Save Me (Saved Series, Book One)

by Laura L. Cline

  My shower offers me no escape from Carly. I've fucked her in almost every room of my house; we've done almost as much fucking as we've done talking. I lather up and rinse off, wondering why I've been given a second chance. I've never been one to think shit happens for a reason; we screw things up on our own, but having Carly in my life, to wake me up, makes me feel like the luckiest man on Earth. She completes me in a way I didn't think anyone could.

  The mill is only thirty minutes away and I use the time to try and get my head right. I'm like a damned lovesick teenager with a crush on the hot chick next door. Except my hot chick actually likes me back. More than likes me.

  George St. Clair greets me as I pull the truck up to the door of the main office. His trucker cap is slightly askew, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. I'd almost swear his head has taken the shape of that damned hat.

  "Wonderin' when you were gonna show up, son," he says as I climb out of the truck.

  "Been a little busy, old man," I say with a grin.

  "Gotcha a girl, huh?" George asks, his old gray eyes lighting up. "That's the only damned thing that'd make you grin like a fool."

  "She's a real little pistol," I tell him. He follows me up the gravel walk and to the office door. "You'd like her."

  "Anybody who can put a smile on that ugly face of yours might be alright," he says with a laugh.

  George worked for my dad for forty years and when Dad died, he helped me learn the ropes of the mill. He became a surrogate father of sorts and still comes to work when he feels like it.

  My cell phone rings as I take off my cap and toss it on the empty desk in the lobby.

  "Hey, Ma," I answer.

  "Well, he's alive," she says dramatically.

  "Yes, I'm alive."

  "What have you been up to for the last few weeks? You've barely called and you've not come around. There's a letter here for you from somebody in North Carolina. I think it's from one of your old fraternity brothers."

  "I'll be there for Thanksgiving, Mom. I can get it then."

  "Speaking of Thanksgiving," she says, "will you be coming alone?"

  Mom may be lots of things, but subtle is not one of them. "Why do you ask?" I ask, suspiciously.

  "I just might've heard that you had a new friend. I thought you might want to bring her, just so I can meet her."

  Shit. I didn't want it to get back to her before we had a chance to talk about Carly. Mom's friend Maggie and her husband own Captain's, so naturally my mom knows.

  I sigh and sit down behind the desk. "Okay, Mom. You win. I do have someone in my life. I meant to tell you, but I've been busy." I rub my face and close my eyes.

  "Well, you've not been here and you've not been at the mill, so unless you've come out of your hermity ways, I know what you've been busy doing."

  She laughs. My sixty-two year old mother laughs at her own joke about my sex life.

  "Mom," I say, "it's not like that. Carly is a really sweet girl. She's funny and she makes me happy." I can't tell her that it is like that, at least a little.

  "Oh, I'm not chiding you, Robert. I'm just happy to know that someone is making you live again."

  "Okay, Mom, let's just stop talking about it. I'll ask Carly if she'd like to be my guest for dinner. I'll call you and let you know something tomorrow afternoon."

  "Alright, sweetie. Just let me know. Love you."

  "I love you, too, Mom." It's the first time in a long time that I've actually said that to her. I guess I've been holding things in with everyone. I end the call and wonder where the secretary is. She should've been here forty minutes ago.

  "Where's Tessa?" I ask as George comes down the hall.

  "Ah, she's been goin' out for coffee for you every mornin' thinkin' you're gonna make it in. She's still got the hots for you, Jackie Boy."

  I hired Tessa Wilkins two years ago without even interviewing her. She's short and thin, too thin if you ask me, with straight blonde hair and a plain face. She's a sweet girl, but the crush she's had on me since she started is not.

  "She'll have a right fit when she finds out you've got yourself a girlfriend, buddy," George says, clapping me on the back. "I kept tellin' her all this time to dress a bit nicer and put a little makeup on and she might've had a chance with ya. Hell, even the ugliest barn looks better with a little paint on it."

  George laughs to himself, his big belly shaking underneath his suspenders. I used to wonder if anyone else in the world wore suspenders. I'm yet to see anyone under 50 wear them.

  "I'm glad you think it's funny," I say.

  "Eh, just don't hurt her feelings. You gotta let her down easy, son."

  "I bet you had to let quite a few sweet young things down easy in your day, huh?" I say, reaching out and pulling his suspender. I let it go and it hits his shoulder with a dull thwap. He swats at my hand and readjusts his cap.

  "I know it might be hard to believe, but your dad and I used to have to beat 'em off with a stick. Girls chasin' us all day and night. Your mom landed your dad and Maggie landed me and we made 'em two of the luckiest women in the state. Just ask your Mom."

  George laughs a little and I join in. He's a bullshitter if there ever was one, but I love him like a favorite uncle.

  "I'm sure she'd tell a different tale, old man," I say. In spite of what my mom would admit, I inherited the inability to be content with one woman from my dad. It's a deficit I won't let ruin my life a second time.

  The door opens halfway and Tessa attempts to grab it with her elbow as she balances a coffee carrier in one hand and a small stack of mail in the other. I hop from the desk and go to help her.

  "Oh, you're here!" she practically squeals. Damn.

  "Yeah, I'm here for a while today, Tessa. Any messages?"

  She brushes past me to her desk and sits the coffee down on the corner. She grabs one of the cups and hands it out to me.

  "Black, just like you like it," she beams at me.

  "Thanks," I say, taking the Starbucks cup from her. I hate Starbucks coffee. I take a sip and try not to grimace at the burnt taste as it reminds me why I hate it.

  She holds out a small stack of messages and I take them.

  "So," she says, taking her own cup between her hands as she sits down behind her desk. George turns and lets out a small chuckle before leaving through the door that leads out into the yard.

  "Yes?" I ask cautiously.

  "I was wondering if you have any plans for Thursday," she says. She takes a sip of her coffee and turns her blue eyes my way.

  "Actually, I do. I'm taking my girlfriend to meet my mom." I hate to blurt it out that way, but I've done everything I can to show her that she should find someone else, even telling her straight out that I wasn't interested.

  "Girlfriend?" she asks. Her eyes narrow and I know she's hurt. It makes me extremely uncomfortable.

  "Yes, my girlfriend." I say sternly.

  "Oh," she says, turning from me to walk behind her desk.

  "Tessa," I say, "I just met someone a few weeks ago and she's right for me. She's great. You'd like her."

  "Oh, I just wanted to know if I could have Friday off, too. If you're gonna be out of town or something."

  I won't ruin her attempt at regaining her pride. "Sure, Tessa. Go ahead take Friday off, too." I tip the cup at her and head down the hallway to my office before this conversation can get any more awkward.

  My phone dings in my pocket as I open the door.

  Miss me yet?

  She brings a smile from me with just those three words.

  You know it. I text back. Then, Shouldn't you be paying attention in class?

  I would, but I keep thinking about your cock. I wanna suck it when I see you.

  What does a man do with a text like that? I sit down at my desk and smile like an idiot.

  I expect you to keep your word on a thing like that.

  The little bubble appears and then:

  Oh, don’t you worry. You'll be coming in my mouth soon.<
br />
  Goddamn. Where did this girl come from? I spend the entire day working in a haze. If I’d been operating one of the saws, I'd have cut off my damned hand.

  Tessa doesn't come into my office all day and only calls in to transfer calls to me. I feel like shit that I hurt her feelings, but it really had to happen. She'd have found out soon enough anyway.

  I drive home eagerly; the thought that Carly won't be long behind me pushes my foot on the accelerator. My phone dings.

  I press the little button and tell Siri to read the message to me so I can concentrate on the road. The robotic voice comes to life and reads Carly's words.

  Going to stop by Claire's for a minute. I'll call you when I leave.

  Dammit. I'm gonna have to wait to hear her voice. I put my phone in the seat and drive on.

  §

  My phone rings as I climb out of the shower.

  "Hey, little pistol."

  "Hey, yourself," she says. Her voice is like music to my ears, like water in the desert.

  "You coming over?" I dry myself off in front of the fogged over mirror. "I haven't seen you in almost twelve hours. That's too long."

  "I can't tonight," she says. I stop moving at her words.

  "Why not?" Fuck concern at sounding too eager. I am eager to see her and I don't care who knows it.

  "Claire's sick. I'm taking her to the hospital."

  "Shit, where's Mark?" I run the towel through my hair.

  "He's on his way there from the gym."

  "I'll get some clothes on and be right there," I say. I expect her to protest, but she doesn't.

  "Okay, see you in a few minutes."

  I start to say 'I love you', but catch myself. "Okay, bye."

  It felt so natural to just say it, but when I do let those words slip out, I want to be holding her to me and gazing into those big bronze eyes of hers.

  I throw on some jeans and my old UNC shirt. I grab a cap and my coat and leave for the hospital.

  I park the Escalade and walk toward the emergency doors. I haven't been back inside this hospital since I finished my physical therapy almost two years ago. The doors part in a whoosh and Carly comes down the hall.

  "What's the matter, doll?" I ask.

  "I think she's having a miscarriage," she whispers. I pull her to me and hug her.

  "She and Mark have been trying to get pregnant for almost a year. She said she woke up this morning with a bad headache and then she started hurting in her abdomen. She was hemorrhaging by the time I got to her house."

  I rub my hands up and down her shoulders.

  "Is Mark here?"

  "Yeah, he's in with her now. This is so bad, Jack."

  "Let's hope it's not," I say.

  We find two seats in the corner of the waiting room and sit to do just that. Carly keeps watching the clock and nervously looking down the hall. Mark walks around the corner and she practically jumps out of her skin and runs to him.

  "She lost the baby," he mumbles.

  Carly's hand goes to her mouth and she starts to cry. Mark hugs her and I stand there, feeling like an outsider to their grief.

  "Is she okay?" Carly asks between sobs.

  "Physically, yes. Mentally, emotionally? No. She wants to see you."

  Carly nods and turns to me. I offer her a small smile and nod my head. She goes the way Mark came and he turns to me.

  "I'm sorry, Mark," I offer.

  He rubs his hands over his face and then leans against the wall.

  "I don't know what to do for her," he says, hanging his head.

  "Just be there for her," I say.

  "I will, but it's gonna be so hard on her. I didn't even know."

  I see tears form in Mark's eyes, but he turns from me and discreetly wipes them away.

  "Damn, I'm sorry, Mark." The words seem so flat, so meaningless.

  "They want her to see her regular doctor in three days."

  I can't help but think of Rachel and the baby she got rid of. How could she go and have a child ripped from her when there are people like Mark and Claire just hoping for the chance to have one? I can't pass judgment on her for not wanting to share a kid with me if it was mine, but it's hard not to feel angry right now.

  Mark and I walk outside into the parking lot. He’s been quiet, contemplative and I don’t know what to say. He handles all my finances and has for the last couple of years, but I count him among my few friends.

  “I never really cared if I ever had kids,” he says as we sit on a picnic table outside the emergency room. “I knew Claire wanted them when we got married and I thought maybe I’d feel differently by the time she actually got pregnant. Now that we’ve been trying, we’ve gotten so much closer. I was ready to be a dad.” He’s talking to me, but instead of saying anything back, I just listen. Sometimes all a man needs is someone to listen.

  “Claire always thought a houseful of kids wouldn’t be enough,” he says with a somber laugh. “I know she’ll be a great mom and I know she’ll teach me how to be a great dad.” He pulls a piece of splintered wood from the table and picks at it. “I just don’t know how she’s gonna deal with this.”

  “She’ll cope and you’ll be there to help her through it, to help you both through it,” I say. I watch as he tosses the wood chip off into the dead grass.

  “Will I? Will she be the same, now that this happened?” He turns to me and I wish I knew what to say.

  “It’s not like she had a good family growing up,” he mutters. “That’s all she wants; what she and Carly never had.”

  I know it’s not the time to press him for more. I want to know everything about Carly, but I want to wait until she’s ready to tell me.

  “Their dad was a piece of shit. Ran around on their mom all the time. They split up when Claire was thirteen and Carly was seven. He hasn’t seen them since. Their mom dumped them on their grandma not long after and ended up somewhere in New Jersey. Claire talks to her sometimes, but Carly won’t have anything to do with her.”

  I stare off into the darkness, thinking about Carly as a little girl, standing in a dirt driveway holding her sister's hand and watching her mom drive away. Carly told me her parents separated when she was a kid, but not much more than that.

  "I had no idea," I say quietly.

  "Oh, listen," Mark says, turning to face me. "You can't tell Carly that I said anything. She'll talk about it when she's ready to."

  I nod and kick a stray cigarette butt into the weeds.

  Carly walks through the doors and looks around, her eyes land on us and she crosses the pavement toward us.

  "Mark, Claire wants you to come upstairs. They're keeping her overnight."

  Carly's eyes are red and she sounds a little stuffy. I know she's been crying again, maybe never stopped, and I want to go to her, take her in my arms and kiss away what she's feeling.

  Mark sighs heavily and walks past us, reaching out and putting a hand on Carly's shoulder which she touches gently. She turns to look at him and fresh tears spill over the corners of her eyes. He drops his head and continues through the doors.

  Carly walks to me and puts her arms through mine and around my waist. I rest my chin on her head as she buries her face in the folds of my jacket. I stroke her hair and a tiny sob escapes her.

  "I'm sorry I'm crying," she says, using the sleeve of her sweater to wipe at her face.

  "Don't ever apologize for crying, Carly. Not to me." I hold her face in my hands and in her sadness I can see the hurt little seven year-old who's nursing a new broken heart. She tries to smile, but her face only allows her half of one.

  "I never cry," she sniffles. "I figure it's not right to spend tears on yourself, not when there are people who have problems so much worse than yours." She pulls both arms up and gently wipes her face.

  It's a sound, if almost impossible code to live by. "Come here," I say and pull her back into my arms. I hug her around her shoulders and kiss her temple.

  "God, Jack. She looks so bad. They
came in and told her she needs to take it easy for a few days, but it was like she didn't even hear them. She wasn't even a month along yet and she didn't even know. She's blaming herself. Saying if she'd known, she wouldn't have gone to yoga this morning. Like doing yoga caused this."

  I hold her as she talks and hope she can get it all out.

  "I tried to tell her there was nothing she could do, but she's convinced she caused it." Carly wraps her arms tighter around me and lets a heavy breath out into my chest. "Can we leave now? I need to get out of here. Visiting hours are long over, so there's no point in us staying."

  “You wanna come to my place?”

  She leans out and looks up at me, her arms still holding me tightly around the middle. “Will you come to my house?”

  “We’ll go wherever you want,” I say, kissing her forehead. She climbs in my vehicle and looks toward the hospital before dropping her eyes to her sleeve again.

  §

  Carly curls up next to me on her bed, her body so tense and drained. I wrap my arms around her and hold her.

  "You know what?" she says with a voice so hushed I almost don't hear her.

  "What?"

  "I've never been in love," she says.

  I wait for a second; trying to sort out if this is the right time to tell her how I feel.

  "Not even once?" I ask, squeezing her to me. She turns her body toward me and drapes one arm over my shoulder. I study her face and wait for her cue as to what comes next.

  "Maybe I felt something, but I don't think it was love." Her eyes are still red rimmed, but her face is almost devastatingly beautiful.

  "Don't you think you'd know if it was love?" I ask.

  "I have a rule against the 'L word'," she says. "It's something you can't take back, but it can end up hurting worse than telling someone you hate them. Which I've felt a lot."

  I run my fingers up and down her back, thinking about her words.

  "I guess I'm thinking about this stuff because of Claire," she says, playing with the button on my shirt collar. "Because she's the only person I know I've ever really loved. Other than our grandma. Claire's the only person who's been there for me my whole life, when no one else was."