pulled his phone back and quickly typed out a new message. He held out his phone again toward Ben. Let’s go downstairs. Away from them. So we can look at your hands.
He looked down at himself, his chest suddenly heaving with each rapid breath. The blood from his knuckles had spread all over his hands and clothes. Turning, he saw some smeared blood on the headboard and bedsheets. Another light tap to his foot, this one less shocking. He glanced at the screen of Calvin’s phone to read the message. Where’s your phone?
Ben turned and reached under his pillow, grabbing his phone still safely tucked away.
Calvin motioned with his hand, encouraging Ben out of bed. He stood like a guardian at his side, blocking sight of Julian and David still against the wall, frozen in the same position as they had been since the moment Julian appeared. Matt paced the hallway, concern evident in his expression but controlled anger in every other inch of his body as he spoke on the phone.
They walked downstairs and into the kitchen, Calvin refusing to leave his side.
Ben scowled when Calvin took his phone, anger swelling his body at another invasion of his space. Calvin swiped his finger across the screen and typed out a message, turning the display toward Ben to read.
Realization—and gratitude—barreled in like a freight train, with the start of Calvin’s message.
I thought your phone would be easier for you to read right now. Matt called the cops and a friend of his. He wants David out of the house and back in prison. He’s talking to Sam now.
After Ben’s nod, Calvin typed out another message.
We’re going to hang out here until all that happens. Okay?
Ben glanced up and nodded. Calvin pointed to Ben’s bloodied knuckles, then opened his hand, palm side up, curling his fingers in a gimme gesture. Hesitantly, Ben placed his hand in Calvin’s, surprised by how carefully the larger man took his hand and turned it, inspecting his injured fingers. He released Ben’s hand and pulled out one of the chairs from the dining table, pointing at Ben and then at the empty chair. Ben took a seat as Calvin walked over to the corner cabinet and fished out a first aid kit from the top drawer along with a plastic zip bag. Tossing the kit onto the table, Calvin then filled the bag with ice from the freezer, slapping it a few times to flatten it out. He then took the roll of paper towels out from the holder before returning to Ben’s side and pulling out the seat next to him at the table.
C
alvin handed the bagged ice to Ben and pointed to his head.
The ice to his forehead numbed the throb. He took a deep breath, the steadiest one he had taken in the last few minutes. Calvin set out the paper towels on the table and began to work on Ben’s hand, wiping his knuckles with some peroxide-doused gauze from the kit. Ben pulled his hands away and typed out a message on his phone, feeling the ache of every character he typed. You’ve done this before.
A sad smile spread across Calvin’s face. He nodded. “Can you read my lips or do you need me to type?”
Ben nodded and pointed to his mouth, his mind clearer and more focused on interpreting Calvin’s lip movements.
“You fought back. That was good. A kick to the balls or the kneecap usually hurts. Always go for either as the target. Jabbing the throat works too. Got it?”
Ben nodded. He didn’t want to think about what had just happened. He pointed to the last note typed on his phone and then to Calvin.
“Got in a few fights growing up and had a dad that didn’t always agree that half was fair.”
Ben cocked his head. He must have gotten that last part wrong.
Calvin shrugged. “Where do you think I learned how to steal? My pops taught me. It’s how we covered the rent most times when I was growing up. But other times, when he used up his share on his vice of the week, he got greedy and tried to beat my half out of me. I couldn’t let him do that. Best day of my life was when I left.” He glanced up at Ben for a moment before returning his attention to wiping Ben’s knuckles. “Let’s just say I know how to clean up scrapes and hide bruises.”
Sometime later, police officers had escorted David out of the house. Aidan and Sam had arrived and had a discussion with Julian and Matt. Ben sensed the tension and anger, but he couldn’t bring himself to attempt to read anyone’s lips. Instead, he remained in the kitchen, sitting at the dining table while Calvin remained vigilant at his side.
Ben ducked his head and swallowed heavily, battling with the guilt of the chaos he had caused, yet eternally grateful at how each of these men were there to shield him from what had happened. A tap on his shoulder drew his attention. Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed when Sam or Aidan had left or when the discussion in the living room had ended.