Rebecca stood stock still in the entryway, automatically wary of a man as large as Sequence. Who was even more built than Atlas.
She might have turned around and left all together if his wife hadn’t chosen that moment to emerge from the back hallway, ruby hair spilling over her shoulders as she yawned hard and playfully scowled at her husband. “I’m sorry, husband. Are you under the mistaken impression that you decide our daughter’s bedtime? I think she’s proven time and again that no man is her master. Isn’t that right, you little terror.”
The red-haired woman fell to her knees next to her grinning little girl and gave her a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek.
Rebecca didn’t watch that, however. Instead, she kept her eyes on Sequence’s face and was a little stunned when he went from a harsh scowl to a gentle smile as he watched his wife and daughter together.
Huh.
Kinda sweet.
“Oh! I’m sorry! I’m being rude.” The red-haired woman jumped up and strode over to Rebecca, one hand out in the air for a shake.
Rebecca was momentarily stunned by the blind wattage of the smile this woman was packing. Looking her in the face was like licking a battery. She was beautiful, sure, with those blue eyes and white teeth, but she was also just so dang happy.
“I’m Naomi, this is my husband, Sequence. And that there is our wee-one. Brooke.”
Rebecca shook Naomi’s hand and felt the words jumble up in her throat. The normal thing would be to introduce herself, but when she tried to say the word Rebecca it didn’t seem to want to come out of her throat.
“Naomi, Bex. Bex, Naomi,” Atlas called from where he laid on the floor, his niece sprawled out on his chest and grabbing great handfuls of his newly trimmed beard. He turned and spoke to the baby. “And I’m sorry, I’m confused. Your mama says your name is Brooke, but I’m almost positive your name is Brookie the Cookie. Ain’t that right, you little cookie monster.”
Each one of Atlas’s words got more and more muddled as his jaw apparently got tighter and tighter with the cuteness of the little girl on his chest. The last few words were spoken directly into her little chubby hand as he pretended to gobble up her fingers.
The baby laughed and kicked her rotund legs.
Rebecca nodded at Naomi and across the room at Sequence, but then her eyes went right back to the gigantic blonde man lying on the ground with a baby on his chest, looking for all the world like he was exactly where he wanted to be.
“Pretty cute together, aren’t they?” Naomi asked, a tender grin on her face as she surveyed the uncle and niece together.
“She’s beautiful,” Rebecca answered, deftly sidestepping whether or not she thought Atlas was cute with his niece, which she absolutely 100 percent did.
“Of course she’s beautiful,” Atlas responded, pinching gently at the rolls on the baby’s thighs. “She’s the spitting image of her Uncle Atlas.”
“She’s the spitting image of me, you douche,” Sequence called from where he’d retreated into the kitchen.
“We’re identical twins so she has as much of my DNA as she has of yours. And don’t say douche in front of Cookie,” Atlas called back.
Rebecca was a little overwhelmed and little out of place in this house filled with love and family. The brothers continued to argue with one another, in a forceful, yet loving way.
Naomi gave her a quick tour of the house before putting a glass of wine in her hand and leading her to the couch.
Then Rebecca was completely overwhelmed as she faced the other woman’s wide smile and kind eyes.
“So,” Naomi said, fluffing up a pillow on the couch. “Girl talk? Sorry, I just recently started having female friends, I’m not sure exactly what to say.”
Rebecca frowned into her wine. “I’m not particularly a girl talk type of person.”
“Me either, I think. Maybe it’s genetic?”
Rebecca surprised herself by chuckling. “Maybe so.”
“Are you going to be in town for a while? Atlas didn’t say. But if you are, there’s a few of us who have a book group, if you’d want to join. It’s me, my friends Elena, May, and Geo, plus Atlas.”
“Ohhhhhh,” Rebecca said, turning to look at Atlas. “Now I understand all the chick lit you have. You’re in a book group with a bunch of girls.”
Sequence laughed as he brought two platters of food onto the dining room table. “Actually, that’s just his preference. I think he was dropped on his head as a baby.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to read books with happy endings, all right?” Atlas defended himself and then punctuated his statement with a loud raspberry on Brooke’s belly.
“Dinner’s up,” Sequence called and they all assembled around the table.
“You finally got a haircut,” Naomi said to Atlas as she served everybody plates and passed them around.
“Yeah. It was out of control. Went down to Richie’s this afternoon. We both did actually.” He nodded at Rebecca.
“Oh!” Naomi said, handing Rebecca a plate. “I was just thinking how much I liked your haircut, Bex. I could never pull off something as badass as that, but it suits you really well.”
“Thanks,” Rebecca answered, mildly uncomfortable. She’d wanted a haircut that made her blend in, not receive compliments. Maybe Naomi was just being nice.
“Yeah,” Naomi kept going. “It kinda makes you look like that actress, Ruby Rose.”
“But way prettier,” Atlas said.
Rebecca’s stomach dropped out. She didn’t know who Ruby Rose was and she didn’t care. But Atlas thinking she was way prettier than anyone made her heart start batting its wings. She was suddenly aware of just how fragile this whole situation was. If things got weird between her and Atlas, she was out on her ass and she was down a client. How the hell had she thought this was a good idea? This was a terrible, terrible idea.
“Don’t cut your hair, Fancy,” Sequence said, leaning around the table and kissing Naomi.
“You said you liked it short!”
He smiled, just the tiniest bit. “I do. But it just got long again.”
Rebecca focused on them and on the baby happily squelching pot pie between her fingers. She, as well as she could, ignored Atlas’s presence beside her.
She was quiet for the rest of dinner, letting their conversation flow around her. But she couldn’t help but let her eyes go wide with the homemade ice cream. She’d never had it before and Sequence took her back to the kitchen to show her how he’d made it. She helped clean up for a few minutes, setting the kitchen to rights as best as she could, and then she excused herself.
Rebecca was surprised when Naomi pulled her into a quick hug, whispering, “Think about the book club,” in her ear.
And then she slipped out and back to the house, grateful to all hell that Atlas had stayed behind.
***
“Thought you said she was just your roommate,” Sequence said to Atlas after the baby was settled in bed and the three remaining adults put their feet up in the living room.
Naomi had her head in Sequence’s lap and he played with her hair, a beer in his other hand.
“She is,” Atlas answered, making Sequence and Naomi smirk at one another.
“You have a crush on her,” Naomi said immediately.
“Shit.” Atlas peeled the label of his beer and smoothed it back out. There was no reason to lie to his family, they’d see right through him. “That obvious?”
“Atlas, you’re practically wearing a floating halo of hearts,” Naomi informed him.
“It’s new. I… didn’t even realize I felt this way until this afternoon. It’s just a crush. It’ll go away.”
“How’d she get those bruises?” Sequence asked quietly.
Agitated, Atlas rose up and started picking up Brooke’s toys that were strewn all over the floor. He needed something to do with his hands. He set the toy basket on the coffee table and started three-point shooting the toys from across the room.
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“I’m not sure. She won’t tell me. She doesn’t tell me anything. If I hadn’t caught her when I did, she would’ve gone back there.”
“Back where?”
“I don’t know. The place she got the hell beaten out of her. She won’t tell me.”
“I’m confused.” Naomi sat up, picked up a toy and tried to make the shot as well. “How did you two meet?”
“She’s my cleaning lady.”
“And how long has she been living with you?”
“A week and some change.”
“You make a move on her, she’s gonna bolt,” Sequence said in a low voice. He understood the nuances of the situation in the same way that Atlas had. They’d been through enough in their lives to know what desperation did to someone. To know what a person was willing to endure in order to preserve dignity, humanity.
“Which is why I’m trying to keep a lid on this dumb crush that will hopefully just go away.” Out of toys to shoot, he flopped face-first onto the couch.
“Or…” Naomi started and had Atlas’s head popping up like a gopher.
Or? He liked the sound of or.
“Or maybe you could be honest with her? Tell her the truth?” Naomi said it like a question. “No offense, Atlas, but you’re not good at hiding your feelings. It’s probably just going to make you start acting like a total weirdo. And then she’ll probably leave anyways. So, maybe just tell her you have a crush on her, and that you’re not going to act on it and that it won’t change anything about your living situation.”
Atlas stacked his fists under his chin. “I’m noticing that this scenario also doesn’t end with me getting to make out with Bex.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Bex doesn’t strike me as someone who wants to get made out with… right now. But who knows? Maybe in the future. You’re pretty cute, Atlas. If you don’t act like a total freak for a while, then maybe she’ll get a crush on you back. And then you can make out.”
“Don’t tell him he’s cute,” Sequence grumbled, kissing his wife on the neck.
“What?” she turned to him. “He is cute.”
“I’m cute,” Sequence said in an even grumblier voice than before.
Naomi outright laughed at that. “Seek, you’re hot as hell. And sweet. But cute? Not so much.”
Sequence lifted his eyes to his brother. “Scram, so I can prove to my wife that I’m cute.”
Atlas stood up and stretched. “All right, all right. See you later, lovebirds.”
He made it all the way to the door before Sequence caught up to him. They weren’t the most communicative of brothers. And last year Sequence had dropped a pretty big truth bomb about their father. They were cool with one another, but they were still definitely processing it separately. Maybe someday they’d process it together, but they weren’t there yet. Still though, Atlas could feel Sequence’s concern for him.
“She’s lucky to have you,” Sequence said as he held the door open for Atlas. “If anyone’s gonna help her figure out her mess, it’s you. She might not know it yet, but she hit the jackpot.”
***
Rebecca fiddled with the tie on her silk robe. She hated this thing. It always came undone at the worst times. But then again, that was probably why Mark had bought it for her. Wardrobe malfunctions were his absolute favorite. What a scumbag he was. All the girls thought so.
Of course, she didn’t think that anyone who ran a seedy Atlantic City strip club was ever probably in the running for good guy of the year. But still, Mark was particularly gross. She was counting down the days until she was out of debt to him. Just eight more months and she could be in the wind. Debt-free and hopefully finding a job where she got to keep her clothes on and strange men’s hands off of her.
Rebecca had dutifully counted her cut of the door money and smoothed out as many sweaty one dollar bills as she’d been able to pick out of her bra and thong and off the floor. She’d made over five hundred dollars tonight. And four hundred of that was going straight to Mark’s bank account.
She tried not to sigh as she made her way through the back of the darkened strip club. It was demoralizing work, stripping. And it was even more demoralizing to barely be able to make a living at it. Some of the other girls did all right, but they weren’t indebted to their sleazy club owner.
Rebecca’s four-inch heels clicked as she walked backstage and toward Mark’s office. She preferred the club after four am, the way it was now. When it was finally quiet. When all the pervs in the audience were sweating out their hangovers in bed with their wives. When all the girls had gone home. When there was no one else to look at her. No one else to impress. Even Mark would be gone at this hour. She’d leave the money in the locked bottom drawer of his desk, which only she and Mark knew the code for. And then she’d jump into her car and drive across town, crash into bed and do the whole thing again tomorrow.
Rebecca paused when she turned the corner. Light speared out from the bottom of Mark’s office door. That was odd. She’d thought he’d gone home. Maybe he’d just left the light on?
But no. As she watched, a shadow crossed the light and she knew it was feet pacing.
She strained forward and heard voices. They weren’t yelling, but they were tense. One was pleading.
There was a thump and a strange noise. A wheezing. More pleading. And then the light at the bottom of the door was completely obscured by shadow, like something large had slid down the door and blocked all the light.
Rebecca heard the doorknob being turned and she instinctively stepped back into the shadows of the dark hallway, knowing she didn’t have time to run. She’d just have to hide.
The door swung open and her eyes zoomed in on the large object that had fallen onto the floor of the hallway.
Mark. He was in a pile on the floor and there was red smeared over his t-shirt. As she watched he took in a ragged breath, his chest trembling as he lifted his bloody hands into the light, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Another man stepped into the light. Rebecca was too busy staring at her bloody boss to look up at the other man.
Something shone in the light. A silver flash in the shadows. Rebecca’s eyes were on Mark’s face when the blade sliced open his neck.
He went still.
Then and only then, did Rebecca’s eyes rise to the other man. The man who held the knife. She didn’t know if it was her gaze that drew his attention, or if it was the sequins on the edge of her robe.
But he looked up. Right at her. Through her. Into her.
Rebecca sat straight up in bed. Skittering back until she was flush against the headboard, pressing her wet cheeks into her knees. She wasn’t confused. She knew where she was. She knew she’d woken herself up crying.
She knew that, for tonight, she was safe.
She also knew that the darkness of her room threatened to crush her almost as much as the weight of her memories.
She tried to stop the onslaught of what had happened next, but it still came anyways. Sprinting through the strip club, out onto the street.
Realizing that she was about to become another dead stripper, stuffed into a trashcan, nothing to distinguish her but her sparkly underwear.
Rebecca flung the covers off of herself, feeling both too hot and too cold.
She considered, for a moment, taking a shower.
But no. She needed something to drink instead.
On wobbly, fawn-like legs, she made her way out to the kitchen and tried to dispel the remnants of the dream. She filled a glass with water and leaned hard against the sink.
It was the first night since she’d come to stay here that she’d had it.
At the shelter, when she’d had the dream, there was nothing to do but turn her face into her bleach-smelling pillow and wait until morning. Here, she had options of ways to soothe herself. That fact alone was unsettling.
She gulped messily from the cup of water and coughed when some of it went down the wrong tube. The coughs turned
to quiet crying.
Rebecca bunched her gigantic sweatshirt in one hand, gripping the sweaty cotton, reminding herself that she was safe and covered. No more silk and sequins for her.
“Bex.”
She screamed and jolted and spun. The glass she’d been holding exploded into a million pieces as it shattered against the kitchen floor.
“Shit! Hold still. Don’t move.”
Atlas was gone from the doorway of the kitchen and Rebecca sagged, grabbing her clothes, attempting to breathe deeply. She had to pull herself together. She so badly didn’t want Atlas to see her this way.
She didn’t think that he thought her past was all jump ropes and Kumbaya, but she also didn’t necessarily want him to come face to face with her pain. She was trying to keep a low profile here. And she’d just smashed that low profile against the kitchen floor.
Atlas was back, three seconds later, with sneakers on his feet. He crunched glass as he strode into the kitchen and lifted her by the hips so that she sat on the counter, out of danger of cutting the shit out of her feet.
She couldn’t stop crying. Her forehead bonked against his shoulder but she just let it rest there and for a moment, she let him take her weight.
If he'd stepped between her legs or tried to rub her back, she would have stiffened and shoved him away. But he didn’t. He pushed her legs to one side and kept his bottom half well away from her. While her forehead was resting on his shoulder, he just pat-pat-patted her back. Like a grandma might do.
And Rebecca was grateful. She was so grateful. Because she desperately needed comfort. But she had absolutely no idea how to accept it.
Atlas went ahead and made it very, very easy for her to accept it.
He patted her back and said stuff. For a long time, she had no idea what stuff he was saying. By the time she was actually able to tune back in to whatever he was on about, he was telling her about an episode of Mr. Rogers he’d watched about nightmares.
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