by Jordan Marie
Well ain’t that just a bucket of fuck. I bet the little bitch went whining to her co-workers. Which just means I shouldn’t feel anything, especially guilt. She’s conniving, exactly like all the other women I’ve come in contact with. That woman Charlie comes over, though I can tell she’d rather be anywhere else. It’s a feeling I know well.
“Pancake platter,” I order. “Coffee for the drink.”
Charlie glares at me, following the pointed look with the shaking of her head. “We’re out of pancakes.” My eyebrows raise at that, but whatever.
“Fine. I’ll take the Western Omelet.”
“We’re out of eggs,” Charlie answers just as quickly. There’s laughter in the corner where the waitress is standing. I pull my eyes away from her and back to Charlie.
“They’re eating eggs,” I tell her, motioning toward the men at the other table.
“We just ran out,” Charlie says, her face impassive. She hasn’t even taken out her ordering pad to pretend she’s going to take my order. So, I decide to push her.
“So, no more breakfast today?”
“Exactly,” Charlie answers, her arms cross at her chest and a look of victory comes over her face.
“Then I’ll order a burger,” I tell her.
“We’re out.”
“You’re out of burgers?”
“There’s a big cow shortage in the area,” Charlie answers, and everyone in the diner laughs at that. Everyone but two people—me and Charlie.
“I take it your friend came running to you about the other day.”
“She told me.”
“Where is she?”
“Don’t know. She’s been sick and she didn’t show today. That girl has fought more battles than any woman should ever have to fight. Maybe you were the one that finally made her leave this town and start over,” she says with a shrug of her shoulder. “What you need to understand is that girl is like a daughter to me, and I don’t care who the fuck you are or who your friends are. I won’t be serving your kind in my diner.”
“My kind.”
“Pretty much,” she says, stalking off.
I feel everyone staring at me. That little bitch thought she could punish me. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough to her. When I demanded that she leave me alone, I fucking meant completely. I stomp out of the diner, letting the door slam behind me. If Hayden Graham didn’t get the message before, I’ll make damn sure she gets it now.
16
Beast
I pound on the door again, when I don’t get an answer. I have so much anger inside of me, but no one brings it out like this woman does.
“I said, open up!” I growl, and I’m straining my voice to say it loud enough. The pain feeds through my blood, increasing my anger. If she’s going to try and act like a spoiled bitch, then she could at least own up to it. I mean, what the fuck? I called her on her shit and put her in her place. There was no reason for her to involve others. Did she think she could manipulate me? What the hell does she want? It makes zero sense, but damn it she must be playing some kind of game.
When I pound the door again and she doesn’t answer, I decide to give up. She has to come out sometime. This bitch doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. I start to walk back to my place, but one last thought has me looking into her kitchen window—like a fucking peeping tom.
I expect her to be standing there watching me. I’m surprised when she’s not. What I didn’t anticipate is that the window has ice frozen on it. It’s been cold, sure, but the heat from inside the house should have kept ice from forming. I look through the window and that’s when I see her. Hayden is crumpled on the floor. From where I’m standing her face is hidden, but I can see her hand lying against the worn carpet, her body turned at an awkward angle. I can’t see a lot, but there’s one thing I can confirm…She’s not moving.
I run back to the front door and try the knob. It’s locked. I step back and ram my shoulder into it hard. Pain shoots up my arm, radiating into my neck, but the door gives way. I walk over to the woman. She’s extremely pale. It wouldn’t surprise me if she is dead, but a quick check tells me she has a pulse. The house is ice cold. There’s no fire in the fireplace—not even reddened coals. I place my hand on her head and she’s got a fever. This is what going out in a thunderstorm to wave around a chainsaw will get you.
I need to get her to a hospital, but all I have is my damn bike. I take out my cellphone and dial 911. I give them directions to the house and pick her up. As I put her on the sofa, she whimpers, which I guess is a good thing. I find a worn blanket wadded up on the floor. I pull it over her body. The operator said it would be forty minutes before an ambulance will get here, which is crazy. I know this town is in the middle of nowhere, but there should be a damn hospital close by.
Her lips look dried. I go into the kitchen and get a glass of water. I bring it back in, sitting on the edge of the couch cushion. I wrap my arm around her shoulders to pull her up, propping her body up with my hold. Her head lolls to the side, but she slowly starts coming around. I feel like an idiot. I have no idea what I’m doing, but hearing her moan and watching her eyes slowly open, reassures me a little.
“Drink,” I order.
“What are…doing…” she doesn’t really make a complete sentence, but I guess it’s good she’s talking—though her voice sounds like she’s swallowed a jar of salt and had zero water. It doesn’t even sound like her. It has a hoarse quality that reminds you more of a male’s voice.
“Just drink,” I tell her. My voice is clipped, probably because I’m trying to figure out how you can worry about someone and have them disgust you at the same time.
17
Hayden
“I’ve got your release papers, Ms. Graham,” the nurse says, coming in my room.
I’m sitting in my hospital bed. Dressed in the same clothes I was wearing when they brought me in. It feels good to finally be out of that hospital gown. I’ve been in here for two days. I’m feeling better. I wish they had let me go home yesterday. I’m lucky, I know. I’m okay and the baby is good. But, at the same time, I’ve been off work for a week now. I can’t afford that. Hopefully, my medical card will pay my bills, but everything else? That’s going to take money.
My hand goes to my stomach to rub Maggie as best as I can. There’s a flutter of movement and I smile. She can feel me. I pray she understands that I love her and I’m sorry. My fever broke the day they brought me in, but I was severely dehydrated and had a major ear infection. The doctor gave me medicine, I’m not happy about taking it, but he promised that it was safer for the baby than for me to continue being sick. I was worried because my fever had spiked. I’m not sure how high it got, but I know that can be very dangerous for a baby. So far, all the tests and ultrasounds reveal that Maggie is doing great. However, I should start going to the doctor more often now. That part’s not going to be fun. I wish I could come here to the doctor, but there’s no way my little car would make the two-hour round trip. There are days that just driving into Whitley to go to the diner is more than it can handle. I’m going to have to suck it up, choke on my pride, and go to the local clinic.
“Do you have a ride home?” she asks, looking around the room, and bringing my thoughts to a stop.
I give her a half smile. She can look all she wants, but there’s no one here. If a nurse hadn’t have looked at my records to discover the man that was with me when they brought me in, I never would have known. When she first read me the name Connor Michael Jameson, I had no idea who that was. It took forever for me to connect the name Michael to someone in my life…like my asshole neighbor. It shocked me. I’m grateful, as much as I don’t want to be. I really thought if he was given the choice he would have left me to die.
“I’m afraid not. I was planning on grabbing a taxi,” I half-lie to the nurse. I can’t afford a taxi home.
Liese Haley, said she would come and get me and she will. She offered to be here early today, but I felt guilt
y about making her miss her shift. She lives from check to check much like I do. Charlie would have done it, but she’s out of town today. Pastor Sturgill is out of town, so that makes my options limited.
I told her I’d find a McDonalds or something and crash till she got in town. It was the simplest solution. I’ll grab a taxi to McDonalds and text Liese and tell her where I am. I have just enough minutes left on my crappy pre-paid cellphone to do that.
“We normally can’t release you unless you have a ride home,” the nurse says, worry lines appearing and crinkling in the center of her forehead, showing obvious concern.
“I’m afraid I don’t really have anyone. It’s just me and Maggie,” I tell her, rubbing my stomach. “We’ll be fine. I technically have a ride.”
“I’m not sure that’s what the hospital guidelines mean,” she says, shaking her head. She looks at me and she’s about my age. Her name tag says Jana Kick. She’s a beautiful woman with mocha skin, dark hair with almost purple highlights and the kind of body men are drawn to. She has a professional job, one that ensures she will always be able to take care of herself and her children.
The last thing she would probably understand is the mess I’ve made of my life. The bad decisions, the pain, the hurt…all of it. I pray she’ll never know it, because I wish I didn’t. I’ve lived through it, and I wouldn’t want other people to do the same. Still, I don’t want to risk that she won’t let me go home. I need out of here. I need to get back to work. I need to get more baked goods out. I was just starting to get my head above water, and I can’t lose that now. My hand pats my stomach again on reflex. Especially now.
I put my hand on her arm to get her attention. Her soft eyes look at me, and I let my guard down enough so she can see me pleading, and how desperately I need her to agree.
“I’ll be fine. I promise.” Jana stares at me for a minute and my breath lodges in my chest while I wait to see if she will agree. Then she gives me a tight smile.
“A ride is a ride, right?” she says, and I take a deep breath in relief. She goes over the rules and the follow-up appointment they’ve made with the local clinic. I’m dreading that, but it definitely needs to be done. She hands me a bunch of papers along with a few prescriptions, and just like that, I’m free.
I always thought hospital policy was wheeling you out in a wheel chair, but I’m not offered one. She walks me down to the elevator. Then we’re at the front doors, before she’s telling me bye. I’m sure she’s skirting one or two rules for me. Maybe more. I’m more excited that I won’t have to hire a taxi. I have no idea how much it would have cost me to take a taxi to the nearest McDonalds, but any amount right now is more than I can afford.
I step out into the cold air, wishing I had a coat to wear. I’m waiting for a truck to go by so I can cross to the walkway. Instead, the big gray truck pulls up and parks in front of me. It’s thrown into park so hard, it jerks causing it to rock on its wheels. I sigh, as I hear the driver getting out. I mean, it’s kind of rude, but it is the pick-up and drop-off lane, so not unexpected. Still, the driver had to see me standing here. Just another reason people are annoying.
I turn to walk around the truck, dismissing it and the driver. I need to get inside somewhere before I get sick again. I can’t afford to, and it wouldn’t be good for the baby. I’ve only taken a few steps when I feel a hand grab my arm. I cry out, looking at my shoulder and seeing a large, tattooed hand wrapped around my upper arm. Fear instantly hits me. My head goes back to see who it is. For a moment, I’m scared to death it’s him. Then my eyes focus on Michael. The fear dies down, even in the face of his anger.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. He pinches the bridge of his nose and for a second I think he might roll his eyes at me. It’s hard to tell he has so much hair, and when he leans his head down it covers his face like a shroud.
“Let’s go,” he says, not really answering.
I’m in his truck—I didn’t even know he had a truck, and he has me buckled in before I know what is happening. He closes my door after testing the belt to make sure it’s secure. Then he gets in on his side, starts up the vehicle, and we’re merging into the traffic on the main road all before I think I can even blink. He also does all of this without one word. Not a grunt, a groan, or even a huff of breath does he offer. But then I don’t guess he needs to, because in a way he answered my question. He’s here for me.
Crap.
18
Beast
“What are you doing here? How did you know I was getting out? When did you get a truck? Why are you here? Do you know how to talk? How many tattoos do you have? Did it hurt when you had your fingers inked up? Do you have lips under all that hair?”
That’s the questions I find myself ignoring from my chatty passenger. Admittedly, the first part of those questions came pretty quickly into our ride. The last few, are kind of strange and a little funny— or they might be if I still laughed. They came farther into the ride, and in ten to fifteen minute intervals.
I haven’t answered any of them. I haven’t really looked at her. The last question was about thirty minutes ago. I’m taking that to mean she’s given up. Which is good, because I don’t plan on answering her. Part of that is because for the fucking life of me, I don’t know why I picked her up. I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is that when I heard Charlie discussing with some other waitress that they would have to wait until evening to get Hayden…I stepped in again to help her. I don’t know why, and it has me confused as hell.
Charlie, however, she found it funny. I was also right about her. I like her. Since she heard I rescued Hayden and got her to the hospital, she has let me start eating at the diner again. By that, I mean she brought me breakfast out to my place the next morning and told me she would see me tomorrow at the diner. Charlie is a woman of few words, and that is one characteristic of hers I can definitely appreciate.
She also laughed at my reaction about Hayden not having a way home. I growled. I did this loudly, and since I was staring right at the women, Charlie knew immediately why. The waitress, she called Liese, jumped a good foot in the air, but Charlie just grinned. She knew she had me, and that’s when I found myself really liking her…even against my will.
Nothing else was said between us—see a woman of few words. But, when I went to the counter to pay my bill, she handed me a to-go-bag instead.
“For Hayden,” she said. I pinpointed her in my gaze, a look that in all my years as enforcer of the Devil’s Blaze never failed me. Fuck, some men started begging when I looked at them like that. Not Charlie. She laughed, and went back to the other waitress—completely dismissing me. I growled again, for the good that did, and then I left.
“I like your truck,” Hayden says, kind of lost. She brings my attention back around to her, but her words annoy me. I tighten my hand on the steering wheel, as I spare her a quick glance. She’s finally eating the food that Charlie sent to her. My nose kind curls at the smell of it. Fried bananas? “It’s a really nice truck,” she says again, right before taking another bite of her sandwich.
It is a nice truck. I rode my bike into the city to get Hayden. Stopped at the first dealership I found and bought it. It’s a brand spankin’ new Ford F-150 and loaded with all the latest options. I figured if I was going to drive a cage, I’d do it in style. It was kind of cold driving my bike in town, but then I liked the cold getting into my lungs and the feel of the wind. I’ve lived my life on the back of a bike for a reason and since…since losing Annabelle I really didn’t care if I got in another car.
That day at Hayden’s however, when she needed to get to the hospital and there was no way for me to get her there quicker…it bothered me. It shouldn’t have, and I don’t like that it did…but it did. I’m not about to tell her that. Just like I’m not about to tell her the color of this truck reminded me of the color of her eyes. She’d probably make something out of that, and there’s nothing there. Gray is a good strong color. It’s not a fucking
sissy color either. That’s all there is to it. No hidden meanings whatsoever.
“I really appreciate you helping me. Maggie and I are very grateful,” she says, and I don’t want to, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Maggie?” I can see out of the corner of my eye how she freezes when I ask my question.
Her lips move into a small smile, right before she pops another fry into her mouth. She had to be starving. Aren’t they supposed to feed you in a hospital? “My daughter,” she says, her hand going to the swell of her stomach. Her head leans down, this time there’s a full smile on her lips, and she almost appears happy. “I’m naming her after a Rod Stewart song, Maggie May. Maggie will probably never listen to Rod Stewart, but it’s a good song and a pretty name. She needs a pretty name.” Her rambling words make me feel weird.
There’s a slight chance I misjudged her. It appears she might genuinely care about her child, at least enough that she has already given her a name. On the heels of that emotion though is another one. One that is stronger and proves what a fucked-up, twisted asshole I really am. I resent that child in her stomach. A child that is completely innocent, but in this moment, I hate. I hate this faceless, unknown little girl who will be blessed with the name Maggie. I hate her name, and I hate her mother. What right do they have? Why does this woman get a child? What is so special about this unborn Maggie that she can have a life when my Annabelle can’t? My hands shake as I tighten them on the steering wheel.
Hayden rattles on beside me, but I’m tuning her out. I feel raw inside, and the misery is too close to the surface. I reach over and blast a Metallica song that comes on the radio, drowning Hayden’s voice out. Then I go back to concentrating on the road. Hayden gives up talking, sparing me a quick glance. She puts what’s left of her food back in the bag, and looks out the passenger window in silence.