by KB Winters
It was too chaotic and my ears still rung and I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me, but still I kept shooting until I heard that fucking click. Out of ammo. Scrambling on my hands and knees, my ass and elbows, I crawled to part of a body, Garcia, and grabbed both of his weapons and kept firing.
“It’s okay Max, shhhh.”
I blinked and looked around the desert to see who that sweet, soothing voice belonged to. But I couldn’t see shit except a pair of black sandaled feet coming my way and I kept shooting.
“Max, it’s all right. You’re okay.”
The images in the desert slowly faded and the voice became clearer. Louder. Jana. My eyes popped wide open and landed on the ceiling but warm, soft woman was pressed into my side as a delicate hand caressed my head.
“You’re dreaming,” she whispered softly, oblivious to the way her tits pressed against my shoulder.
I froze and looked over at her before I sat up. Fast. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She winced like I smacked her, using her arms to back away to the other side of the bed. Like she was scared of me. “You were having a bad dream or a flashback or something, I was trying to pull you from it gently.”
“Well I don’t need a fucking mother, Jana.” The words spat out of me like venom and her big brown eyes were shocked at first, but that quickly turned to hurt and anger.
She gasped at my tone but quickly schooled her expression. “Right. Sorry.” Slowly she set her feet on the floor and stood, walking silently to the bathroom and locking the door behind her.
Fuck. I was such an asshole. I sat there on the corner of the bed and stared at the wood grain and the deep green area rug under the bed. I shouldn’t have lashed out at her the way I did, but dammit she shouldn’t have tried to help. She should’ve worried about her safety. I don’t know how long I sat there, but finally she walked out of the bathroom wearing a big thick robe that made her look smaller. More vulnerable. Her blond hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, leaving her scar looking red and harsh and angry. On full display.
I knew what she was doing, and I should let her. But I didn’t. I reached out for her but she stepped away from my touch. “Thank you for last night, Max. It was perfect.” Her mouth smiled but her eyes looked exhausted and filled with anguish.
“I’m sorry, Jana.”
She shook her head at me, her smile much too bright as she fought to hold on to the tears I saw welling in her eyes. “Don’t be. I knew what this was. And what it wasn’t.” She turned and walked out the door before I could say anything, so I followed her lead.
I got dressed quickly and left without saying goodbye.
It was the least I could do for her.
***
“What the hell do you mean, ‘it isn’t that bad’? Were you listening?” I called Dr. Singh early Monday morning to see about switching my appointment this week because I spent the rest of the weekend alternating between guilt and drunken rage over how things went down with Jana. He could fit me in on Tuesday, one damn day early.
“I was listening but maybe you are in no position to see things the way I do.” I appreciated his attempts at diplomacy, but I wasn’t in the mood to be nice. “Yes you still had the dream, but she pulled you out before things got bad.” He glanced down at his notes and I knew what he would say. “You said you don’t remember anything after the pair of booted feet and you usually wake up with an elevated heart and blood pressure rate, cold sweats and panic attacks, right?”
I nodded.
“That is progress. And she is right, pulling you from that memory gently is less traumatic for the dreamer.” He gave me a pointed look that only amplified my guilt. “Your friend is very smart.”
"Who made her a fucking expert, anyway?” I knew I was well into bratty fucking kid status but I didn’t give a damn.
Dr. Singh nodded and crossed his legs, setting aside his ever present notepad. “Military servicemembers are not the only ones susceptible to post traumatic stress, Max.”
I sat back and sighed, raking both hands through my hair. “Shit, Doc. I thought I wouldn’t be able to feel any fucking worse. I was wrong.” Naturally she knew what worked, she’d been dealing with her own trauma since she was sixteen years old. “I am such an asshole.”
The good doctor looked amused. “Being an asshole can be fixed easily Max. It is called romance. What I’d like to discuss for the remainder of our time today is why you reacted the way you did.”
“Shit, Doc, I already told you. I can’t risk hurting someone because of my fucking dreams. My brain. That is not okay.”
“But you didn’t hurt her. Not physically anyway.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Avoiding an outcome isn’t dealing with the issue Max. Maybe it’s a good thing that you have a new lady friend right when you need one.” A soft chime sounded and I shot up out of my seat like it was on fire.
Dr. Singh stood slower and extended a hand to me. “See you next week Max. Sooner if you need me.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“Remember, romance,” he said to my back as I walked out of his office and the damn building like the fucking terrorists were after me.
The sun shone bright even through the overcast day but the chill in the air was typical of Spring. I didn’t really give a shit about the weather but that session with Singh hadn’t helped. It made me feel guiltier, like the worst kind of asshole for my reaction.
And worse, I probably behaved the way every man in Jana’s life had.
I was so fucking tired of my own thoughts, I pushed the engine on my bike on the ten minute drive back to Mayhem, so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t see Savior until I damn near ran right into him. “What are you doing here?”
“Do I need a reason to come see you?”
“Cut the shit, Savior. What’s up?” Not that we weren’t friends, we were. Savior was the only guy I really hung out with in the club because I didn’t come to Vegas looking for a connection. I came in search of my brother and found two dozen others instead.
“Fine, I need you to make a run with me to Santa Fe.”
“What the hell is in Santa Fe?”
“Guns. More to the point, we’re delivering a couple crates to a gun shop who made the purchase through a show.”
I blinked as the words seeped in. “I thought we didn’t fuck with guns.”
“We don’t. At least not illegal ones. These are more on the legal side of the gray area and more important, we’re charging a shit ton of cash for them.”
I shrugged because it didn’t matter to me as much as it should. Savior said they weren’t breaking the law and I believed him. “Fine. When do we leave?”
“Today. As soon as you pack a bag. You heard from Golden Boy lately? Cross said he stopped taking calls.”
“My calls and visits too,” I grumbled. The only topic I wanted to discuss less than Jana was Tate. “I don’t know what’s going on with him but as long as he’s not talking to me, I can’t do shit about it.”
“Call his lawyer, find out what’s going on.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.” I didn’t have the energy to deal with anything right now. I just wanted to sit in front of my big ass flat screen and drink until I passed out. But it looked like I would spend the next twelve hours on the road.
At least I’d be too focused to think about the curvy blond who wouldn’t let me have one thought that didn’t include her.
Chapter 8
Jana
“I’m not upset with him, Teddy. I’m more upset with myself.” I stabbed at the shrimp scampi I’d made and was no longer in the mood to eat.
She dropped her fork and flicked long red tendrils behind her before she rested her elbows on the table. “Bullshit. You should be upset with him, he was an asshole! You tried to help him and he bit your head off, that’s on him.”
I agreed, mostly. “But I shouldn’t have been so hurt by it. T
hat was an amateur mistake on my part when I knew what it was. I was too relaxed and I let myself forget what it was.” Which was just one night.
“At the risk of sounding like a cracked CD, bullshit. Your feelings are valid dammit. Maybe you weren’t expecting hearts and flowers and shit, but you were expecting common fucking decency!”
I let out a long, surprised breath. “Okay. You’re right. I did expect him to act like a human at least until I locked the door behind him. But that didn’t happen so none of that matters.” I had almost a full week to get used to it and yes, it did still hurt. But I would survive. Dwelling on it now wouldn’t change the past, which meant it needed to stay buried.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel anything about it.”
“I know and I have. But you know what, Teddy? I got up yesterday and looked myself in the mirror and reminded myself that as much this hurt right now, I’ve been through and survived worse.”
“Well, shit. What can I say in response to that?”
“Nothing, Teddy. I’m done talking about it. Tell me about your celebrity wedding.” It was a jerk move when she was only trying to help but I didn’t need to keep rehashing the best night of my life followed by one of the most humiliating mornings. I was there. I still feel it. Talking about it wouldn’t change anything, but listening to her talk about work would be less stressful for both of us than watching her stress about my feelings.
“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it. It takes place next weekend and then I can wash my hands of that woman forever. Makes me wish I’d charged more.”
“Have you considered offering packages? Say one of those high rollers decides to marry his good luck charm but they want it done right. For let’s say fifteen grand you’ll whip it up in twelve hours, complete with mini bites and champagne.” I was desperate, sue me.
“Maybe. I have too much business right now to consider anything else. How about you, how’s work?”
“It’s work. Steady as ever. I’m picking up a new client, a green collective.” I didn’t care what it was, they were new business owners and their books were atrocious which meant a lot of long hours creating and staring at spreadsheets. It was just what I needed right now. “Want to come to class with me tonight?”
“Afraid you’ll run into Hot Rod?”
“No. Okay, yes. Maybe a little.”
“No, I have a party to attend. I got an invite to this MTV party filming in that new nightclub in the Wynn so I’m going to network. Or whatever.” She rolled her eyes and stood, taking her plate to the sink. “Thanks for feeding me though babe. You always have the best food. I think you missed your calling in the kitchen.”
“I wanted to be a chef, actually.”
She froze in the middle of the kitchen and turned to me, looking more shocked than I’d ever seen the unflappable Theodora Quinton. “Really? How did I not know this?”
“Because I don’t talk about it. Ever. I went and cooked for an executive chef in Chicago because he was Michelin rated and I hadn’t yet realized what a hindrance my scar would be. I was already there for school so that was also a factor. Anyway, I cooked and he loved it, then offered me a job as a dishwasher. I took it, thinking I had to work my way up like everyone else. Then one day he told me the truth. I was a talented chef and I could go far, but not if I scared the customers.”
“That motherfucker!”
“Thanks. That was my sentiment too, at first. But Franco didn’t say anything that wasn’t true and I knew that, but I was young. I cooked a great meal and went out to get my praise. They were polite but they were horrified. Disgusted and uncomfortable. I thanked him for his honesty, finished my shift and changed my major to accounting.” No one gave a shit what you looked like if you kept their finances in order.
“I swear Jana, I want to just firebomb the people in your past.”
I had to smile at Teddy’s vehemence. “Thanks, but it wouldn’t do any good.”
“Well fuck them anyway, you’re incredible.” She got moving then, leaving her dishes in the sink before she wrapped me in a hug and breezed out the door, always in a rush.
I cleaned up and changed, leaving with just enough time to make it to the art store before class began. “Hello, Jana. I wondered if you’d come tonight.”
I grinned evenly at Moon. “This week was busy and I really needed to paint,” I told her and she gave me a commiserating smile. My usual spot was open so I quickly took it and began to set up the supplies how I liked them.
“Jana, I’d like to speak with you a moment,” Moon said nervously, wringing her hands on the crushed velvet dress that fell to the floor.
“Sure, Moon. What’s up?”
“I’m doing a showcase of amateur artists and I would love to feature some of your oils and sketches. You have a good eye.”
I sighed, a war brewing within me. I would love to show off my art, but just like chefs, people always wanted to meet the artist. “I would love to help you out Moon, but I can’t.” At her confused look I explained and she looked horrified.
“No, that can’t be. You’re beautiful. That old thing is hardly noticeable, no matter how much you think otherwise.” She waved her hand like it was inconsequential. A jagged six and a half inch scar was inconsequential. “Just think about it. Please.”
“Sure, Moon. I’ll think about it.”
“Oh good.” With the same kind smile that was her trademark, she glided away and got class underway. Tonight, there were two separate hen parties, one for a twenty-something and the other for a late in life love affair. The women chatted happily, giggling and drinking, oblivious to my own turmoil that had nothing to do with Max’s absence.
No, tonight’s subject was self-portraits. My absolute favorite.
It was Friday and I had a bottle of vodka chilling in the freezer and long neglected Netflix account to look forward to when I got home. It would be the perfect end to a long, emotional week.
Next week had to be better.
***
The good thing about having my own business was that I could choose my weekend. It turns out that vodka and Netflix hadn’t been a suitable enough distraction and I spent the rest of the night going over the books for my latest client. Mr. Cross had warned me that the books were in complete disarray and it turned out that two martinis had been the perfect fuel to organize everything into stacks. Once that had happened, the rest of the weekend had kind of snowballed into hours upon hours of updating eighteen months of nonexistent recordkeeping.
I’d been hesitant to take them on as clients because of the gray area of legality, but helping small businesses get their books in order and helping them save money to achieve their dreams was a rush unlike any I’d ever known. I used to believe there were people out there who got pleasure out of helping other people, but years of foster care had cured me of that foolish notion. At least until I took on my first small business. Mr. and Mrs. Chen had created a funky Asian fusion restaurant but they’d had a difficult time getting the right clientele in the door. I freed up some of their cash for marketing and now they had one of the most popular eateries in Chicago.
I had that feeling all weekend, which was probably why I worked straight through, only stopping for meals and sleep. I knew how pathetic it was that I used work to get out of living the rest of my life, but helping this company wouldn’t hurt me. I felt a brief sense of euphoria at helping but then it was business as usual.
Unlike men, who tended to leave their mark when they left.
So, I decided when I woke up at seven on Tuesday morning that I’d take the day off, which meant lounging around in my pajamas while I cooked up a southwest omelet topped with my delicious jalapeno pineapple salsa. And I plopped down on the sofa, put my feet up and watched the news as I ate. I was feeling proud of myself, not sparing a thought for Max all morning until the pretty brunette anchorwoman forced him to the forefront of my mind.
“In local news today, Tate Ellison, convicted six years ago of killin
g a man in cold blood, has been released. For months, a team of law students and their professor have been working to prove Ellison’s innocence, which he’d always proclaimed.”
I sat there, completely fucking stunned as she went on. Max’s brother, because they had the same stunning gray eyes, had been exonerated. After a series of hearings that amounted to a new trial with the admission of new evidence, he’d been freed. The footage was live, a younger, blonder version of Max strolled out of a municipal building with a wide grin that radiated happiness. He was tall and broad shouldered like his brother, thickly muscled arms draped over an older man and younger woman dressed like lawyers. My hand automatically shot out to my phone, but I froze. I couldn’t call Max. We weren’t friends. We were less than friends.
But this was about his family. A brother who might like family while he readjusted to freedom. It might’ve been a piss poor justification, but it was also the right thing to do. I dialed and the phone picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?” Max’s voice was thick like he’d been asleep and then I heard a woman’s laugh and my body crumbled into the sofa. “Hello?”
I squeezed my eyes shut with a quick reminder that this was real life and Max had always been too good to be true. Sucking in a deep breath helped, but not enough. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but I just saw on the news that your brother was exonerated and he’s out of prison.” I delivered the information calmly and hung up quickly, biting the inside of my jaw to keep from crying.
I had no right to these tears. It was foolish to cry over what amounted to a one night stand. I knew my emotions were tangled up because I’d never had sex before so I let a few tears fall and banished the rest. I’d done a good deed and that was behind me. I had a whole day to myself and I planned to enjoy it.
After a quick workout in the basement, I cleaned up a bit and showered, then made a shopping list. If I had a list, something to focus on as I pushed the cart up and down the aisles, I wouldn’t have to focus on the other shoppers. I wouldn’t see them look at me and recoil or their children point and stare, and I wouldn’t have to pretend I didn’t notice or that it didn’t hurt. Besides, my list kept me organized. It guaranteed I had all the ingredients I needed and wouldn’t have to make another trip too soon.