by Jordan Marie
Finally.
19
Hayden
“I guess he doesn’t like the name Maggie,” I whisper to the door that was just slammed in my face. Michael didn’t say another word from the time I told him the name of my daughter, to the time when he dropped me off at my house. By dropping me off, I mean he pulled into my driveway, jumped out, came around before I had a chance to move, undid my seatbelt, then picked me up, and carried me. He did all of this including managing to open my front door while still having me in his arms. A front door, which by the way, is brand new and solid wood. It has an oval, stained glass panel that depicts flowers and birds on it. It is beautiful. It also has a heavy-duty lock with a kick-ass handle and a deadbolt.
I wanted to ask where the door came from, but two things stopped me. One, I figured Michael wouldn’t answer, and two, I figured I already knew—especially since he had the keys. Keys which he dropped into my palm—also without another word, when he set me down in my living room. My legs were weak and only got weaker, when his big hand cupped one of mine, pulled it down between us and deposited the keys inside. I stared at the small silver keys that were united by a small, plain metal key ring. I was just gearing up to question him about it, when he stepped back and slammed the door in my face. Slammed. Not lightly, nope. He slammed the door so hard the walls rattled. I jumped, but not that much. I would have thought the windows would break from the force of the door slam. That’s when I looked around and noticed that every window had been replaced in the house. Every window. When I looked in Maggie’s room and saw the new window…I wanted to cry. They’re double insulated, with heavy duty locks and the outside is vinyl. I have no idea why he would do such a thing. I shudder to think how much it all cost him. Seeing it all confused me and even embarrassed me a little. Still, I was blown away.
Michael might not like me. I’m thinking that fact is pretty clear. I’ve been un-liked a lot in life, but none have made it as apparent as Michael has a knack for—even if he mostly stays silent. Yet, even if he doesn’t like me, he’s helped me. I have no idea why he has, but he has. So, one thought has settled into my heart, and this one thought seems to have pushed away the fear and even the hurt I held against my grouchy, next door neighbor.
Even if he doesn’t like me, he doesn’t want to see me or my daughter hurt.
That one thought is pretty freeing. It’s the closest I’ve come to feeling safe in my entire life. Maybe I felt safe with Maggie’s father…at least in the beginning, but that didn’t last long, and mostly was there because I was young and stupid. He sure never gave me any reason to feel safe. He definitely would have never put up a new door to keep me safe. Plus, if he found me unconscious on the floor, the only thing he might have done was step on me.
Michael may not know it, but with his actions, he’s given me a reason to like and trust him. It’s a strange feeling; one that almost feels like a miracle. Maybe Pastor Sturgill is right and my neighbor having the name of God’s favored archangel is a good thing. A sign that everything is okay.
I rub my stomach and whisper, “It’s going to be okay, Maggie.” She kicks against my stomach, and I’m taking that as her agreement.
Looking around the house, I notice the wood container by the fireplace is full. Beside the container sits a plastic bag, and I open it up to discover there are two new lighters along with five of those large fire logs. The nifty ones you buy and light the package on both ends that burn for hours and make starting a fire so simple.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where all of this came from. That feeling of freedom inside of me blooms a little more. But what really pushes me over the edge to where I think I might even like my neighbor is when I open the fridge.
Inside, there are assorted groceries. Milk, lunch meat, eggs, hamburger, chicken, and even orange juice—it’s all inside. The fridge was almost bare before I became sick. There was nothing in it but yogurt, an almost empty jar of pickles, and some butter. I don’t even see that in here now. There are brand new containers of those things, but the old ones are gone. I close the fridge with my heart hammering against my chest. Then I look around the rest of my kitchen. There’s a brand new loaf of bread, a box of cereal on the counter, and some apples, bananas, and oranges are strewn across my kitchen table.
Michael bought groceries and not only a few items, but a lot. I lean against the counter, and I feel tears slide from my eyes again. The windows left me crying and speechless, but this… this seems larger, because Michael had to do it hands on. It wasn’t a matter of buying something and having it installed. It was…shopping. It was almost like…caring. I don’t know how to process all of this. I’ll never be able to repay him, and I know in my heart that if I try, he’ll just turn mean again. Call me crazy, but that’s not something I want to experience again. So, I just stand here, leaning against my old laminate, fake, butcher block counter, and I let the tears go.
Connor Michael Jameson, my hateful, taciturn, grunting neighbor, made me cry…again.
But this time, the tears are good—definitely good. These tears wash over me, in a cleansing way. For the first time in my life, I experience true tears of…joy.
20
Beast
Hayden has been back home for two weeks. She’s not tried talking my ear off—which is good, because after the ride home, I got the distinct impression that she could. She’s actually not bothered me at all, except for one small thing. She keeps leaving different things for me outside the door that leads to my loft. Over the past two weeks, every morning when I open the door there’s either been pies, cakes, cookies, or candy. Every single morning like clockwork. Well, every morning except this one. Today, there is nothing here. Maybe she’s given up. That’s for the best. I ignore the disappointed feeling that is resting heavy in my gut. I had gotten used to the treats, but that’s all.
I’m about to get on my bike when I notice the garage door she keeps that rolling wreck parked in, is open. Almost against my will, I walk over there. She’s not in the garage but I hear her back door open. I turn as she walks towards me.
“Hi, Michael,” she says, her voice full of stress. “Did you need something?” she asks, wringing her hands together. I stand there annoyed and a little uncomfortable.
“There was no cookies,” I tell her. I watch as her lips form a perfect ‘o’, then slowly spread into a brief smile.
“I’m sorry. I overslept. I had plans to make you something special today. I was going to do it when I came back home. But since you’re here, you just saved me some steps,” she says in rapid fire. She takes a minute to get a breath, which I figure might be a good thing, but then she starts in again. “Actually, I was just about to come ask you a question. I’m running late. I can’t get my car to start, and I’m supposed to go to the doctor today. I can’t miss it. Today is ultrasound day. I can’t believe my luck lately,” she complains, and she says all of that without stopping. I let the words register for a minute and I frown. She wants me to take her to the doctor? Fuck, no. No way. Not happening. I open my mouth to tell her that when she carries on some more. “Can I borrow your cellphone?” That wasn’t the question I expected from her.
“What?”
“Your cellphone? I want to call Pastor Sturgill to see if he can take me into town. He said anytime I needed him to call, and I’ve always tried not to unless we were dealing with the baked goods, since his church uses those in their fundraising. But, I don’t have any other choice right now. If you could let me borrow it to call him, I’d appreciate it.”
I bring my hand up to my face scratching my beard, touching the scars underneath. I should give her the phone and walk away. I’ve done too much where Hayden is concerned, especially since I’m starting to enjoy seeing signs of her. That’s not smart. An old friend’s wife, Dani, is the only person I’ve put myself out there for in forever, and that’s only because she had a world of pain in her eyes when I first met her. It was a pain I knew—a pain I was fami
liar with. But, I’m not part of this world anymore. I’m existing in it as some type of cruel joke, but I definitely don’t have a place in it. I wanted to. For a while, I let myself believe my brothers were right. That eventually, I would have a home with them again, and I believed that maybe my life would return to normal.
Instead, I watched as if I were on the outside looking in. Everyone went on with their lives. Everyone continued living and laughing. They had children, they had husbands and wives, they had life. I went through the motions, waiting for that moment when I’d have that again. That moment when the darkness would leave, the pain would stop suffocating me, and the emptiness would stop devouring me. Then maybe, I could breathe the same air as them. It never happened. That moment never came. It’s never going to happen—I know that. Still, instead of doing the sensible thing and handing her the phone, I do something incredibly stupid.
“I’ll take you,” I offer before my brain can even register the words.
“I wouldn’t ask, but I haven’t put minutes back on my phone yet, and I…What did you say?”
“I said I’ll take you.”
Her lips move, opening just slightly. I can see a breath move through her chest. Her gray eyes widen, and I’m instantly regretting my offer. I’m about to just hand her my phone and be done with it, when she does something unexpectedly.
“Thank you, Michael. I’d really appreciate that,” she says, calmly.
That’s it. No squealing, no hugging me, no acting like I’m doing something fantastic. Nothing, just a simple, calm, thank you. I was preparing for her to go crazy, hug me and kiss the side of my face while gushing out her gratefulness. But she only gives me a quiet thank you.
Which means…I don’t back out. I don’t hand her my phone. I don’t tell her I’ve changed my mind. I go back to my place, get my truck, and I do all of it while wishing she would have at least tried to kiss me.
Fucking hell.
21
Hayden
I can’t believe Michael offered to take me to the doctor. Actually, I can’t believe he spoke enough to even propose he take me to the doctor. I was so surprised and relieved, it’s a wonder I didn’t squeal. Or kiss him. Because I had the insane urge to kiss him—and that should scare me to death. It doesn’t though. Maybe it’s because I know he doesn’t like me. I don’t have to worry about Michael in that way. It makes it easier to be around him, if I’m being honest.
Now that we’re on the road however, I’m full of stress and worry. I’m wringing my hands together trying to snap myself out of it and squash down the panic. Sadly, nothing is working. We pull into the parking lot of the local clinic, and I am still on the edge of a panic attack. I find it ironic that going to the doctor is the main reason this panic attack is coming on and not being alone in a car with a man. Normally, even being around a man would do it—especially if that man was huge, covered in tattoos and mean. I know that’s not fair. Michael’s been kind to me in a weird, strange way. Though still, he is mean. Anger oozes from him. At the same time, I’ve been in the truck with him twice now, and I’ve never once been afraid of him either time—despite the anger.
“You okay?” he asks. Michael has a good voice. It’s deep and gruff, making me wonder if he has a seven pack a day habit. I never smell cigarette smoke on him, so I doubt that’s the case. He doesn’t talk much, and sometimes when he talks his voice breaks off. I’ve noticed the scars marking his hands and arms. There are much fainter ones on his face, and there are some along the collar of his shirt that seem to disappear. By that I mean his beard is so long and bushy it hides them before I can investigate further. I have to wonder if whatever accident he was in has left some permanent damage to his voice. Maybe talking hurts him and he’s silent, not because he just hates being bothered with me, but because it’s physically painful. Not likely, but a girl can dream.
“Yeah. You can just wait out here for me. I’m never in there for long,” I tell him, not really looking at his face. I go to undo my seatbelt and his hand stops me. He puts his much larger, scarred and ink covered hand over mine, swallowing it. I stare at our hands for a minute. I can’t help but wonder how much pain a man had to endure to have the kinds of scars he has marring his skin. They’re burn scars. I don’t have a doubt in that. I had a neighbor once who got trapped in a house fire, and he had scars that were so much like these. I bring over my other hand, moving my finger across his ink. I feel a shift in the mood surrounding us. It’s so drastic that it becomes an almost physical thing. I feel his hand tighten on mine underneath. His fingers clamp down tightly until he’s holding it to the point of pain. I drag my eyes up to look at him. Can he read my nervousness in my eyes?
“What’s wrong?” he asks again, more insistent. I get a little lost in his dark coffee eyes…so dark they’re almost liquid black. They’re dark, inky and seem to drill deep down inside of me. I swallow, wondering if those dark eyes see all my secrets. They seem like they penetrate so deeply they must know everything. They draw me in so profoundly that I lose track of everything, including the fact I’m letting my thumb move back and forth along one of the grooved indentions on his hand.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Thank you for bringing me. I’ll try and hurry.”
I wait for him to move his hand. When he doesn’t, I get this nervous flutter in my stomach that’s clearly not the baby. What is happening to me?
Michael clears his throat, then increases his already painful pressure on my hand. “I’ll go in too,” he says, and my breath lodges in my throat.
I don’t want that. I really, really don’t want that. Michael hasn’t made a secret of how he feels about me. I pushed it aside, because despite his judgments—and admittedly, some of them were not wrong, he’s been really nice to me, and I haven’t had that a lot in my life. But, once he sees how the others treat me and feels he has his judgments confirmed, our tenuous friendship will end. I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want that to happen in a way that means if it does, I will grieve it. Even though all I’ve done for two weeks is bake desserts and take them to his door, he feels like the first real friend I’ve ever had. With the exception of Charlie, but she’s also a woman and my boss, so the dynamic is extremely different.
“No. It’s okay. I will—” I don’t finish, mostly because he has my seatbelt undone, out of the truck and is standing at my door all before I look up.
Michael actually has my door open and is grunting. A clear sign for me to get out of the vehicle, I’m sure. He does all of this before I make a move. And even then, I still don’t move. I don’t move because I’m staring at my hand. The hand that he had his overtop of. The hand his fingers were pressed into painfully. The hand that felt like electricity has been steadily pounding inside of it. The hand that now feels…sad. Can hands feel sad? Mine does. So sad, that it makes the rest of me gloomy. Despondent enough that I’m pretty sure the emotion I’m grappling with is…loneliness.
What is happening to me?
22
Beast
I’ve finally done it. I’ve slipped off the fucking deep end. That’s the only explanation for why I’m escorting a woman, one I barely know, into a doctor’s office—for a prenatal appointment. Keeping my hand on her back as we walk to the office, I push the door open for her as we get there. She looks up at me then. Her gray eyes are huge, and there’s fear in them so thick not only can I see it, I’m pretty sure I can taste it. There’s a fine tremble running through her body and so much tension in it, she’s stiff. What the fuck is going on here? Did the hospital give her bad news? Is she worried about this appointment?
She gives me a tight smile and goes inside. I follow her, my hand still on her back and that’s another problem. I need to go back to the doctor myself because my hand is fucked up. Ever since she touched it, it’s burning. Not deeply, but enough that I have to wonder if she touches it again if it would stop.
She walks up to the small reception area, and I can’t help but notice the tension com
ing from her is increasing. She signs her name and we find a couple of seats in a nearby corner.
“You don’t have to be here, honest. I’ll be fine on my own. You could wait in the car. Or you could go home, really. I can walk to the diner and get a ride from Charlie later. There’s no point in us both being here,” she rattles and the entire time she’s talking she’s looking around the room as though she’s afraid people are staring at us. It hits me then.
Of course. I remember Lucy’s words. “He’s repulsive. A woman would have to be drunk to want to be with him, and even that might not be enough.” Women are all the same. Does she think it bothers me? Fuck, no. I was only doing her a favor. I won’t make that fucking mistake again. Never again.
I growl, getting up, and walking off without looking at her. I don’t offer her words. I don’t need to explain. I stomp out, leaving her behind me. You’d think I’d know by now that you can’t let your guard down around women. They’re all evil and the only time they can be bothered with you is when they want something. I’ve been done with them for a long time, this one almost made me forget that.
“Michael,” I hear Hayden yell as I open the door to my truck.
I stop walking, even while calling myself every name under the sun as I do it. I turn to see her standing by the front door, confusion on her face, but that’s probably just an act too.
“I…uh…you’re leaving…now?”
Jesus.
“I’m leaving. Don’t worry,” I rumble, getting in my vehicle and slamming the door. I start the truck, ready to pull out when she pounds on my window. I put it back in park and hit the button to roll the window down.