AFTER JARON CAME back from talking to security, we left the hospital, walking hand in hand in the parking lot.
He unlocked my door and opened it for me. “Would you object to being kidnapping for the day?” he asked.
I slid into me seat. “Depends. Is it you kidnapping me?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m game.”
He got into the car and pulled out of the parking space. As we turned, a shiny silver Prius caught my eye. It was parked a few spaces down from where we had been. My heart jumped before I silenced my worry. No one sat in waiting. It was someone else’s car; there were a lot of silver Priuses in existence, after all.
15
THE TWO BAGS OF Chinese take-out balancing in my lap almost tipped over as Jaron pulled into his drive. I smiled at him as I righted our haul. After a brief hesitation, he returned my smile. He had been fairly quiet since deciding on food, stealing furtive glances at me every few seconds.
“What’s going on? Why do you keep looking at me?” I asked.
“I’m just… waiting.”
“Waiting on what?” I prodded.
He opened his mouth, but closed it quickly.
“Jaron, whatever it is… you can tell me. I’m here for you—I’ll always be here for you.”
He laughed and pulled me into his lap, knocking our Chinese onto the floorboard. “You are so amazing,” he whispered, kissing my hair. He put me back in my seat and set his coal dark eyes on me. “Maribel, I, I… want to show you something.”
“Can we eat first?” I asked, my stomach growling in agreement. Running out of the house had made me miss breakfast, and I wasn’t used to missing meals. I'd done a lot of things I wasn’t use to since meeting Jaron.
“Of course,” he said before hopping out of the car.
I picked up the bags of Chinese; luckily everything was secured in its own box and hadn’t make a mess. The smell of sweet and sour pork filled my nose and I salivated.
Jaron opened my door and took the bags from me while helping me out of the car. “What do think?” he asked.
We stood in front of a small cottage that was almost completely covered in ivy. The front door was wide and rounded at the top. It was the dark rich color of walnut. Red shutters fringed the old windows, standing out against the green ivy. A rock chimney stuck up out of the shingled roof. I’d never seen a place so warm and inviting.
“It’s lovely.”
He pulled me along behind him into his home. After a moment, my eyes adjusted to the dim light. The floors and walls were a crisp white and would have been bland had it not been for the décor. His metal creations were everywhere; somehow I knew they were his without asking. Sculptures similar to the one I had seen at the movie theater hung on the walls. But it didn’t stop there. Most of the furniture in the living room was suspiciously customized; the pieces were made of metal and their design a strange clash of modern and vintage. The scoop chairs were straight out of the sixties, excluding the backs of them that stretched up and fanned out like waves cresting.
“Did you make them?” I asked, moving to sit in one.
“Yes,” he said, smiling at me.
“They’re more comfortable than they look.” I settled in and grabbing a box of rice from the bag.
He followed suit, taking a bite of mandarin chicken. His dark eyes fell on my face and he appeared to be trying to find something there.
“Do I have food on my face?” I wiped at the corner of my mouth.
“No.”
“Then why are you staring at me like that?” I asked.
He threw his hands in the air. “I’m waiting for you to run away screaming, Maribel. I’m waiting for your mind to catch up with everything I’ve told you. I’m waiting for you to realize that you don’t want to be around damaged goods,” he said, desperation thick in his voice.
“You think that I’m going to run out on you?” I asked.
“Come on, Maribel, you can’t pretend that you aren’t freaked out! I mean, I just told you that I witnessed my parents being brutally murdered, and the people who did that to them may be after us as well. I don‘t understand why you‘re still here,” he said, bringing his warm brown eyes back to me.
“You don’t understand why?”
“No, I don’t get why someone like you would want to waste their time with me—I‘m the reason they‘re dead… I lead him to our house. My mother…” His voice cracked and he stood from his chair and crossed the room. He was turned away from me, but I could still hear the sob that ripped out of his chest.
I jumped out of my seat and crossed the room in two steps. Running my hand across his thick shoulder, I pulled him into my arms. “Jaron, it wasn’t your fault, you can’t think like that,” I whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere… get used to me being around.”
He turned around, surprise marking his masculine features. Putting both hands on either side of my face, he whispered, “What did I do to deserve you, Maribel?” His warm breath against my lips made my head spin.
“It’s not about anything you did. I’m here because of who you are.”
He pulled away. “What do you know about who I am?”
“I know that you always think of other people before yourself.” Did he not understand how selfless it was for him to give up a normal life to do everything he could to keep his brother alive? “I know you would never hurt me, and I know that you’re a freak like me.” I tried to keep my voice light; the conversation was putting a strange pressure on my chest. Concentrating on my bottle of water, I sent the wet contents splashing everywhere.
I shrieked and he laughed.
“I’m no good at it yet,” I pouted.
“You think too highly of me. I’m not a very good person. I’ve done so many things that I’m not proud of.” He ran his fingers through my wet hair.
“Maybe you think too little of yourself.” I stood on my toes and kissed the tip of his nose.
Jaron leaned in close, radiating his warmth, then he shook his head. “Can I show you something now?”
“Sure,” I said, full of utter disappointment. Him leaning so close had made my mind spin with activities much different than taking a tour of his house—well he could show me his bedroom… I felt his gaze on me and squirmed; hopefully he couldn’t see the thoughts written on my face. I had always worn my emotions on my sleeve, but I wasn’t used to having so many.
He led me through the house. I tried to take in every detail as we walked from room to room. The décor was lavish in every space, but there weren’t any pictures. No smiling family at some cheesy vacation spot, not a hint of his past was in the house. From the looks of it, he could have sprung into being of his own accord. He turned a corner, and we walked into a small kitchen that was so pristinely clean it appeared to never have been used. The pot rack hanging from the ceiling didn’t have a single pan dangling from it.
“You don’t cook, do you?”
He paused before he reached the back door and turned around with a quizzical look on his face. “Is it that obvious?”
I smiled. “I’m afraid so. You aren’t one of those guys who's helpless without a woman around to cook and clean up after him, are you?” I teased.
“No, I haven’t had a woman to do those things in a long time…”
My insides squirmed, and I hated myself for the seemingly harmless joke.
“I just like my foods mostly raw. You know, fruits and veggies. I do like to give my meat a little heat, but…” He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I have these for that, and they're easier to wash than pans.”
He was smiling, so I returned his grin, but didn’t feel much like smiling. Jaron had been through so much more than I ever even thought possible. How could a person live through that? I was sure that my thirteen year-old self never would have been able to come out of an ordeal like that as well as Jaron had. He was probably the strongest man I'd ever seen, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to wrap him in
my arms and never let anything in the world hurt him again.
“You coming?” Jaron asked.
I shook the distracting thoughts from my mind and followed him out the door. A small metal building stood in the back corner of the large yard, which was where he seemed to be taking me. There were many windows along the walls, but all of them had been painted over, preventing me from seeing anything inside. It gave the building an ominous feel and seemed out of place in the flowering back yard.
“What’s in there?” I asked, trying to conceal the hesitation in my voice.
He laughed. “I know it looks like something out of a horror movie, but it’s harmless. I spend most of my time in there, actually.”
“Should I be worried that you’re taking me, completely alone, to a shack that could be in a horror movie?” I bumped him with my hip and frowned. He didn’t even sway on his feet; I wasn’t sure if he was too solid for my small frame to move or if he just had amazing balance.
“It’s not a shack it’s a shop, and you should be concerned about being alone with me… but for entirely un-horrific reasons.” Jaron laughed and stopped just outside the door and put his hand to my cheek. “You’re pretty adorable, Maribel.”
“Am I?” I brought my eyes up to meet his.
He nodded. “Yes, you are. You’re also much easier to make blush than I would have supposed.”
“Really?” What could he mean by that? “Why did you think I wouldn’t be?”
“Well I did see you topless before our second date,” he said with a grin that reached his eyes and brightened his whole being. He looked so glorious that I forgot to fake offence for a moment.
“Hey!” I slapped his arm. “I was just trying to save some idiot who'd jumped off a deck into shallow waters.”
“Well, if it involves the removal of your shirt, you can rescue me any day.” He winked at me.
“And vice versa,” I said before returning his wink.
“Ask and you shall receive,” he quipped.
I tried to shake off the hunger in my belly, a strange new appetite that Jaron had awakened in me. “I don’t really need rescuing right now.”
“Everyone needs rescuing from something, even if they don’t know it,” he said.
He looked over his shoulder before pushing the shop door open. As I followed him through the doorway, I wondered if that was true. Before I knew about the psychotic murderers after me, had there been anything I'd needed rescuing from? My life had been comfortable and my aunt and uncle had showered me with love. But when Jaron came into my life, he showed me that I lived in a cage. A well-meaning one, but a cage nonetheless. I hadn't known I was living such a restricted life—I hadn’t realized I wanted more, until I got a taste of more. What else had he rescued me from without me knowing it?
“Are you ready?” Jaron asked from halfway across the shop.
“For what?” The floors were stained cement the color of clay, and the entire shop was made of metal from the walls to the frame and trusses. Scraps of metal were organized in large aluminum bins, and pristine sheets of metal were stacked on a huge shelving unit.
“You taught me how to paint. I thought I’d return the favor and teach you a few of my metal tricks,” he said while rummaging in one of the bins.
I looked at the torches and clamps and terrifying saw blades. “I just taught you how to mix paint.” I cleared my throat; my voice was much too high.
He looked up from the bin. “You’re scared?”
“Not scared, just unenthusiastic.”
“Sorry, I guess this stuff is a little intimidating. You’re just so fearless. I mean, out of everything that has happened in the last forty-eight hours… you're frightened of the tools.” He shook his head; his dark hair almost looked ebony in the poor lighting of the shop. “All right, I won’t make you mess with any of the tools. Would you feel better if it was just you and me?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He pulled his T-shirt over his head, leaving his well-defined abs visible before he tugged the bottom of his tight-fitting gray tank back down. “Come over here and I’ll show you.”
I walked forward, all hesitation and fear gone. He slid a stool between himself and the large stone table.
“Take a seat. I have to get a few things ready.”
I sat down on the padded bench, watching Jaron pick up different pieces of metal and scrutinize them before deciding on a different piece. I didn’t know what he was searching for or why it would make a difference—they all looked the same to me. He came back to the table and set his armful of scraps down before turning to the deep basin sink at the far side of the table and cranking the nobs on high.
Water splashed noisily into the sink and I looked at him questioningly. “Why do we need water… is it a fire safety precaution?” I wasn’t sure how a fire could spread in the shop, but it was a scary thought anyway.
“No, this is to temper the metal.” He picked up one of the scrap pieces, making it glow red for a moment. Flexing his muscles, he folded it in on itself until it was a round ball. “Water can change metal in a number of ways, make it more brittle, change its color, or change its shape.” He heated the ball again and flattened it while pulling out thin spires. The heat from his work already had his large arms glowing in a sheen of sweat. “You've seen my style and my inclination for the sea and doing wave designs. When you put water on hot metal, the thermal shock warps it into a very natural shape…” He stopped and looked up apologetically. “Am I boring you yet?”
A bead of sweat that was gathering at his shoulder roll down the hard contours of his bicep. “Not even a little,” I said truthfully.
“Good.” He turned the tap off, leaving the basin full of water. “Now you’re in charge of saving me a few steps,” he said, moving behind me.
“Do you want me to bring you stuff?” I asked, biting my lip. Hopefully he wasn’t expecting me to know which tools were which. I barely knew the difference between a Philips and flathead screwdriver and was sure that I’d fail to impress.
“Not stuff, just water. When I ask you to, I want you to pull some over here. Think you can do that?”
“I don’t know if I can control it all that well…”
“Well then this will be good practice,” he said. “Don’t you think?”
I hadn’t had time to process much about my newfound powers, and anytime my mind went there… I was quick to shut it out. Me having any kind of power was just such a ridiculous thought. For some reason Jaron having something so special made sense—but me? “Okay, I’ll try… but don’t get mad if I accidentally hit you in the face with some.”
“Will it really be an accident?” he asked.
“Probably, of course if it happens right after another remark about me taking my shirt off, then it will be on purpose.”
“Fair enough,” he said as I went to stand up. “No.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Stay there.”
I sat back down on the stool. “Okay.”
He scooted me to the front of the large stool, perched himself on the back of it, and put his arms on either side of me. Setting down the piece of metal he had turned into a strange spiky mess, he cleared his throat.
“If you get scared or feel uncomfortable, just let me know and we can stop… Okay?”
I was completely encompassed by his body, how could he think I was uncomfortable in anyway? This was as good as going to the beach. Maybe I’d just spend spring break wrapped in his arms. “I’m fine.”
He squeezed my hand before grabbing one of the large scraps—his torso pressed against my back as he reached—and began heating it. Warmth radiated down my sides, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The glow of red started to dull and then got brighter. He pulled and folded the scrap like a yard of taffy. It was mesmerizing and felt like a dream. People just couldn’t heat things up, not the way he did, anyway. They couldn’t touch a red-hot surface without a trip to the ER. Yet his large masculine hands were unscathed
as he molded the molten steel into cresting waves. The way he pulled the metal created lighter and darker streaks of gray and blue throughout it.
“Maribel, I need some water. It’s at the perfect temperature,” he said.
Without much concentration, a stream of water flew from the sink and hit the sculpture in Jaron’s hand. With a hiss, steam surrounded me so thick I couldn’t see through it. Moisture gathered on my arms, my face, every inch of bare skin. Without sight, my senses were heightened; all that I could feel was Jaron. His arms tightened around me, making every muscle tense. The air cleared and I relaxed.
“It doesn’t seem like you need practice. You’re a pro already.”
“I guess maybe it’s easier when I know where I want the water to go. It wasn’t hard for me to make it come over here. It just did what I wanted it to do.”
“So it’s not just me, even the elements obey your every request?” He set down the small section of waves he was working on and picked up the metal that he had turned into a pincushion.
“Look who’s talking,” I mumbled as he made the object glow red and flattened it more. He carefully curled the spikes into what I now realized were the spires of a beautiful star, I wasn’t sure how he got it to shine a perfect silver without paint… it couldn’t actually be silver—it must have weighed half a pound. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s for you,” he said. Picking up the wave sculpture, he placed the star in a hidden pocket among the peeks, giving it the appearance of a shooting star crashing into the ocean. The effect was breathtaking; the waves splashed up around the star and seemed to welcome it.
“Why a star?” I asked, wondering out of all things he could have sculpted, he chose this for me.
“It’s your name sake, Maribel means beautiful star of the sea… did you not know that?” he asked, still fixing the star in place.
“No, why would I?”
“I don’t know, but I think it suits you.”
“I haven’t even been to the ocean. At least not yet. Are you still planning a spring break get-away to the beach?”
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