In Your Corner

by Sarah Castille

  Or maybe not. Maybe the tried-and-true corporate style is best. None of this halfway nonsense. The couch has to go.

  Or should it?

  Ray shoots me a knowing look. “Thinking of redecorating?”

  Gritting my teeth, I snatch the newspaper from his hands. “Can you read my mind? Seriously. How do always know what I’m thinking?”

  “You’re very easy to read. Right now, you’re confused. Don’t know what to do.”

  Worried I might be too transparent about the weekend too, I tighten my voice and switch to work mode. “Penny, could you please pull the Redemption file? I have some new surveillance ideas I want to run past Ray.”

  “Sure.” She pushes herself out of her seat and shuffles across the room.

  Ray frowns. “You okay, Pen?”

  Penny’s cheeks brighten and she nods. “Yeah good. Just stiff…fell down the stairs this weekend. Woke up at night to get a glass of water and didn’t turn on the light.”

  Ray gives Penny a considered look. “You didn’t go out with that fucking loser again did you?”

  “If I did, Ray, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

  His jaw tightens and his voice drops to a warning growl. “If he laid a hand on you, Pen, I would damn well make it my business.”

  A pained expression crosses her face and she yanks open the filing cabinet then winces. “Not that I’m saying I went out with him, but we don’t all have a choice like both of you. We don’t all have so many people so desperate for our attention that we can play with them and toss them away when they get too close.”

  I look at Penny aghast. “Is that what you think?”

  “I think you never see what’s staring you in the face,” she says bitterly. “I think you’re so afraid to let people get close, you can’t even see when you’ve found the very thing you’ve been looking for. The thing everyone else is looking for and few of us ever find. And Ray’s the same. He’s a love ’em and leave ’em type of guy.”

  “You don’t know anything about me, Pen,” Ray says quietly. “Don’t presume.”

  Penny pulls a file from the cabinet and tosses it on the desk. “Fine then.”

  My mouth drops open. “Is something wrong, Penny? Did I do something to upset you? Did Ray?”

  Tears glitter in her eyes. “Nope. I’m good. Everything is good.”

  Over the next few days, I try to get Penny to tell me what’s going on, but for the first time since I’ve known her, she refuses to talk. Instead, she throws herself into work alongside me.

  Fortunately, Jake is also busy with work, but when he does find time in his schedule, I invent meetings to keep us apart. Disconcerted by the three words he whispered while we lay on his bed, and confused by my body’s heated response to his relentless pushing in the bedroom, I need some distance, and work is a good place to hide.

  Or maybe it’s not.

  Chapter 19

  POUND, POUND, POUND GOES MY HEART

  Friday afternoon, the real estate agent calls. We’ve had an offer from a development company. They plan to knock down my grandmother’s house and build condos. When I suggest to the agent maybe we should leave it on the market a little longer for a family or even a young couple starting out, she almost hyperventilates. Full asking price. Cash. Quick sale. Almost unheard of in this market. I’ll never get a comparable offer, and even if I do, it might not be for up to a year. So I say yes even though my heart says no.

  After staring at my computer screen for an hour and billing no time, I grab my gym bag and head to Redemption. Although I had planned to work through my new fight class, I’m getting nothing done. Might as well make sure I’m in top physical condition for the work marathon ahead. And as an added incentive, Jake texts that he has a meeting tonight. I won’t have to face him after successfully avoiding him all week. Coward that I am.

  When I present myself at the training ring for Fight or Flight, Shayla introduces me to a new instructor, Razzor, a tall, Nordic blond with iceberg eyes. Razzor informs me his name is spelled with two Zs because there is already a Razor with one Z on the cards. He says we are to say his name with an extra hiss so everyone knows we are talking about Razzor with two Zs and not one. He does not smile when he says this, so we know he is serious.

  Blade Saw stops by and invites us to the Redemption prefight barbecue at his place two weeks from Saturday. He says the Redemption fighters always have a big party before they move into a serious regimen of dieting and training before a big event, and this time it’s his turn to host. Shayla accepts for both of us. After Blade Saw leaves, she tells me she needs a wingman at the party, and I’m it. Refusal is not an option.

  Razzor informs me Shayla will be my sparring partner. I whimper. He tells me to breathe deep, swallow my fear, and focus on the fight. Shayla gives me an evil smile and cracks her knuckles, then her neck, then my ribs. Still, I learn some new punching techniques, a few fight moves, and how a head to the solar plexus can drive all the air from your lungs.

  “Sorry.” Shayla massages my ribs as I wheeze and gasp on the mat. “Been having a rough week and needed to blow off some steam.”

  “Me too.” My words come out as a low whistle. Those are the last words I say for the next twenty minutes. When the class finally ends, I lie on the mat and vow never to step into a ring with Shayla again.

  Curiously, the painful hour in the gym restores my energy, and I return to my office to put in a few more hours of work. On impulse, I stop along the way and buy a bottle of wine. One glass to cheer me up. It is a Friday night, after all, and I should be celebrating the sale of my house.

  Back in the office, I check my phone messages. Lots from clients. None from Jake. Three days and no contact, and Shayla said between punches that he’d never missed a practice until tonight.

  My heart sinks. All this time I thought I’ve been avoiding Jake, but maybe he’s avoiding me. I never said anything after he told me he loved me. Not at Redemption. Not over the weekend during our sexathon. And not in any of our very brief conversations at the beginning of the week. How would I feel if he did that to me? Maybe the same way I felt when no one showed up at my piano recitals, soccer games, or Christmas concerts, or when my birthdays passed by unnoticed.

  Nausea roils in my gut at the thought I might have hurt him. What the hell have I been doing? Maybe Penny is right. The torrent of tender emotions I feel when I’m with Jake. The thrill that sets my heart pounding when he walks into a room. The freedom to let go, trusting he won’t let me fall. This deep tugging on my heart. Maybe this is what I’ve been looking for. Not lust or infatuation. Not friendship. But love. The kind of love that means commitment.

  I need to speak to him. Now.

  A rattle at the front door startles me before I can pick up my phone and I freeze. My heart seizes in my chest. Jake? It has to be. Who else would come here so late at night? Hope blossoms in my chest and I race out into the reception room just in time to hear the shatter of glass and the crunch of shoes in the hallway.

  My mouth opens to call out Jake’s name when a warning tingle makes me think again. Jake wouldn’t break the window. He has a key. As do Penny and Ray.

  A chill of fear runs through my veins. The only light on in the building is in my office, not visible from the street. Does the intruder know I’m here? If I take a step, will he hear me?

  Back into my office. Turn off the lights. Quietly close and lock the door. Phone. Need phone. Move feet move. But my feet won’t listen, or maybe they can’t hear over the frantic pounding of my heart.

  Footsteps circle the reception room, once then twice, ringing out loudly against the hardwood floor. Doors open and close. Penny’s chair rolls. Then I hear the hum of her computer. Sweat trickles down my back. What does he want? Not drugs or money. The computer? Files?

  Finally, I force myself into action, tiptoeing cautiously across
the floor. But the boards creak with every step and by the time I reach my desk, I am sure he has heard me. Hands shaking, I call 911, whispering the information into the phone. Then I text Fuzzy in case they don’t come. Or in case they come too late.

  Over to the window. Tug and pull. Pull and tug. Damn window won’t budge. Sweat trickles between my breasts and my fingers claw uselessly at the catch. I’ll have to break it.

  The roll of chair castors. The thud of footsteps. Then the doorknob rattles. “Someone in there?” I don’t recognize the thin, reedy voice.

  Violent shudders wrack my body, almost as bad as when I first stepped into the ring. So I follow Razzor’s advice. I breathe deep. I swallow the fear. I focus on the fight. And right now, my fight is with a goddamn window that won’t open.

  The doorknob rattles again. Adrenaline surges through my body and my heart pounds so hard I fear I will break a rib. I curse the Redemption fighters for not fixing the window, and Jake for owning a house with windows that don’t open, and carpenters who install windows that get stuck, and old houses for warping and twisting frames, and me for not having the foresight to have something in my office that I can use to break the window. Pens, books, and paper won’t cut it. No statues or paperweights in my office. I need something big and heavy. My eyes fall on the microwave.

  Something thuds against the door and the wall shakes. Oh God. Is he trying to break the door down? I pull the plug on the microwave and stagger with it across the floor. Even as I heave it at the window, I know my plan won’t work. Too heavy and not enough force. The microwave bounces off the glass and crashes to the ground. Apparently I didn’t pass the Get Fit part of Get Fit or Die.

  Despite all my weeks at Redemption and my determination to become a fighter, terror escapes me in a loud piercing scream.

  “Fuck.” The intruder’s voice is harsh and angry, and now I wish I’d kept quiet. He didn’t know I was here after all.

  Pound, pound, pound goes my heart.

  Crunch, crunch, crunch go shoes over broken glass.

  Oh God. Did he bring a friend?

  The man gasps. His feet thud across the floor, down the hallway, and fade into the kitchen. Then the back door crashes open. And he is gone.

  “Amanda, open up. It’s Fuzz.”

  Recognizing the voice, I race to the door. A few moments later, Fuzzy is in my office dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a gun in his hand. I throw my arms around him and hold on tight.

  “Shhhh.” He rubs a soothing hand down my back. “I was in the neighborhood when you sent your text. Are you okay? Is he still here?” He places a gentle hand on my shoulder as sirens fill the air.

  “Out the back. He went out the back.”

  Fuzzy races out of my office and disappears around the corner. Shouts. Yells. Police swarm into the building in a thunder of boots and a clatter of weapons. A female police officer takes my statement while I sit on Ray’s couch. For the first time ever, I wish I had a cup of tea.

  No, I didn’t see him. No, I have no idea who it could be. Possibly it could do with one of my cases. Thirteen cases. Only one paying client. Yes, that’s right. Only one. The rest I’m doing pro bono. I agree. Not really an economically viable way to run a business, but I like to help people. No, not something I got from my parents. More like in spite of my parents. No, nothing was missing. Yes, I felt threatened and scared hence the microwave tossing.

  “Do you have a boyfriend or a husband, maybe an ex?” Her voice drops from cold and abrupt to soft and gentle. “Maybe you had a fight and he was angry. Maybe he came here to scare you or hurt you. When emotions run high, things like that happen.”

  “I have a boyfriend,” I say quietly. “But everything is fine between us.”

  Boyfriend. I called him my boyfriend. A big step for a commitment-phobe like me, and one I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate. But is it the truth? Is he my boyfriend and is everything fine?

  Shouts from the hallway. Yells. A thud. Then Fuzzy calls, “Let him through.” Feet pound across the floor, and then Jake appears in the doorway.

  Seeing him there, his chest heaving, eyes wild, his face etched with concern, something inside me breaks, and all the terror of the night leaks through, trickling over my cheeks in hot, wet tears.

  “See. Here he is,” I whisper. “He came.” And I didn’t even call.

  Without a word, Jake sweeps me into his arms and holds me until my tears dry.

  An hour later, statements given, glass and wood swept away, police disbursed, Fuzzy, Jake, and I convene in the reception room. Jake sits on one end of the couch. I sit on the other. Fuzzy sits on my poor, abused coffee table and asks me questions about my cases and potential culprits.

  As he takes notes, I glance over at Jake. Why is he sitting over there? Is he angry that Fuzzy called him? Was he trying to avoid me and felt obliged to come? Why hasn’t he spoken to me since he arrived? Or looked at me even once since he released me from his arms? I twist my bracelet around my wrist and then knot my fingers in my lap. What’s going on?

  Finally, Fuzzy rubs his hand over his fuzzy head and sighs. “You got a friend you can stay with tonight, Amanda, or another place to go? After something like this, it’s best not to be alone.”

  “Um…” I glance over at Jake, but he’s gazing out the window. Why would Fuzzy think I wouldn’t be staying with Jake? Did he say something? My heart sinks as I wrack my brain trying to think who would be the best person to call since Makayla is away. One of my law firm colleagues? Penny? Ray? Drake?

  “Why don’t you just call up the guy you were waiting for?” Jake’s tone is so cool it chills my blood. “The guy you were drinking with.” He points to the open bottle of wine on the table. “Who was it this time?”

  Shock freezes my tongue, and for a long moment, all I can do is stare. Finally, I peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “My house sold today. I was upset. I thought I’d have a beat-the-blues away drink before I dove back into my work. You’ll notice there are no glasses on the table. And the only glass you’ll find with wine in it is the water glass on my desk.”

  A pained expression crosses Jake’s face. “Why didn’t you call me if you were that upset?”

  My voice trembles. “I didn’t need you. I should really have been celebrating, but I got a bit emotional. I would have been fine after an hour if someone hadn’t broken into the office. “

  “You didn’t need me?” Jake’s incredulous look sends a shiver down my spine.

  “I knew you were busy at work—so busy you missed your session at Redemption. I didn’t want to bother you with a pity party I knew would be over as soon as I got my head buried in my paperwork.”

  His face smoothes to an expressionless mask, and I sense he knows I’m not giving him the whole truth.

  “And when you were in danger, you called Fuzzy, not me?”

  The skin on the back of my neck prickles at his tone, so cold and detached, but I don’t heed the warning. “I…uh…he’s a police officer. I thought…in case the police didn’t get here in time…he would know what to do.”

  “And I wouldn’t?”

  This is worse than being cross-examined. Every question he asks slices through my heart. Every answer I give sends me even deeper into the sinkhole I seem to have created.

  “He has…a gun.”

  Fuzzy shifts uneasily on the table and then pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand to me. “You can stay with my family. My parents have lots of room.”

  Jake shoots to his feet. “I’ll take her to my place.”

  I am tempted to tell Fuzzy I’ll just go to a hotel. But the thought of being alone makes my stomach clench. And I don’t want to be with a friend. I want to be with Jake, even if he doesn’t want to be with me. I need to explain everything. I need to get my foot out of my goddamn mouth.

  We make the trip to his place in silen
ce. Silence in the Jeep. Silence as we walk up to his building. Silence in the elevator. Silence after we step inside and he closes the door. Silence until I can’t stand the silence any more.

  “We need to talk.”

  He scrubs his hands over his face and sighs. “There’s nothing to talk about. I thought maybe this time you would let me in and for a while you did. You needed me. At the hospital, Redemption, even your office. You accepted my help. You shared yourself with me. You gave yourself to me. I thought that would be enough. That’s what we didn’t have before.”

  I wrap my arms around my stomach, hold on tight, and brace myself for the train wreck of my life.

  “But I need more than that,” he says quietly. “I need to matter. And I need to know you’re in my corner. Not halfway. Not with one foot out the door, ready to run in case it all goes wrong. After the weekend, you made it clear you needed some space. So I gave it to you. But you didn’t come back. You didn’t get in touch. When you were hurting, you didn’t want me. When you were in danger, you didn’t call me. I know you’re still sitting on the fence. Just like before, you gave me your body, but you won’t give me your heart. And until you’re ready to give me everything, we don’t belong together.”

  His words hit me like a punch in the gut, and for the first time in my life I have nothing to say. I’ve lost him, and this time I didn’t do anything. I lost him just because of who I am.

  Jake makes up the couch and points me to the bed. But for the longest time I can’t move. I sit at the counter while he brushes his teeth and changes. I stare into space as he stretches out on the couch. At some point, I make it to the bed. I curl up, still wearing my work clothes, and wrap myself in his duvet so I am surrounded in him. I breathe in deep, inhaling his scent, and try to make a memory that will last a lifetime.