Wide Open

by Tracey Ward

  Kurtis sits over him, waiting. “You wanna try that again?”

  Derrick doesn’t answer him, but that’s all the answer Kurtis needs. Silence is the song of his people.

  “Harper, go inside and get your stuff,” he tells me, never taking his eyes off Derrick. “We’re leaving.”

  I don’t fight him. I don’t tell him I can stay in my apartment, I don’t tell him I’ve got this. I don’t tell him that I don’t need his help, that I can handle Derrick from here. I don’t tell him any of that because I don’t want to lie to him. Him or myself. Not anymore.

  I hurry upstairs, throwing my apartment door open wide. I’m a tornado tearing through my apartment, grabbing clothes and toiletries, tossing them into a duffle bag and hoisting it over my shoulder. It takes me less than five breathless minutes to get in and out, locking the door behind me and practically running down the steps out onto the lawn.

  Kurtis is exactly as I left him. He sees me out of the corner of his eye. He motions to the Challenger. I toss my stuff into the back and climb into the passenger seat to wait for him. He follows closely behind me.

  Derrick stays on the ground.

  The car shifts on its springs as Kurtis drops down into the driver seat. He slams his door, revs the engine hard, and tears off the lawn. Derrick is released from the headlights, his prone body disappearing into the dark. Out of my life.

  “Hold on,” Kurtis warns me as the car jumps roughly off the curb onto the street. It loses traction for half a second before the back wheels make contact, then it’s off like a bullet out of a gun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  KURTIS

  “Thank you,” Harper tells me quietly. Her eyes are focused on my hand. On the blood spotted rag she’s dabbing against the split in my skin across my knuckles. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  “I promised I would.”

  She smiles sadly. “And you always deliver.

  “Always.”

  She swipes an antiseptic wipe over my knuckles, setting fire to my nerves. I hiss sharply through my teeth. She winces apologetically. She doesn’t say a word.

  I rub my free hand over my mouth. It’s shaking slightly. I try to hide it from her but she can see the tremors in my hand held in hers. She knows I’m jittery. I’m amped up in an unhealthy way. The adrenaline that flooded my body when I got her texts is filtering out of my system, but it’s taking it’s time. I probably won’t sleep tonight and that’s okay. I need to sit watch in case Derrick decides to do something stupid.

  “I’m going to get a restraining order,” she says softly. Her words are hesitant. Frightened feathers in a whirlwind, battered back and forth on currents of regret and shame.

  “This wasn’t you,” I assure her. I curl the fingers of my injured hand around hers, holding her as she holds onto me. “You didn’t bring this on yourself.”

  “I should have dealt with him sooner. I should have fired him last year when he first scared me, but I was too proud. I was afraid and I was angry at him for making me feel that way. I let him stay around so I could prove to myself that I could handle it. I think I wanted to convince myself I was stronger than him.”

  “You are.”

  “I wish I believed that.”

  “I’ll believe it for you. I’ll remind you of it every day until you believe it too. Until you know it, because it’s true.”

  Harper smiles reticently, her eyes searching for mine in the low light of my apartment. A single bare bulb burns over the tiny kitchen table, shadowing us harshly. She looks tired. Beautiful and fragile in a way I never thought possible. Vulnerable like she’s falling apart. Like her eyes are going blind and she’s begging me to stay with her. To guard her.

  “I’m listening,” she whispers breathlessly.

  Her faith messes me up. It twists a dagger in my side, shooting pain through my body so sharply that it’s hard to get a full breath. She’s trusted me from the start. She’s had faith in me from the moment I met her, and I think that’s why I’ve clung to my secrets for so long. It’s not that I don’t trust her with the truth. It’s that I don’t want to lose that look in her eyes. I like being the man she’s looking for. Solid. Reliable. Faithful.

  I lift her hand holding mine. I kiss the soft skin across the back of it, the citrus scent of her filling my nose. My body. My blood. It eases the pain in my side like balm on a wound.

  I stand, pulling her with me. “You should get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

  She scans the room, doing an inventory of my furniture. It doesn’t take long. A simple gray couch sits in front of an entertainment stand housing a meager TV. A bed is pushed against the far wall. It’s made neatly, the yellow sheets tucked in tightly under the black comforter. A nightstand is crammed full of old paperback mysteries and a handful of Idiot’s Guides to home repair. The table we’ve been sitting at is flanked by two metal legged chairs. A wardrobe looms in another corner, full to bursting of clothes and shoes, a matching dresser cowering next to it. And that’s it. That’s my world.

  “I got rid of a lot of stuff when I moved back and forth from Cali to Montana,” I explain, answering the question she’s afraid to ask. It all comes back to my secrets, to the money, and she doesn’t want to touch that tonight. To be honest, neither do I. Right now I want her to sleep. I want her to feel safe and I want some time to sort myself out. To find the right words for the wrongs I’ve done.

  “It’s nice,” she lies.

  I chuckle, scratching my shoulder nervously. “Yeah, it’s not, but it’s nice of you to say it.”

  “I like it. Not the apartment itself, you’re right; it’s tiny. But I like what you’ve done with it. It’s clean. Uncluttered. Is it weird to say I feel like I can breathe here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks,” she chuckles. She goes to her bag by the bed, pulling tangled lengths of clothing out of it. She packed in a hurry and I think she’s surprised to find what’s inside the bag. Like she doesn’t remember making the choices she made. A frown gathers on her face as she reaches the bottom of the bag. “Oh no.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t pack anything to sleep in. Do you have any shorts or sweats I could borrow?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got something.” I gesture to the bed as I turn to the dresser. “You can have the bed too. I’ll take the couch or the floor.”

  “No, I’m not pushing you out of your own bed.”

  “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. You need a good night’s sleep and that couch isn’t going to let you have it. Trust me.”

  “That does not make me feel any better about sending you to sleep on it.”

  I pull a pair of running shorts with a long drawstring out of the drawer. “You’re not. I’m probably going to sleep on the floor. It’ll be more comfortable.”

  “And I feel worse.”

  I’m glad she doesn’t offer to share the bed with me. The waters between us are muddy at best and now is not the time to confuse them any more than they already are.

  “Here,” I hand her the shorts. “If it makes you feel any better, those are my least favorite pair. They ride up in the ass. Have fun with that.”

  Harper smiles as she takes them from me. She doesn’t hesitate and she doesn’t wait for me to turn away before unzipping her jeans, shimmying them down her legs. They pool on the floor at her delicate feet, giving me a good long look at her smooth skin. My heart thrums readily at the sight, my memory throwing out images and sensations that I don’t need right now. The feel of her thighs against my hips. My face. The perfect V at their apex, always so ready for me.

  Muddy goddamn waters.

  I turn away toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna have a beer. You want a beer?”

  “No, thanks. Alcohol keeps me awake.”

  Ten minutes later she’s asleep. She asked me to put something on the television to distract her brain, and the second I tuned us into the DIY Network, she was out.
She’s curled up on her side in her tank top and bra, my running shorts riding up her legs, probably embedded in her ass as promised. She looks comfortable, though. She’s sleeping soundly, and even as I pull the comforter up over her, she doesn’t stir. She doesn’t miss a beat in the slow rise and fall of her chest as I lean down to kiss the corner of her mouth.

  She’s safe. That simple truth cuts through me like a knife and I ache because of it. I feel proud and afraid as I look down at her, like I’ve been entrusted with something too precious to handle.

  It’s more than I deserve but I’ll die deserving it.

  She unpacked her bag on the floor by the bed and I’m not surprised to find her small camcorder on top of the pile. She takes it everywhere with her. Even in her mad rush through her apartment to pack, I was counting on her having it. I pick it up, checking to make sure it’s locked and loaded.

  The battery is full. The memory is empty.

  I pound my beer, pulling every drop from it until it’s gone.

  I wish it was bourbon.

  I wish I didn’t need it.

  I wish I wasn’t so chicken shit afraid to open up.

  ***

  Harper wakes up around four in the morning. I don’t know if she had the habit before working with us, but practice comes early in the NFL. We don’t always wait for daylight and her crew has been there every time without fail. I normally get to work early, but Harper was always there earlier. Today is an off day and still she wakes up without an alarm. I think it’s a part of her nature. Something she learned long before she met me.

  “Good morning,” she mumbles when she sees me.

  I’m parked at the kitchen table, a glass of orange juice in my hand. Her camcorder sits silver and shining in the center of the dark table.

  I lift my glass to her. “Morning.”

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He won’t come here, Kurtis,” she promises me. She sits up slowly against the wall behind the bed. “He’s crazy but he’s smart. He won’t want to fight you again.”

  I smirk, bringing the cup to my lips. “That wasn’t a fight. That wasn’t even a conversation.”

  “Well, whatever it was, he won’t come looking for a repeat. He’ll stay away.”

  “When are you getting the restraining order?”

  Harper blanches, looking away. I worry that she’s changed her mind about talking to the police, but then her mouth draws tightly into a stern line that’s straight as her spine. “Today. I texted Travis on the way here last night. He’s going to take me to talk to the police this morning.”

  I try not to let it bother me that Travis is taking her. That she didn’t ask me. But Travis has more firsthand experience with this guy than I do. He can back up her stories about the stalking and harassment better than I can.

  Still stings, though.

  “Let me know if you need me to talk to them about what happened last night,” I offer, draining my glass.

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want to see Derrick press charges against you.”

  “I’m not worried about that.”

  “I am,” she insists. “But I shouldn’t have to drag you into it. There are enough voicemails and text messages to prove my case.”

  “You saved them all?”

  “Yeah. I did. Part of me knew, you know? I knew he was going to be a problem but I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t handle it. It was scarier thinking I couldn’t.”

  I take my cup to the sink, nodding in understanding. She craves control and this thing with Derrick, it got away from her. I think she hates that more than anything else; that she lost control.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” I offer. “I don’t have much here but I can run out and get you something.”

  “Why is my camera out?”

  I pause with my hands hovering over the counter. I lower them slowly, taking hold of the cold surface with an iron grip. “I made something for you,” I tell her quietly.

  “A sexy something?” she teases lightly.

  I’m grateful for it. It makes me smile. It lets me forget the apprehension building in my body. “Sorry, no such luck.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a…” I hesitate, turning to face her. I cross my arms over my chest like I’m trying to hold myself together. “It’s kind of a confessional.”

  “What sins do you have to confess?” She pauses, her eyes slowly going wide as realization fills them. “Oh. Did you—is it about what I think it’s about?”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  Harper’s shoulders sag sadly. “Kurtis, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Yeah, I do,” I argue. “I owe it to you.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t owe me anything, and even if you did, you paid whatever debt you had to me in full last night. With interest.”

  I look at her hard, my face resolute. “I need to do this. Let me do this. Please.”

  Harper hesitates. She glances at the table. At my honesty. “Are you going to watch it with me?”

  “No.” I laugh shortly, the sound rough in my rushing ears. I go to the table. “Recording it was enough. I’m sick of the whole story.”

  I take the camcorder to my entertainment unit, plugging it into the back of the TV. Harper is off the bed and settling onto my couch when I turn around to hand the remote to her. She takes it tentatively, her expression torn.

  “I feel like I’m stealing from you. Like I’m getting something for nothing.”

  “I’ll give you anything you want, Harper.”

  “Why did you record it? Why won’t you just tell me?”

  “Because I’m a coward.”

  She laughs incredulously. “You’re absolutely not a coward, Kurtis.”

  “I am about this. I can’t watch it with you. The idea of you seeing it has me so damn nervous I’m planning on going outside and vomiting here in a minute.”

  “Then why give it to me?”

  I lean down to kiss her forehead. To tell her goodbye. “Because I trust you.”

  She surprises me when she takes hold of my face and pulls me lower. Her lips meet mine, slow and dangerous. Delicious. I feel myself falling as she holds me fast.

  “Thank you,” she whispers against my mouth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  HARPER

  October 15th

  758 Greenbow

  Los Angeles, CA

  He filmed it in the Challenger. The timer says it was after midnight. Not long after I fell asleep.

  The image swirls for a second as he spins the camera to face himself, resting it on the dashboard. He checks the screen on the side, makes eye contact with himself, and immediately looks away. There’s so much disinclination in his demeanor that I feel my throat closing off. I feel sick for him, uncomfortable in the worst possible way because that’s what he’s feeling. That’s what he lived as he made me this recording. It’s what he’s living now as he leaves, going God knows where. But wherever it is, I know it won’t be far. He doesn’t feel like he’s done protecting me.

  Part of me hopes he never will.

  As the camera rolls, Kurtis stares out the windshield into nothing. He’s thinking. Preparing himself. The dashboard lights in the car glow red, the light from the camera screen a grayish blue, and together they make an eerie atmosphere that feels surreal. Almost otherworldly as he confesses, “I’m not sure where to start. But I think Jersey is a good place. To start, not to live. Or visit. Don’t go to Jersey, is what I’m saying.”

  I smile at his halfhearted attempt at humor. The faintest grin is on his lips for a split second, his painfully handsome face dark in the shadows of the car but light in his eyes. They’re shining and nervous. Vulnerable in a way I’ve rarely seen him.

  “I grew up in a religious house. I never knew my dad, my mom ran away when I was a baby, and my grandma was left to raise me. She was a hard-ass. I think that’s why my mom was wild. S
he couldn’t stand how tight the reins were. When I turned fourteen I started to feel the same way. I followed my grandma’s rules all through high school, but when I went to college I finally cut loose. I went a little wild, just like my mom.

  “My grandma was disappointed in me. She made sure I knew that every chance she got. She didn’t know I was sleeping with every girl I could get my dick in, but she had suspicions. It made me feel like shit, but it didn’t stop me. I kept right on partying and during my junior year her health started going. I was back and forth between Florida and Jersey as often as my beat up truck could take me.” He coughs into his hand, shifting in his seat. “When she died I didn’t have anyone. Just my friends who she hated, but I loved them. Tommy, Kyla, and I were close as kids. We all went to the same schools, grew up on the same block. In middle school the two of them started dating. I never wanted Kyla until Tommy dated her, but once he did I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was like I hadn’t realized she was an option until she wasn’t anymore. Like I’d somehow forgotten she was a girl. Or maybe I was a jealous dick and I didn’t want her until she belonged to someone else. That’s probably more likely, but I’ll never know for sure.

  “I was really lonely after my grandma died, so my senior year at Florida Tommy and Kyla moved down there to be closer to me. They were the start of my entourage. After I lost my grandma I started to surround myself with people who made me feel like…” He frowns, trying to sort the memory and the feeling. Looking for what’s real. “I guess people who made me feel like something. I grew up feeling like nothing and when I got to college people were all over my shit because I was good at football, and I liked that feeling. I collected people who gave it to me.”

  I pinch my lips together, my face falling as I imagine what that must have been like. A lifetime of being cast aside, being told he was wrong. How much self-worth could a man hope to have after a childhood like that?