by Finn, Emilia
I stare into her beautiful eyes and remain passive. I have nothing to say that could help. Nothing to offer that would make up for what I did. So I break us both, but in doing so, I keep her safe. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood what we did, Kat. I didn’t realize how deeply invested you were until that last night, which is when I realized we were on different pages. The kindest thing for me to do was end it so you wouldn’t go on thinking we were something we were not.”
Her nostrils flare as she practically snarls.
“I wanted a little fun,” I continue. “I didn’t mean for it to go further than that.”
“Why me, when so many others would have begged for your attention?” Her eyes water because she’s an angry crier, and I know it pisses her off. “You’re pathetic,” she hisses. “You’re worse than I predicted; I thought you were a typical guy, lazy and selfish, but you’re so much worse. You’re a liar and a thief, and now it makes me sick to look at you.” Shaking her head, she backs up and slams a fist on the door. “I’m disgusted with you, Eric. But worse, I’m disgusted with me. Stay away from me, stay away from my son, and stay away from my diner.”
Her door swings open, and in the ten seconds it takes for her to slip through the gap between the wall and her son, Mac’s eyes burn into mine, his jaw ticking, his fists clenching. He already took one fully grown man down tonight, and now he’s ready for a second shot.
“Mac.” My voice cracks with pain. “Close up tight and make sure the locks are set.”
“Fuck you, asshole.” He slams the door so hard that the walls rattle. Dropping my head, I allow my shame to wash over me as I turn in the hall and head toward the stairs. The locks are loud enough that I literally hear the echo as I move into the stairwell, then my phone dings with a text.
Property is secure.
23
Katrina
Head held high, shoulders back, hair appropriately fluffed, I walk into the diner with new energy and resolve flowing in my veins. I will not pout anymore. I will not cry for him again. I will not hug my pillow and smell his aftershave.
I will not cry for any man ever again.
I pass Ray and Gloria and smile when they wave. I pass Eric’s booth, but refuse my heart the little skip it wants to give. He’s not sitting on the cheap vinyl while he waits for me; he’s not eating you fucked my brains out cookies. He’s not anywhere in sight. And that’s fine with me, because looking at him makes me furious, and fury makes me cry. This is best.
My ex broke into my home last night and scared the hell out of me. He was always a nuisance, an annoyance, a pain in my damn ass, but he was never a threat to me. He never scared me.
Until last night.
So now I’m two for two. Two exes, two annoying blips in my past. One of them wants to force his way into my life. Literally. And the other feels sorry for my misunderstanding and can’t escape fast enough. Pathetically, the second is the one I want more than I want to breathe.
Dammit, Katrina! No pouting.
I’m determined to be proud, insistent on standing on my own two feet, but last night, while I sat with one man, all I wanted was for Eric to stand from that fucking stool and tell me he’s sorry. To promise the weeks since I last saw him were a lie, to take me in his arms and whisper that he’s staying forever, and that I never have to be sad again. I wanted him to hold me while I worked through my fear, but all I got was stony silence and an impassive stare.
Like we’re strangers. Which, ironically, is all I promised him when this all began.
Customers fill eighty percent of the diner while Tammy runs herself ragged filling orders and delivering drinks. It seems extra busy this morning, so even Eric’s old booth is filled with new faces. A young family eats their pancakes; a thirty-something-year-old fourth-generation accountant-lookalike sits with his perfect little wife and their perfect little daughter. The mother’s hair is stylish and curled, and the little girl eats her pancakes without dropping a single piece onto her cute little outfit.
Fuck them and their white picket fence.
Tammy rushes from one table to the next, but she does it with a smile and a wiggle to her hips as she moves. That booth once belonged to a man I’d become accustomed to seeing every day. I put on my man-hater act, but every single day, I watched and waited. I smiled when he came in, pretended to be exasperated with his questions about the specials, and all the while, I acted like he didn’t make my stomach flutter.
Some men are loud and demand attention. And some possess a quiet confidence that ensure you feel safe. Broad chests and strong arms are comforting, even if the mouth is rarely used. They’re the most dangerous type of men, because in their silence, they watch everything.
No pouting!
“Katrina?” Stefan’s voice snaps from the kitchen and brings me around at a fast spin. He rushes forward and looks a little like a rhino charging as he crosses the diner and pulls me into a tight hug that steals the breath from my lungs. “That asshole was at your place making trouble again?” His words are barely a whisper, since he knows I don’t want my business shouted in public, but the intensity behind his whispered growl registers the same.
Dangerous.
“What did he do, sweetpea? Did he hurt you?”
“He did what he always does.” I try to move around him. “Mac, honey.” I snag Mac’s hand and bring his attention away from the perfect little family. “Go sit down and read your book for English. I’ll bring you something to eat in a second.” As soon as my son walks away with an air of danger I just don’t recognize in him, I turn back to Stefan. “Drop it.”
“I will not!” He follows me into the hall, past the bathrooms and into the locker room. “Katrina! What happened?”
“He broke my door. It’s his thing, I guess.” I toss my bag into my locker so the metal buckles slam against the steel sides. “He’s like a child kicking a wall when they’ve been grounded. That’s all he did; now he’s been arrested again; my son traumatized himself and doesn’t even realize it yet, and I forgot the password to my new front door, so I’ll probably sleep here tonight.”
He rolls his eyes and watches me fasten a fresh apron around my hips. “You got a new door?”
“Yeah, the guys at Checkmate took care of it. They did up a whole security system that I honestly cannot remember how to use. I was running on adrenaline last night. I thought I was listening while they explained it, but now I forget it all.”
“Honey…”
“It’s fine.” I throw up a shaking hand to shush him. “Mac remembers his password, so he can get us back in. I’ll shoot Spence a text later and figure out the rest.”
“Spence?” Stefan’s thick brows pull close. “Who the hell is Spence?”
“He’s my security specialist.” I lift my hands and do the air quotes. “According to his business card. He said he has me on speed dial, and I have twenty-four-hour clearance to contact him. Clearance.” I stop and glare. “He didn’t say access; he said clearance like I’m a fucking soldier and know how to speak his language. Now I have a fancy new watch that allegedly has a panic button that we don’t call a panic button, lest we incite panic.”
“Honey…” He stops me when I try to pass. “I’m so confused. Are you saying Spence is from Checkmate?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Spence is your security specialist, not Eric? The very same Eric who also works at Checkmate and likes to hold your hand when he thinks no one is watching?”
“We don’t hold hands!” I slam my locker closed and head toward the door. “Eric is…” I blow out a gusty breath. “Eric was a customer one time, but he hasn’t been in here for a month. He’s done with our burgers for now.”
“But…” Exasperated, he follows me into the hall. “Why the hell isn’t he your security guy, sweetpea? It’s the logical choice.”
“Why should he be? That’s like getting mad that Ray isn’t my security guy.” I grab the full coffee pot on my way back into the dining area and head di
rectly for the man I speak of. “Morning, Ray. Sleep well?”
“Yup.” He slides his mug closer so I can pour. “You guys okay? I heard you shout my name like I did something wrong. Now I’m not saying you’re wrong, because fifty years of marriage has taught me when a female screeches my name, it was probably my fault. But still, I’d like to know the charges, please.”
“No.” I drop a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “You’re not in trouble. I was just using you to make a point.”
He chuckles so his jowls move. “All the pretty girls do that.”
Turning back to Stefan, I almost scald us both when he’s closer than I realized and we bump together. “It’s not what you think it is, so I need you to drop it. I’m begging you.” Whirling away, I fill more mugs as Tammy whips plates of breakfast from the kitchen and deposits them on tables. Heading to the cake fridge, I take out an oat muffin and toss it into the microwave for twenty seconds. Then I make a chocolate milkshake with an extra scoop of ice cream. Stefan watches every move I make, but I ignore him and watch my son instead.
Mac sits in a booth with his head bowed low holding a ratty book about princesses and kingdoms that the school gave each of the kids to read, but he stares at his hand the gym athletic trainer wrapped last night. They assured us nothing is broken; there’s absolutely nothing wrong, but a little swelling might hinder his plans to train on the weekend, so they’re wrapping it for now and reminding him to apply ice regularly.
I struggle for breath as I remember the way my son roared last night and hit his own father so hard, he knocked him to the ground. I’m not sympathetic to Zeke, but my baby shouldn’t have to know a world where this is his reality. He shouldn’t have to know what it is to choose between the two people who created him, or what it looks like when his father sprawls so fast, the coffee table we eat takeout on exploded beneath his weight.
My son deserves a regular life with a mom and a dad, a white picket fence, and probably a golden retriever. But all he got was an unwed idiot, long hours in a diner, shoes he has to make last until his toes practically pop out of the front, and a mother so stressed her stress makes him stressed.
I hate that this is how it’s worked out for us. I hate even more that I still wish Eric would change his mind and come back to us. And I especially hate that I keep glancing toward his occupied booth, hoping he’ll walk in any second and tell me it’s going to be okay.
He owes us nothing, but his quiet confidence always made me comfortable. Though an unwed idiot should know not to get comfortable, because it sure as shit never lasts.
I finish the milkshake and pour it into a tall to-go cup, then I plop a straw in the top, snatch the warm muffin as I pass, and place the items in front of Mac and a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you, baby. I love you more than you could ever know.”
“I do know.” He smiles so his little dimples show, then he snags the milkshake and brings the straw between his lips. “I love you too, Mom. More than you’ll ever know.”
24
Mac
2 weeks later
I skip out the school’s front doors right as the bell chimes. Normally I wait for my friends so we can walk to the gym or the diner together, but I have shit to do today, problems to take care of, and a mom to make safe, so I sprint and pretend I don’t hear Benny’s high-pitched whistle at the south end of the grassy field, or the stupid giggles coming from the girls we spend a bunch of our time with – probably too much time – as they stand by their lockers.
I’m normally super pumped about catching up with my crew as we walk and joke, crossing town and making our way to wherever we’ve gotta be. More often than not, we’re all going to the same place anyway.
The Rollin On gym.
But today, I’ve gotta go someplace I can’t tell anyone about, and I’ve gotta pray my mom doesn’t ask the Rollers how my training went today. For the first time in my life, I’m voluntarily skipping the gym and running in the opposite direction with an aching leg and a heart that does this weird thrum.
The gym is for my career becoming a world champion fighter.
But there’s no point becoming a champ if shit is this close to home and happening right now.
It takes me twenty minutes at a brisk jog while my backpack smacks my ass to cross town, but it’s cool; it would take that long to get to the gym, too. I cross the train tracks that mark the outskirts of town, then move to the side of a dirt road so I don’t get my stupid ass hit by a speeding car. Maybe I should get myself a bike, because when a car zooms past me and nearly knocks me on my ass, I realize how much trouble I’m going to be in if I get hurt and my mom is called to the hospital… again.
She’ll be scared for me, of course, but it’s getting to the point where pissed will outweigh concern, and she might straight up push me in front of a car out of frustration.
My run slows to a tired jog as I approach my destination; my jog slows to a walk as my leg begins to give me trouble and I struggle to catch my breath, but I round the last bend at the twenty-five minute mark and smile at the shitty old place that looks an awful lot like a dusty farm for bankrupt farmers… until I walk toward the building that some might describe as state of the art.
Military, even.
Only by chance do I notice the cameras that activate as I pass, following me until I reach a certain checkpoint, and then another set power up and take over the surveillance of the teen kid set on taking a stand against bullies and narcissists.
“Hello?” The concrete-type building ahead of me has no welcome sign drawing me in. No neon signs that flash OPEN, or a weird six-foot-tall plastic ice cream statue with his tongue licking himself and his head looking like he jizzed upwards. There are no entry signs anywhere, or even cars parked in a lot to indicate it’s open.
I circle the bunker, narrow my eyes at what may be a garage door, then jump out of my skin with a girly squeal when I turn back and come eye to eye with a fuckin’ monster. “You lost, kid?”
Scar above his eyes, a single wrinkle etched into his thick-as-hell forehead, and a buzzcut that leaves his eyes completely uncovered so he can stare and set me on fire with his retina laser beams. “You scared the piss outta me, soldier. Like, I legit tinkled on my leg.”
“Don’t call me soldier, you little asshole. You don’t know shit about me. What are you doing here?”
I clear my throat because this dude seems scarier in the daylight than he ever did while he was in my apartment in the middle of the night. He was smiley as they replaced our door; he made a joke or two and tried to make my mom feel comfortable.
But now he’s like Bear Grylls in the wild, but only if Bear Grylls’ mom was Annie Wilkes, and his dad was Leatherface from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
On steroids.
“Ah… I’m here because I would like to buy your time and tutelage.”
“Tutelage?” Spence’s non-scarred brow lifts. “Is that a real word, or are you trying to disrespect me by making me feel uneducated?”
“It’s real.” My eyes continue to flicker to the handgun he has strapped to his tree-trunk legs. “I looked it up in computer lab today. Means I want you to teach me.”
“Teach you what?” He tilts his head to the side. “How to wipe your ass? Kid, you’re five, and your potty problems have nothing to do with me.”
“I’m fourteen.” I step forward with more bravery than brains. “And we both know you know that, since you ran me and my mom through all of your fancy computers the other week. You said we had around the clock access to you.”
“I said she has access. She’s pretty; her tits are amazing, and she blushes when a guy looks too long.”
“Motherfucker. That’s my mom!”
“You’re old enough to wipe your own ass, but not old enough to know your mom is hot? You’re not as grown as you think.” He turns away and waves me off. “Go home now, and don’t tell anybody you were here.”
“I’m old enough to like women,” I shout to h
is retreating form. “I like tits and stuff.”
Spence’s broad back bounces with laughter as he turns back and faces me with the same smile he wore when talking to my mom. “Your voice cracked when you said tits. It literally cracked when you said the word.”
“Your voice would crack too if you knew this girl’s daddy. I can like tits, but I also like not having my neck broken, so I keep my thoughts to myself and don’t stare too long.”
“You think you’re a man, huh?” He takes a step forward. “You wanna be a tough shit coming to the shooting range?”
I square my shoulders and enlarge my chest. “I am a man. I’ve been the man of my house since the day I was born. I feel like my mom isn’t safe anymore.”
Finally, his eyes change. From joking to fury. “Why isn’t she safe? We have your placed wired up to your ears.”
“Zeke is getting angrier. He used to whine, then swear, then he started kicking doors. What would have happened if I wasn’t there the other week? What could have happened if he was demanding to see me, but I wasn’t there? He might have pushed her. He might have kicked her, since the door was already busted.”
He throws his hands up. “What do you want from me, kid? I can’t give you a gun. I can’t live on your couch and protect you in person. Well, I mean, I guess I can,” he ponders. “I’m for hire, but I don’t think you have the funds, and goodwill and rainbow farts don’t pay my bills. I wanna help you, but installing that Gladiator kinda already was the favor.”
“I don’t want you to give me a gun. But I’d like an hour of your time where you teach me how to use one.”
He laughs so loud, I jump. “You’re insane if you think I’m giving a toddler a gun!”
“I’m not a fuckin’ toddler!” I step forward. “I’m fourteen, and I know that seems young to all of you old people, but my mom was pregnant at fifteen. People in my family grow up fast because the world doesn’t wait for us to catch up. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I’m not asking you to give me a gun. I will not walk off your property with anything I didn’t come here with.”