Run

by Byrne, Amanda K.

  “What guy?”

  She jabbed her elbow into my ribs. “Tommy said some guy showed up at the diner at the asscrack of dawn the other day when you were working. I can put the two together. He’s the one, right? The one who left you all smug and exhausted?”

  I gave her a half-smile, turning around to scan the bar for Trevor, who’d gone off to retrieve beers for the three of us. “Maybe.”

  Dinner had been weird. Trevor had been quiet as he looked around my apartment, a faint line forming between his brows. It deepened as a fight broke out in the parking lot. The tips of my ears burned as I followed him outside to his car, noting the tense set to his shoulders.

  “It’s all I can afford,” I’d said quietly, once we were in the car. He didn’t respond, and he’d remained quiet through dinner, warming slightly as he was introduced to Celia.

  Not a great start to our date.

  “Hot. Takes a little while to see it, but hot. All scruffy and adorable.” Celia licked her lips. “Think he’s got a friend? Because I doubt you’re willing to share.”

  “Ah, no on the sharing.” I’d claimed him, and I wasn’t about to let him go without a fight. “He’s got friends. They all kind of look like him. Scruffy and adorable.” The noise level surged as the band took the stage. I leaned in and spoke directly into her ear. “Want to meet one?”

  Her answer was drowned by the first chord, and Trevor pushed his way through to where we were standing, fingers clamped around the bottle necks. He handed one to Celia before pressing one into my hand and facing the stage, close enough to touch, his stance telling me not to.

  It stung. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong, or if I had done anything wrong, and we weren’t exactly in a spot where I could ask him.

  I drank my beer and swayed to the music, searching for a way to lose myself. I was with a friend, and a lover, in a throng of dancing people. The crash of noise was enormous, hammering itself into my brain. Song slid into song, the band taking the occasional break to drink from the water bottles littering the stage.

  About an hour in, I wound my way over to the bar, ducking hands and elbows and wincing when a foot came down too hard on my own. People were packed around the bar, like they were afraid if they wandered too far off they’d come untethered and float away. I squirmed my way in and ordered another beer.

  Turning around wouldn’t have done me any good. Hemmed in on all sides, I leaned on the bar and waited, bumping against the man next to me when someone got a little too enthusiastic about claiming a piece of bar real estate.

  The smile was on my face and the apology was on my tongue as I tipped my head to the side to see him.

  Then the bottom dropped out.

  A year. A year of knowing no one knew where I was and still paranoid I’d be found. A year of relative peace, dealing with my own demons instead of mine and theirs. I hadn’t run far enough, or fast enough, because the karma police saw fit to spit in my face.

  Deirdra’s brother Adam was the man next to me. Oldest brother, the most protective of the bunch, the most outspoken. The one who’d followed through on his violent threat and pinned me to my car a week before I snuck out of town. The bruises on my biceps were easily covered by my sleeves. The scar on my psyche never went away.

  Panic flared and spread. The famous line from Casablanca rolled through my head, and I wanted to laugh. The first giggle escaped, the rest dying a quick, painless death as his eyes widened in recognition. His words were lost to the music, the pain and fury in on his face more than making up for it.

  Run.

  Leave the club. Leave town. Try to find myself somewhere else. Somewhere he wasn’t.

  His hand closed around my wrist, fingers pressing hard. Let go. Let me go, let me run, don’t make me scream. The terror at his strength stole my breath. I’d taken it that night, stared at him while he explained in a viciously calm tone I deserved to die for my mistake, for not protecting his fragile sister, and he was going to be my judge, jury, and executioner.

  I’d take it tonight. I’d take it and hope I could get away before it became a reality.

  The masses were on my side. They surged and retreated, like a wave, startling Adam enough he loosened his hold, and I pulled free, ducking into the crowd, adrenaline pushing me on. I fought my way to the front door, checking over my shoulder when I hit the street. The sidewalks were dotted with clumps of people, and I darted around one, hoping the cab idling at the corner wasn’t waiting for someone else.

  Run.

  Fifteen minutes to get home. Ten to throw my clothes in my bags. I’d be out of the city in an hour. Farther east this time, someplace I could get lost. Boston. I’d always loved Boston. I missed winter.

  My phone buzzed. I ignored it. This is what I did. Leave without a word. They’d forget about me eventually, the hole I’d left filled with someone else. Someone who didn’t run because she couldn’t find it in herself to pull the pieces back together, not completely.

  Trevor would find someone who required less effort. He deserved it.

  The cab was empty, and I climbed in, checking over my shoulder one last time. Adam was on the street, heading toward me.

  I didn’t breathe until we pulled into the lot for my building.

  The heat of my apartment closed over my head, robbing my legs of the will to stand upright, and I slid down the door to my butt. There were bruises forming on my wrist. My phone buzzed again.

  Where’d you go? Trevor’s looking for you.

  I texted Celia back. Home. Wasn’t feeling well. Sorry I didn’t find you first.

  It would buy me time. Time to get to my feet, pack my bags. Time to write a note and slide it under the door of the diner for Gwen. I owed her that much. Much more than that, but I couldn’t give it to her. I shot off another text to Trevor, repeating what I’d told Celia and guessing he wouldn’t believe me.

  Minutes bled together, and I stayed on the floor. How the fuck had he found me? It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

  It had to be. I’d been too careful.

  The knock on the door scared me out of my skin. “McKenna?”

  He’d taken that from me. That possibility, standing on the other side of the door, all lanky and scruffy and sweet. I got on my knees. Tried to push to my feet. Managed it as he knocked again. “C’mon, just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Why?” I whispered. “Why do you care?”

  The door knob rattled in my hand as I twisted it, the door creaking as it opened. Trevor’s lips immediately thinned and he pushed me inside, shutting the door with a loud snap.

  “I look that bad?”

  “You’re shaking.”

  That was why my teeth were clattering together. “I’m not okay. I have to go.” Rage was a fiery whip, whistling through the air to flash across my back. “Fuck him.” I wanted to be left alone. And now he was taking that from me.

  “You gonna tell me what’s going on here?” He caught my hand, saw my wrist, and anger crawled across his face. “Who hurt you?”

  Tears welled, hot and bitter and strong, blinding me. “My student’s brother was in the bar. He threatened me a year ago, told me I deserved to die for my mistake. I don’t know how he found me, but he did.” Blood dripping off the desk, spreading over the floor. Deirdra’s waxy skin and vacant stare.

  My nose smashed into Trevor’s chest, the worn cotton absorbing the tears, his arms absorbing the shakes. “I think,” he said, the words rumbling through me, “you should call the police.” He slid a hand up my back, threading his fingers through my hair and tugging gently. “You got someone you can stay with for a while?”

  I shook my head, blinking away the tears. “I’ve been here a few weeks. Not long enough to really make friends. I’m just going to leave. He doesn’t know where I live yet. By the time he figures it out, I’ll be gone.”

  Sadness and disappointment dulled his eyes, and he tipped my chin up, his gaze searching my face. “You want to let him win?”


  I swallowed. Fight or flight. Run. Stay. Give Trevor and I a chance. God, I wanted that chance. So quick, so damn right. Comfortable. I fisted my hands in his shirt, holding his gaze. “Will you stay with me? Until the police get here?”

  His fingers brushed along my jaw, sliding into my hair. “Yeah.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Were there any witnesses to the threat?” The uniformed officer had his head down, pen poised over the notebook.

  “Several. I doubt anyone heard anything. I didn’t actually hear anything. It was loud and crowded.” I held out my wrist. “He held my wrist hard enough to leave bruises. Same as the last time.”

  “The last time?” He lifted his head, face impassive.

  I shifted closer to Trevor, tucking my hands in my lap. “Adam threatened me a year ago as well. Said he wanted me to suffer the same way his sister did.” He’d slice open my veins and wait for the life to drain from me. Drip by drip.

  The officer scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll check the report.”

  “There isn’t one.”

  Two pairs of eyes bored holes in my skin. I trained my gaze on my hands, knuckles white, the skin stretched thin enough to split. “I didn’t report it to the Bend police.”

  Trevor’s hand gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Why?” The question was quiet and full of anger.

  Because I wasn’t sure he wasn’t right. “No witnesses. It seemed like a waste of time.”

  The officer mumbled to himself and stood. “We’ll swing by the club, see if anyone saw something. If you see him again, please call.” He handed me a card.

  Trevor followed him to the door and locked it behind him. “Piece of work,” he muttered.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Yup, that’s me. I’m a mess. Fucked up.”

  He tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. Near the door, I noted. Close enough he could duck out, avoid the emotional bombs exploding in this small space. “She killed herself around this time, three years ago. May sixth. Just a couple weeks before graduation. I was the one who found her.” So much blood, puddled at her feet. A shudder worked its way up my spine. “Deirdra was worse off than I thought she was. She’d had some issues when she was younger that made her family very protective of her. They shielded her from everything they could. Didn’t let her do a damn thing for herself. She was one of the most socially awkward kids I’d ever met. Her brothers, especially Adam, blamed me.” So did I. That first year was a horrible, never ending cycle of if only and helpless anger. Year two it lessened. Year three was learning to live with my guilt, because it would never go away.

  I slouched down on the couch, tipping my head to rest on the back and shutting my eyes. “I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. No one knows I’m here. It’s got to be a coincidence, Adam being in town.” God, I was tired. I wanted to stay in one place for a while. “The city’s big enough for the two of us. I’ll have an extra lock installed or something, save money to find a safer apartment.” Even if I had to sleep on the floor until I could afford a bed.

  The heat was suffocating. There’d be a nauseating stench drifting up from the alley, all rancid meat and vomit. But opening those windows was safer than the ones in the front. I pushed to my feet.

  Trevor hadn’t moved.

  My mouth twisted in a smile. “Not what you bargained for, huh? Massive guilt complex, avoidance issues, and an entire family who’d rather I was dead than alive.” Exhaustion rolled over me like a tsunami, tossing me up and trying to drag me back out. I wouldn’t blame Trevor for walking away. I should let him. “I should get some sleep. I’ll…see you, I guess.”

  Nothing. No nod, no “see ya,” just total silence and a rising anger shadowing his features. “You always make a lot of assumptions?”

  I blinked. “Assumptions about what?”

  He stalked over. “You assume I’m just after some ass. That I’m looking for easy. Do you think I would keep coming back if that’s all it was?”

  “You’re the one who keeps saying I’m a piece of work.”

  “And you are. Don’t know why I’m still here. Don’t know why it pisses me off every time you try to kick me out.” He got in my face, his hands sliding into the back pockets of my jeans. “Stop assuming, McKenna.”

  Hard to do. Hard to know why he wanted more than the quick fuck he was determined to squeeze it out of me. “Have you done this before? Tried to save someone from herself?”

  His grip on my ass tightened, eyes dark with anger and lust and something unidentifiable.

  “Why don’t you just give up?” I whispered.

  “Why do you think I should?”

  Emotional, mental, physical overload. It all crashed down on my shoulders. His hands slid out of my pockets to spread over my back as I slumped forward, my nose buried in his neck. His scent was comforting. Soap and the faint hint of aftershave, musky with a heavy undertone of spice. “I’m not fucking broken. I’m just tired of holding it together.”

  The heat enveloped us, a cocoon of security in a sea of chaos. “Got a lot of broken pieces to you.”

  I lifted my head. “You trying to save me?” I repeated.

  His hands flexed on my back.

  It was the only answer I needed. My heart threatened to crack. “You have done this before.” There was no shape to the words. They fell flat, stomped on by heavy boots. I pushed at his chest. “Let go.”

  He shook his head. “I’m tryin’ not to. Save you, I mean. Fuck if I’m going to let it happen again, because it near destroyed me the last time. But the thought of not seeing you ends up trumping everything. I don’t want to save you. Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

  Soft lips pressed to my forehead, the sweetness slinking into the cracks in my soul, filling them up. “You have any idea how lost you looked that second night? Fragile. Like I could break you in half. And you’re drunk and wobbling on that fucking stool. Couldn’t walk away. Shit. I tried. Tried to kick you out of my bed when you were too hungover to stand upright on your own. Tried to keep my distance tonight. Not who I am. You keep poking at my soft spot.”

  I dropped my head onto his shoulder, burrowing into the crook of his neck. “Maybe you need to put up a higher fence around it,” I mumbled into his neck. His answering chuckle vibrated through me.

  The last time someone’d held me and meant it was my mother. She gave fantastic hugs, and when I’d kicked her out of my house a year and a half ago, she’d wrapped me in her arms like I was a small child and she’d chase away the bullies.

  But I’d had to work through it on my own then, and I had do it now.

  “You’re going to have to let me fall apart.” I left my head where it was. “I don’t know if that’s what’s going to happen.” I hadn’t lost it, not completely, since six months after Deirdra’s death and I learned I wouldn’t be going back to work. Adam’s threat, the cold metal of my car seeping through my clothes, his hands like titanium bands on my arms, could have wiped out all the forward steps I’d made and I’d end up in tears, curled in the fetal position on my living room floor.

  I wondered why it hadn’t.

  “Mind if I stick around?”

  “Long as you don’t try to help.” I tipped my head back. “I’ve got to find a way to live with this. The guilt. The knowledge it might have turned out differently if I’d only done what I was supposed to. I can’t do that if I let someone else do the heavy lifting.”

  The uncertainty on his face was hard to see. I wanted to. I wanted someone else to fix me, because I’d been trying for three years without success. But this past year of moving from place to place, trying to shove the guilt into a tiny box so I could nail it shut, had given me more of a spine than I’d thought. I was wrecked inside. Held together with duct tape and some string, suffered through sleepless nights and a restless sort of anxiety that stole my appetite and pushed me toward things that may not be so good for me.

  Yet somehow, I was better off than I’
d been a year ago.

  “I mean it, Trevor,” I said softly. “You barely know me. I want you to stick around. Get to know the me that’s not burdened with a mistake she can’t fix. She’s in there. It’ll take some time to find her, but I have to do it myself.” I don’t want you to hate me. Not after you’ve tossed me this lifeline.

  “How you gonna sleep in this place? It’s like a sauna. Why’s your air conditioner not on?”

  I blinked at the abrupt change of topic, the grin starting slow, a mere twitching of lips. “Sleeping’s hard,” I admitted. “Especially with the smell. The unit’s been out as long as I’ve been here. Landlord keeps saying he’ll fix it.” I eased out of his arms and walked into the tiny kitchen, tugged the window open. The stench of the alley rushed through the screen.

  Trevor cleared his throat, and I turned to see his face scrunched in defense against the smell. “You got a serious problem there.”

  “Dumpster right below. It’s worse when it’s freshly emptied. Stuff that broke through the bags on the bottom and leaked out. It’s not as bad in the bedroom.” The entire apartment was about five hundred square feet, but the added distance helped.

  He shook his head. “You’re gonna want to move soon. I don’t like this place.”

  Three loud, rapid cracks prevented me from responding, making me flinch instead. “What was that?”

  Trevor strode over and pulled me out of the kitchen, shoving me into the tiny bathroom, the one room in the place without a window. “Gunshots.”

  Oh. Oh. “Like, with guns?”

  His mouth was a thin slash above his chin. “Doesn’t happen any other way. Stay here a moment.” He shut the door, and I huddled on the floor in front of the sink. Wondering where he was going.

  My brain hiccupped and turned over. He’d gone outside. To find the source of the gunshots. Of course.

  I scrambled to my feet and ripped open the door. I checked the bedroom and kitchen first, hoping I’d find him there. They were both empty, so I hurried to the living room. The front door was hanging open, and I darted outside and onto the landing. He was standing in the middle of the parking lot, scanning the street.