He tried. But someone heard me.
I was saved, but that’s such a fucking joke. I haven’t felt safe a single day since.
And then my lawyer called.
Alex’s threats to come after me were real. I know it. After a few sleepless nights filled with frantic panic, I knew I had to run.
He got three years. Three measly years for what he did. My skin still aches when I think about what happened. The scars will never go away, neither the ones on the inside nor the imaginary ones I feel across my breasts, belly, and thighs. The nightmares don’t come as often, or they didn’t until I realized he was getting out. Now they haunt my every night.
I hate the Florida penal system with all my heart. He hasn’t changed. Being incarcerated hasn’t shown him to the right path. He kept putting the blame on me throughout the process and in a way that helped me heal, because seeing how the lawyer, how my parents and my friends reacted to his words, I realized they weren’t true. I’m not shit. I kick ass, and I know it. I might still work in my daddy’s garage, with the racing cars, but I’m becoming a name in the circuit, and I’m the only woman who is allowed on the team in Daytona.
He got three years, is being let out after two, and I’m giving up my life because I can’t stay. He’ll kill me.
The pressure builds in my ears. I force a yawn and look out the window again at the same time as the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign lights up with a soft chime. We’re descending. My heart rate picks up. This is it. Whatever awaits me, at least I’ll be safe, and I can do this, I know my stuff. An engine is an engine everywhere, it’s just the size of the parts that differs.
I follow the stewardess with my eyes as she makes her way along the aisle, waking up a couple of guys who fell asleep. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t people please for the life of me. I’m too awkward, too asocial. The guys in the garage, their stupid jokes and rough jargon, that’s my forte. They don’t demand that I behave or follow some unspoken rules, I can just be me, a little bit aloof, a little distant.
A pipeline construction site in Alaska doesn’t scare me. Replacing the damp Floridian heat with dry, bone-gnawing cold is a little intimidating, though, but I need the distance and the change. I’m really excited to see what snow is like. I have never touched any ice besides the stuff I put in drinks.
* * *
Cole
“Hooper!”
I inspect the glowing, smoldering seam, closing up the last few inches before I switch off the gas flow, killing the welder. Hanging it on the rack, I push up the mask and turn to the voice, finding the boss right behind me.
“What?”
I don’t like interruptions. We’re on a tight schedule, and we’re doing well, but only because we work like machines, all of us. Plenty do it for the pay, sending money to their families each month. Some just want to work, just want to forget. Like me. Work, go back to the trailer camp, shower, eat, sleep like the dead, then work again. I’ve been here a year and a half. It was this, or drink myself to an early death.
“You’ve got a pickup.”
I groan. “Go get someone else.” Slapping the mask down again, I lift the welder, knowing already this won’t be the end of it.
“Hooper! Fuck’s sake. We’ve finally gotten ourselves a new mechanic. He’s arriving at the airfield in a couple of hours. Take the truck and go.”
“No.”
“You’ll get your day’s worth of pay, don’t worry ‘bout that.”
That’s not what I’m worried about. Two hours in the car to get there. Two hours back here. Four hours to try to keep my mind on something else than my shit back home. The thought is unbearable. I pull up the mask again. “Dude, Beanie hasn’t made a run in a long while.”
“He went a week ago to pick up the replacement to the faulty hose.”
Well, fuck. I can’t think of anyone else. We’re on a rolling schedule to make runs to the nearest civilization. I’m up. After this, it’ll be a long while until I have to go the next time. Rubbing my dirty glove across my face, I flinch and realize what I just did. There is now months’ worth of dirt all over my cheeks. The boss looks me over but his expression betrays nothing.
Ripping the mask off entirely, I stomp past the man, getting a few sideways glances from my coworkers. “Fine. Airfield?”
“Why you always gotta be so fucking difficult, Hooper? And yes. Airfield. Some guy. Can’t be that hard.”
“Got a name?” I mutter.
“Casey Keagan.”
“Got any credentials?”
“They’re fantastic. We’re fucking lucky.”
“Got any muscles? Can he pull his weight?”
“How the fuck should I know? I haven’t met the dude, now have I? Who would apply for work here if they haven’t got what it takes.” He pulls up his sleeve and glances at his wristwatch. “Clock’s ticking. Get a move on or he’ll freeze his ass off.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I make my way along the stomped narrow path through the thigh-high walls of snow as I glance at the overcast sky. The clouds are a dusky blue. More snow is on the way. I hope it will snow overnight and not while we work because then we need to raise the tent, will be delayed, and everyone will be in a shitty mood. Taking an extra minute, I make a quick detour into the cantina and pour a cup of coffee into a paper mug, slap a lid on it, and then head for the pickup truck.
At least the vehicle has been defrosted at some point today and we just had lunch. I’ll be back in time for the shift to end, dinner, maybe a game of cards, and then sleep. I start up the engine, rip off gloves and jacket, throw them in the back seat and jump in. One of my work mates, Ray, cuts me a glance, raises his shoulders and throws out his arms, looking like a question mark. I nod to him and shrug, put the gear in reverse, say goodbye to numbing bliss and hello to hours of wallowing. I need a whisky. I don’t have whisky, and right now I feel really fucking sorry for myself.
As if on cue the faces of Alicia and Sage appear before me, twisting my heart into a knot, making me wish again that I had a fucking bottle of booze. They’re eight and ten now. I’ve missed their birthdays. Their mom… she made my life hell, made me a monster. In my darkest hours the thoughts I’ve had regarding my ex would have put me in jail for life if I’d have gone from thought to action. Finally I had to move away before I did something I’d regret for the rest of my life. I don’t even think they have a good life with Sandra. They’re with babysitters more than they see her while she’s chasing fame in fucking acting. She was always a shallow bitch and why I fell for that shell of beauty is beyond me. I pride myself in having a brain, but facts speak against me. We met before she got the little B-actress status she’s achieved, before she started sleeping around with producers and directors. Before I started looking too deep into the bottle. She was an ass, but so was I, and the regret eats at me every day.
Images of my last moments in our shared house flit mercilessly before me. I trashed our home, punched holes in the walls, roared, and I came so fucking close to hitting her. She’s half my size. I would have fucking killed her. The kids cried, screamed at me to leave Mommy alone.
My throat tightens. I have to stop driving before I end up in a pile of snow. The pickup skids on the slippery ice and come to a halt by the side of the road. Nausea rises and falls in me, as always when the memories pound at my mind. Killing the engine, I fall over the steering wheel and breathe.
She left me. Or I left her. I don’t know anymore. I had lost my job as an EMT, and I was a drunk. There’s no denying that. We were toxic together and when she fought to get the kids away from me, I had nothing. I just gave up.
I pull myself together and keep driving. Two hours feels like forever. I finished my coffee a long while ago, and I’m miserable.
When I pull up outside the terminal, I physically ache. I never knew that was a thing, that mental agony can manifest itself in your body, in your joints. It’s not the same pain as after a hard day’s work or working out. It’s a bon
e-deep, flu-like gnawing ache that nothing can cure.
This is why I don’t think. I don’t want to remember. I flee, and I’ll keep running for as long as I live. Maybe someday it will fade? I don’t fucking know. Fuck it all.
I plowed through every single girl in town after the divorce to keep my mind off everything. They lust for my body, and are scared to death because of my strength, my roughness, and my kinks. Absolutely no one asked how I was doing, or who I am.
Finally, I’d just had it. I prefer the solitude here, the simple camaraderie. No questions. I stay off the booze, there are no girls and no temptations. We live in the now, work, eat, shit, and sleep.
Outside the building stands a small person. Short and skinny. A duffle bag and a suitcase by their feet. I squint, trying to make out the face under the hood that’s pulled up to protect from the wind. Lush lips, a straight little nose, big dark eyes. That’s no guy. I wonder what a chick is doing here, but that’s none of my business. I leave the motor running as I unbuckle and wait. Clearly the dude hasn’t arrived yet. I frown as a thought strikes me. There’s only one plane arriving. Per week. Behind the corner of the building I see the tail end of a plane. I glance at the girl again. What the fuck? Where’s the guy? Is he inside? That’s a little sissy if I’ve ever seen one.
“Fucking hell.” I turn off the motor, put my jacket back on, and hop out. The girl keeps me pinned with her gaze, grabs her bags and moves toward me. I look past her, striding toward the terminal, frustration mounting in me.
“Are you with Track Line Corp?”
I stop, look at the girl, turn and look pointedly at the logo on the truck, give her a glare and start walking. That’s a fucking no-brainer.
She clears her voice. “I’m supposed to be picked up.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’m picking up our mechanic.”
“Is your mech called Casey Keagan by any chance?”
I almost stumble over my own feet. Clenching my jaw, I stop and give her a once-over. “I’m here to pick up our fucking mechanic. Did you see him?”
She pins me with her gaze. “That’s me. I’m Casey. I’m a mechanic, and I’m waiting for someone from Track Line to pick me up.”
I’m not hearing this right. My mind is playing tricks on me. She is fucking shitting me. “You’re kidding!” I growl and step closer, towering over her.
“No.” She tightens her jaw, trying to look tough, but she looks what she is; a little kitten that has no business being here.
“Yeah, that’s not happening. Go back to wherever you came from, I don’t care. I don’t know how you tricked the boss, but you’re not fooling me. We don’t need some little chick back at the site, we need a real mech. A dude.”
She drops her bags and grabs the sleeve of my jacket. “Hey! Don’t be such a fucking dick. I’ve been traveling for twelve fucking hours. I’ve changed planes twice. I’m beat. I got the credentials, I know what I’m doing, and you’re taking me to the fucking site. Now.”
I can’t help that a corner of my mouth pulls up into a grin. Foul fucking mouth. “Or what?”
She snaps her mouth shut and tightens her jaw. “Or I’ll report you to your manager.”
I bark out a laugh.
“Girl. I’m one of their best welders. Go ahead and report whatever the fuck you want. I’m out of here.”
I pull my jacket out of her grip with ease, making her almost lose her footing, and stomp off toward the car, a dark cloud of fury rising in me. We needed that mech. We’ve been managing without for too long, and everything is slowly going to shit with our temporary repairs. The equipment gets used heavily and the wear and tear shows.
“Dude!” she screams behind me with a hint of panic in her voice. “There’s no one left here and the next flight out is in a week. You can’t leave me! Take me to the site, now! I’ll prove my worth.”
Exhaling slowly, I stop again, turn and throw out my arms. Of course I can’t leave her. But I’ll also drive her back in a week. Personally. Travel distance and hours of wallowing be damned. “So fucking hop in the car.”
I climb into the driver’s seat and wait for her to join me. She struggles with her luggage. Weak. Just as I thought. I don’t know what she imagines, but Alaskan oil industry, building a pipeline, is no business for a chick.
Thrumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I start up the truck right as she shuffles into the passenger seat.
“Thank you,” she breathes as she pulls off her ski cap and pushes her hand through her hair, making it stand in all different directions.
Her cheeks are flushed, her hair is short, black, and spiky, she wears no makeup, and she’s as cute as they fucking come. Oh, yeah, that’ll get the starved guys going. She really has no business coming here.
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Commanding Casey
I Am Eve Page 14