Chased

by Hazel James

  “Pull over.”

  “I’m not pulling over. We’re already running late, and if we want to see anything today, we need to get to the other side of Tulsa.”

  “DH.” Eric stares at me. “Pull the fucking truck over.”

  “I hate you so fucking bad right now,” I mutter under my breath. Seeing an exit ahead, I turn on my blinker and pull into a gas station off of I-44. “There, are you happy?”

  Eric shifts so his back is against the door, and it’s like the truck is divided in two at the console. His side is calm and sensible. Mine is filled with nothing but rage. “Why are you so upset?” he asks.

  “Because she’s making me out to be the bad guy, and I’m not!”

  “You’re right. You’re not. You wanted to help an organization that’s important to you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Thank you,” I huff, feeling validated for the first time since last night.

  “But you still need to see it from Paige’s side.”

  “She—”

  “Stop.” He holds up a hand. “Whitney is attacking Paige at work. My guess is that it’s because of you. She’s been hard up for your nuts for a while, and the way she looked at you during the baby shower made it clear that her feelings haven’t changed.”

  “I didn’t even pay attention to her at the damn baby shower.”

  “I know that. Paige knows that. She supported you in this auction knowing there was a chance she wouldn’t win. But you accepting Whitney’s money—or any money given on behalf of Whitney—is an insult to Paige, given what’s going on at the hospital.”

  I close my eyes and lean back against the headrest thinking about the moments after Clay declared Whitney’s grandma as the winner. Paige wasn’t mad. Resigned, maybe, but not mad. She was fine right up until they got on the staircase. When she found out who the old lady really was.

  Fuck.

  I open my eyes and look at Eric. “Okay, the Great and Powerful Oz, what am I supposed to do now? I tried calling and texting her, but she won’t answer.”

  “Let me give you a piece of advice when it comes to women. Sometimes they need words, and other times they need action. A smart man will learn the difference and adjust his course.”

  “So you’re saying that to fix this, I need to show her, not tell her?”

  “For a bonehead, sometimes you catch on quick.” He smiles, and just like that I know our argument from earlier is water under the bridge. The tension that wrapped itself around my body eases, taking my eye twitch and headache with it.

  “Thanks, man.” I release a breath. “All this girly shit is new to me, and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

  “It’s all good. I’ve been with Maggie for ten years, and I’m only about twenty percent ahead of you. Now get your damn truck back on the road. I’d like to chase a tornado today.”

  The blood in my body is humming, thanks to a beautiful set of sisters that put on a hell of a show this evening. Chasing a storm is like rolling dice: there are no guarantees that you’ll see any tornadoes, let alone two vortices in the same storm. It was an epic day, and one that I desperately needed.

  “Cheers to Mother Nature and all her glory,” Eric toasts, tapping the open neck of his beer bottle on mine before we take a drink.

  “Cheers to brothers who help you pull your head out of your ass.” I laugh and clink my bottle against his, then chalk my cue stick and take the break shot on our first round of pool.

  “Thank Christ for that. You’re a moody bitch when you’re manstruating.”

  “I was not on my man period today.”

  “You totally were, on top of a raging case of vaginitis. I thought about confiscating your man card, but I didn’t want you to storm back to your house and watch chick flicks while eating a gallon of ice cream. You’re fat enough as it is.”

  I flip him the bird and lean down to take my next shot when a set of tits blocks my line of sight.

  “Can I get you another beer?” The waitress smiles sweetly at me—a little too sweetly—and giggles.

  “No, thanks. Just the one.” I don’t recognize her face. She could be new, or it could be that I don’t pay much attention to chicks anymore. Regardless, she needs to move. “Um, excuse me? You’re sort of in my way.” I glance at the pool table and back to her.

  “Oh, you know how to play pool? It looks so hard. I was never good at this kind of thing, and didn’t have anyone to teach me.” She inches closer and pouts her lips, but I’m not buying it. Not even close.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Foregoing my original shot, I walk around to the other side of the table and line up another one. Trying Too Hard Barbie leans down, putting her cleavage on full display over the corner pocket. The same one I’m playing for. With zero interest in what she’s offering, I land my shot with ease.

  “Great job!” she squeals. I glance at Eric for help, but he’s just laughing.

  Asshole.

  I take a swig of beer and walk back around the table, keeping as much distance between me and the waitress as possible, when my phone pings with a text.

  Paige: Wig am I? Chapped lover??

  My head snaps up. Is she here? And is her autocorrect on strike?

  “Eric,” I whisper, walking up to him. “Have you seen Paige?”

  “Not since the shower.” Forgetting my game, I pass my pool stick to Eric and head for the bar. The seats are half-empty—typical for a Monday night—but Paige isn’t there. Or in the booths. Or on the dance floor. Frustrated, I spin back toward the pool tables when I see her at a high-top in a darkened corner just over Eric’s shoulder.

  I cross the room and stop two feet in front of her. I want to kiss the frown off her lips, but I don’t dare.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you and your little waitress friend,” she gibes, pointing toward our pool table. Her eyelids are heavy and her voice is slurred, which explains the text she sent.

  “I don’t know her, and in case you couldn’t tell, I’m trying to stay the hell away from her. What are you doing here?”

  “The same thing you are.”

  “Which is?”

  “Celebrating.” She takes another drink of what looks like a vodka cran and gives me a sloppy smile.

  “Did you chase a tornado today too?”

  “No, I went to the hospital to give my formal statement.”

  “And that’s what you’re celebrating?” I signal the waiter at the bar and mouth “water” to him.

  “No, I’m celebrating the fact that I walked by Whitney on my way out and didn’t punch her.” She laughs at that, which causes her to sway slightly in her seat.

  “Did they say which patient you supposedly had sex with?” I have no idea how drunk she is, or whether I’ll get a coherent answer from her, but I need to keep her talking until I can get her out of here and into her bed.

  “As a matter of fact, they did.” She downs the last of her drink and sucks the juice out of her lime wedge. “You.”

  WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

  Me?

  “But we never had sex in the hospital.”

  “The actual term was sexual activity. The indocent… innocent… incident in question was last weekend when you came to see me.” She holds her empty glass toward the bar, signaling the waiter for another drink.

  “Again, we didn’t have sex.”

  “They have security camera footage of me following you into a patient room. You are a known patient at that hospital. Someone was in the next room and said they heard sexual noises,” she says, air-quoting the last two words, “but I think it was Whitney, and she was making up shit to get me fired.”

  “That’s bullshit!” I slide the barstool out and plop down. “I kissed you, then I left. We were only in that room for less than a minute.”

  “I know.” The waiter approaches the table with a glass of water and gathers Paige’s four empty cups. “That’s not what I ordered,” she fumes.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Y
ou look like you need to slow down a bit.” He ducks his head and returns to the bar while Paige aims two middle fingers at his back.

  “There goes his tip,” she slurs, gathering her purse and phone. It takes her a few tries, but she finally launches her Uber app.

  “Where are you going?”

  “None of your business.” She pulls two twenties from her wallet and slaps them down on the table, then passes me a folded strip of yellow paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “A very wise homeless woman gave me that on Saturday.” She slides off the chair and steadies herself. “I saved it because I thought I might need it one day. I love it when I’m right.” She lifts an eyebrow and flashes a wicked smile that has me craving the taste of her cherry lips. My hand instinctively travels to her waist, but she steps out of my reach and walks out of the Angry Bison without a backward glance.

  I turn at the sound of laughter and see Eric leaning against our pool table with his phone aimed at me. “I’m getting this picture enlarged and I’m hanging it in the auto shop. I’ll call it Paige: 1, DH: 0.”

  “Would you lower your fucking voice?” I stomp back to my seat and open the paper in my hands. The words “Fuck you” would be almost comical if the handwriting didn’t match what I saw a couple of weeks ago at the police station. Paige said the fortune came from a homeless woman, and everything in my gut screams Sheila.

  Eric’s playfulness disappears when he sees my expression. “What’s up?” I show him the paper and briefly explain the connection to the two guys who were arrested as I line up my next shot at the pool table. The cue ball sails past the five ball I was aiming for and bounces off the side cushion. Eric lifts a brow and whistles. “Damn, dude. Distracted much? I haven’t seen you shoot that bad since we were teenagers.” I’d argue, but he’s right. My mind is a million miles away right now. He walks around the back side of the table and sinks his next three balls like it’s child’s play, then follows up with the eight ball as I fire off a text to Paige. She should be home by now. I want to make sure she didn’t forget to lock her front door. I also want to take the note by the police station so they can keep it with the first one. I’ll do everything in my power to build a case against Sheila—even if it’s one scrap of paper at a time.

  “You want to play another round?” Eric asks. I check my phone again, but Paige still hasn’t responded.

  “Nope. We have an errand to run.” Amused, Eric follows me out to my truck. “Call Maggie and have her get ahold of Paige. I need to know that she got home okay. We’re going by the station so I can show them this paper, then I’m taking you home and I’m going to Paige’s house.”

  “I don’t mean to be a wet blanket, but I don’t think Paige wants anything to do with you tonight.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll sleep on the porch if I have to. Sheila’s a crazy bitch who has nothing to lose. I’d never forgive myself if something happens to Paige. Now call Maggie, or I’ll call her myself.”

  Eric laughs quietly and pulls out his phone. “Calm down, dude. You just drive.” He taps his screen and several seconds later I hear the phone ringing.

  “Hey, babe!”

  “Hey, Mags. I’m in DH’s truck and I have you on speaker. I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Hey DH! What’s up, hon?”

  “I need you to put fifty bucks on my nightstand. You lost the bet today.”

  “What bet?” I ask. “What does this have to do with Maggie calling Paige?”

  “Damnit!” I hear Maggie sigh. “Are you sure?”

  “What bet?” I ask again, my voice louder. I’m going to kill him, whatever it is.

  “One hundred percent,” Eric confirms. The smirk on his face makes me want to punch him a little bit.

  “WHAT BET?” I shout, banging my hand against the steering wheel with each word.

  “Oh, just the one Maggie and I had on how long it would take for you to fall in love with Paige.” Maggie’s laughter echoes through the truck and mixes with Eric’s as my mouth hangs open. I try to think of a witty comeback, but I’ve got nothing.

  “For the record, I hate you both so much. You’re officially out of my will. Austin’s getting your share.” I hold up my middle finger for good measure, but that just makes Eric laugh harder.

  “You gonna answer that?” Uncle Kurt tips his head at my phone sitting on top of the toolbox and passes me a wrench.

  “No sir,” I say, tightening the last nut on my third job of the morning. My personal life has gone to shit this week, but it’s done wonders for my productivity at work. Even better, Eric and Maggie convinced Paige to stay in their guest room until we can figure out what’s going on with the Sheila situation. Paige still isn’t talking to me, but at least I can sleep at night knowing she’s safe.

  “Who are you avoiding?”

  “The girl who won the auction.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because I can’t deal with her until I figure shit out with Paige.” Wiping the grease off my hands, I walk to the mini fridge, pull out two Dr. Peppers, and pass one to Uncle Kurt.

  “Well, what’s the problem?” he asks, leaning against the workbench.

  “Whitney won the auction. She’s also trying to get Paige fired from the hospital. But I can’t just say ‘no’ to her donation. What if this program had been around when Robbie was alive?” I can hear Clay’s voice in my head cautioning me against going down the what-if trail, but it’s a valid question. Maybe Robbie would still be here if he belonged to a team full of people who had his back.

  “And now Paige is upset that you’re taking the money, which means you’re going on a date with the girl who’s messing with her job.” He’s echoing the same thing Eric told me, but I still haven’t thought of a solution.

  “Yes, sir,” I shamefully admit. “I don’t want to lose her, but I don’t want to take money away from a group of people who really need it.”

  “How much did Whitney pay at the auction?”

  “Fifteen hundred bucks.”

  “Okay, then. There you go.” Uncle Kurt pats my shoulder and downs half of his Dr. Pepper.

  “There I go what?”

  “Your problem. Are you willing to sacrifice your relationship with Paige for fifteen hundred dollars?” I stare at him for several seconds and replay his words in my head to make sure it’s not a trick question.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Well, right now she thinks you are. If you don’t like that answer, then you need to find a way to fix it.”

  “How?”

  “I can’t tell you that, but you’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out.”

  Four hours later, I’m covered in grease and engine fluid and still no closer to an answer. Even an asshole like me knows it’s going to take more than cherry limeades and bookshelves to win Paige back. Trudging up the steps to my apartment, I unlock the door and head straight for the shower. Maggie called earlier and said there was still no word on Paige’s investigation. A part of me feels responsible for all of this. If I wasn’t in the picture, Whitney wouldn’t be going after Paige, and Paige wouldn’t be caught in pink slip purgatory.

  “Okay, Patch.” My voice echoes off the tile as I dump shampoo in my hands and smear it through my hair. I don’t talk to Patch often, and never in the shower, but it always makes me feel better, and I could use his help right now. “I fucked up, and the girl of my dreams wants nothing to do with me. And before you start rolling around in your grave, yes, I know I just said ‘girl of my dreams.’ It’s been an interesting couple of months. But she’s so amazing, and surprisingly, it has nothing to do with the way she looks.” I shut off the water and grab my towel as my phone pings again. Jesus Christ, that girl doesn’t take a hint. “Did you hear that? That’s the problem. I’m no stranger to being wanted by two women, but this is the first time in my life that I don’t want it, and I can’t make the other one go away. I’d pay handsomely if it wasn’t illegal,” I chuckle to myself.
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  I’d pay handsomely.

  I’d pay.

  “Patch, you’re a goddamn genius!” Feeling victorious, I wad my wet towel into a ball and spike it to the floor. I’ll make the donation, and I’ll have Clay tell Whitney that I can’t go on a date with her due to a conflict of interest. If that’s not showing Paige that I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is—literally—I don’t know what will. “Thanks for the advice, dude. Let me know if you have any pointers on getting Whitney to lose my number.”

  Still naked, I swing my hips back and forth and laugh at the sound of my junk hitting my thighs. A man’s dick is his oldest and dearest friend, and a good cock shake is never not funny. Besides, I have a reason to celebrate now.

  I’m gonna get my girlfriend back.

  “I just sent the donation through PayPal. I even added an extra five hundred dollars to make it worth your while.” I turn off the living room light and flip on the lamp next to the front door so I don’t come home to darkness.

  “Mister Big Shot, huh?” Clay asks.

  I laugh and shake my head. “More like Mister Doesn’t Pay Rent and Gets a Handsome Disability Payment Every Month.” I live off the money I make at Rhoads Auto. Uncle Kurt and Aunt Helen raised us to plan for the future, so all of my disability goes into savings and investments. As a single guy with almost no overhead, it was easy to put that money away so it can grow until I need it. “Remember, I’m leaving it to you to call Whitney. I want nothing to do with her.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thanks, dude. I’ll catch you later. I’m going to see Paige,” I say, locking my front door. I press “end” and turn to jog down the steps when my phone slips out of my hand. Helpless against gravity, it somersaults down the stairs, sending bits of glass and plastic into the air on the way down, until it comes to a rest on the concrete beside my truck.