by Eden Butler
“It’s just not safe. Not if someone can get into your place and steal from you.” Vaughn slips his hands into his pockets, moves his shoulders once as though his explanation is completely logical, obvious.
This guy must think I’m helpless. She doesn’t know why that is. Her age maybe? The fact that she told him she’s still in college? He’s older than her, but dammit, she knew she felt something all those months ago when he helped her down the mountain at the Dash. Was that it? That day, to him, she was helpless. Muddy, cold, with a crooked finger and egging on her friends, telling Autumn and Sayo to go on without her. She must have looked like a kid. Vaughn must have thought she’d acquired some sort of hero worship when he picked her up, set her finger and warmed her with his hoodie. Then she pops up at his business? Passing back his property was a sad, obvious excuse to see him, but that doesn’t mean she is a helpless kid. She knows that Vaughn’s concern is likely well placed, that he’s used to rescues, accustomed to solving problems.
Not exactly what she wants from him. “I’m fine,” she finally answers him, pulling her arms around her stomach to hide her bare skin. Mollie doesn’t want this; not his placating little smiles or his intrusive queries. She’s managed without a father for ten years and God knows she doesn’t want Vaughn to fill in for her dad. Oh sure, she might like to call him “Daddy” but those two things are completely unrelated in her mind. She heads toward the El Camino again and for some unknown, utterly mindboggling reason, Vaughn keeps time with her every step.
“I was surprised to see you here.”
“I wasn’t following you.” Mollie knows that the explanation is too quick, that she is being defensive and unnecessarily rude to Vaughn when really he’s done nothing to earn her attitude. But her pride is wounded, her libido is throbbing just by breathing the same air as Vaughn. From their last encounter together, it’s clear to Mollie he’s uninterested. This Disappointed Daddy thing only drives that home. She slips her glance up to his face and frowns harder when she spots the quirk working between Vaughn’s lips as though he’s fighting the urge to smile at her, possibly pat her head and tell her to be careful. “I wasn’t. Marco found out this kid bought my stuff. I was checking it out. I had no idea you’d be here.”
He nods and she thinks he might actually believe her, but then Vaughn’s eyes move over her head, back to the building behind them. “They gave us an award for our dad.” His voice is soft, like it’s difficult to get the words out. When she only frowns, confused, Vaughn exhales. “He was a trooper, thirty years. Got killed in the line of duty last year. My sister dragged me here tonight to get this commendation for him.”
Sister, she thinks, trying very hard not to clap her hands like a twelve year-old. She pushes back that irrational glee because she doesn’t want her anger, her annoyance to fade. It’s easier to dismiss him, to remind herself that to him, she’s just some stupid kid with a crush. But his expression has gone hard, regretful, and a small bit of her irritation is forgotten. “Well, I’m sorry about your dad.” Her dad might be locked away in a cell, but she still gets to speaks to him, weekly phone calls monitored by some nosey prison guard. But if he were gone completely? If he were dead? No, she can’t fathom that at all and the fiercely held annoyance she felt at Vaughn’s dismissal of her as anything but a stupid girl disappears.
His expression is difficult for Mollie to make out. There is a small smile pulling his lips, but then Vaughn frowns, looks off into the parking lot as though his father isn’t a topic open for discussion. She can relate and can’t help but touch his hand. When her fingers meet his large hand, the electric pulse rises back up and Mollie quickly pulls her hand away. She thinks he feels it too. She thinks there is a moment when Vaughn’s eyes leave her hand and jump to her face where he notices the spark. If he does, he buries his reaction behind a few blinks and the return of his impassive, small frown.
“Anyway, like I said, I was here to find out who took my stuff,” she says, covering that mild electrical rush by pulling on the hem of her threadbare t-shirt.
Marco revs the engine and Vaughn looks up. “And that guy is your back up?”
Mollie waves at Marco, flipping her hand to get him to wait a second. “That guy, is a friend. Another DJ.” When Vaughn’s stoic expression shifts into a grin, Mollie tilts her head, curious. “What?”
“I just can’t imagine you in a smoky club spinning records. It seems kinda out of character.” His smile is wider, his shoulders shake as though something he keeps to himself is amazingly amusing.
“And you know about my character how, exactly?”
“Come on, Mollie. You?” She doesn’t like how his voice has taken on a condensing tone or how his smile widens. “You’re a tiny little thing. You out late with a bunch of drunks, amping up a crowd?”
“I’m actually pretty good. Don’t make judgments, Vaughn.”
His laughter flips a switch in her and Mollie decides she doesn’t need to stand around this guy waiting to be ridiculed. She’s got Layla for that shit. She turns, tries not to stomp as she approaches the El Camino, but Vaughn pulls her back, grabbing her wrist to stop her before she reaches the car. “Look, you’re right, I have no idea about your life.”
“You really don’t.” She meant to jump in the car and leave him standing there by himself. But that niggling little voice in her head tells her that she has to explain herself, that if she doesn’t, Vaughn’s opinion of her as a pathetic kid is going to stay stuck in his mind. She can’t have that. “I didn’t mean to just pop up at your place the other day. I… I thought maybe you’d want your hoodie back.”
“After months? In the middle of summer?”
“It wasn’t mine and you GI Joe types tend to be funny about your stuff. My dad always was.”
Vaughn lifts his eyebrows, his curiosity obvious. “He was in the Corps?”
That makes her laugh. The idea of her dad in the Marines. “God no. He was a Navy SEAL and wouldn’t let me touch any of the stuff he had from his service.” She notices that his shoulders have relaxed, his humor and condescension now missing. “Anyway, I thought you might want it back. The hoodie.”
Vaughn leans against Marco’s car when he revs the engine again. “Well, thanks. It was sweet of you.”
That wasn’t sincere appreciation and Mollie doesn’t know why Vaughn is even still sticking around. “Whatever,” she says, reaching for the door handle.
Vaughn stops her, slides his hip over the door. “You know, you sure do have a temper.”
“You got no idea.”
“Maybe…” he starts, standing closer to her, “maybe you wanna let me find out.”
“What?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I’m curious.” Again his gaze moves toward Marco and the loud boom of the stereo that he cranks up. Vaughn couldn’t be jealous, not of Marco anyway, so Mollie figures it’s the burglary. This guy can’t help himself, seems like he has to be the hero. Always.
“I was, too.” She steps closer to him, but he doesn’t even lean away from her when she invades his personal space. “And then I went to see you, and you acted like I was a first grader with a crush on my teacher.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You called me a little girl.” He winces, then laughs. Mollie pushes him back so that she can open the car door. Instantly the quiet parking lot is filled with Marco’s bass. “Besides, I don’t need any heroes. I got this.”
“Do you, now? You sure?” Vaughn jerks his chin toward Marco, clearly unimpressed. “Seems like your backup is a bit underqualified. I’m sure a girl raised by a damn squid would have better taste in protectors.”
The car window rattles when Mollie slams the door shut. “Get this straight. I can take care of myself. And I don’t need some fucking jarhead disrespecting my father.” She doesn’t care that there is no humor on Vaughn’s face now. She doesn’t care how attracted she is to him or how hopeful she was that there was something between them. When she comes within inches of him, Va
ughn straightens, his defenses set firm. “No one, and I mean no one, talks shit about my dad.”
Mollie doesn’t wait for his reaction. She doesn’t care that she’s likely blown any shot she ever had with Vaughn. She’s pretty sure now there was never any real shot at all. To her, anyone can say what they want about her. She doesn’t care, but mess with her friends or her family, and she skates a bit on the psycho side.
Mollie was never jealous of her friends. There was a time, right as she turned fourteen and her mother’s ridiculous badgering ran along the lines of “what do you mean you got a B?” and “stop laughing like that. You sound like him” that Mollie wished she had the stable home life of her best friend Layla or a sweet, consoling mother like Autumn’s, but otherwise, she never got jealous.
Now, standing in a low-lit pawn shop with guitars and fiddles hanging from the ceiling and the smell of second-hand oily tools cluttered around the floor right next to Declan Fraser’s enormous form, Mollie would admit to being a little envious of Autumn. She doesn’t want Declan, not the way she wanted Kenya Washington freshman year or like she wanted Vaughn the first time she saw him at the Dash, but as Declan crosses his arms, the thick veins on his forearms protruding and the heavy scent of grass and cologne wafting from him, she thinks at least that Autumn is a lucky bitch.
Declan Fraser is an intimidating man. He doesn’t blink, barely seems to breathe as Mannie, the pawn shop manager, explains his rather flimsy excuse for considering taking in stolen property.
“So, I’ll ask you again, arsehole. Who was the guy in the Shelby?” Mannie shrugs for the third time and Declan remains cool, calm. He throws his arms away from their curl on his chest in a quick flash, making Mannie flinch, but instead of taking a swing at the pudgy guy, Declan simply rests his fists against the glass counter, those enormous, tattooed arms of his flexing. “Sorry, but I don’t know what that means,” he says, mimicking Mannie’s shrug.
“Man, I don’t know. I’d never met the guy before. Just some dude with a bunch of tattoos on his neck wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses. He barely spoke. Acted like he didn’t want anyone hearing or seeing him.”
“Did he give you a number to call if you found a buyer?” Mollie hurries to ask, hoping that she could get some viable information from this guy.
Mannie barely glances at her before he answers. “Look, it’s like I told that other dude, I didn’t pay attention. Not really. He drove a black Shelby and mumbled a list of what he had. Said the stuff belonged to his cousin and then gave me a number to call if anyone was interested.” The cash register dings when he opens it and lifts the cash tray, digging underneath.
“What ‘other dude’?” She watches the man rummage through credit card receipts before he hands Declan a slip of paper.
Another shrug and Declan leaned across the counter. “Answer her.”
Mannie’s neck is filthy, as though he hasn’t had a good wash in weeks and mustard spots stain his too tight Batman t-shirt. “Big blonde bastard, came in here in fatigues.”
Son of a bitch. She shares a glance with Declan, jerks her head once for him not to ask questions before she heads to the door. Vaughn. Had to be him and she doesn’t know why a sudden urge to kick him in the face has replaced the other baser ideas she’s had about Vaughn since that day at the Dash.
He called Dad a squid, she thinks to herself. And me a kid. And now he was butting into her small investigation. His nerve was quickly flushing out any connection she thought she might have had with him.
Mollie knows she’s stomping out of the pawn shop. She knows that not offering Mannie a “thank you” or even a curt nod of gratitude goes against her mother’s “be a nice girl” southern daughter rearing. She doesn’t really care.
Declan opens the door to his silver Mustang and Mollie slips inside, eager to pull out her phone and text the nosy Marine.
“That Vaughn bloke is the blonde, do you think?”
“Yep.” Her thumbs quickly move across the keys of her phone.
Declan weaves between the Friday lunch hour traffic as his fingers tap against the steering wheel. The air in the mustang is thick, hot with the scent of leather, and Mollie is grateful when Declan lowers the windows to relieve the stifling heat in the cab. “Hmm. Why do you reckon it’s him?”
Mollie finishes her text, barely refraining from calling Vaughn a “caveman asshole” before she answers Declan. “I ran into him the other night in Sevierville.” She knows Declan stares at her, as if expecting a bit more clarification, but Mollie doesn’t bother to glance up until she’s sure the text has gone through. Her screen goes dark before she exchanges a glance with Declan. “When Marco and I went to question that kid about my stuff.” Spotting Declan’s frown, she knows a lecture is flirting on the tip of his tongue. “And before you start again with the ‘you should have let me go with you’ shit, I wasn’t in any danger.”
“That Marco bloke couldn’t have helped.” Declan speeds through the heavy traffic. “McShane said he’s a…”
“Yes, Dad, I know what Autumn says about Marco, but he insisted on going and I didn’t want to bother you until I had some information to share.”
“Bollocks. You aren’t a bother, none of you are.” He laughs a bit to himself. “‘Cept maybe Layla, but that just because she is giving Donovan fits.”
“How’s that your problem?”
“Because that arsehole gives me fits when Layla gives him fits.” He pauses, relaxing against the seat with his arm resting on the steering wheel. “And I’m not too keen on fits. Especially when theirs could be settled with a quick round of ‘hey how are ya?’”
The visual isn’t pleasant, but Mollie laughs anyway. Her best friend and Donovan have been driving everyone crazy with all the pranking and arguing they’ve gotten up to over the past few months. “God, I know. I’m tempted to lock them in a room together and tell them to sort that shit out.”
Declan’s smile is wide, near menacing. “That might do alright.”
Before Mollie can make any concrete plans with Declan that involve Layla and Donovan tied together in a forced game of “White Flag,” her phone chirps with a text alert and all humor vanishes from her face.
Don’t know why you’re upset. Vaughn’s reply reads. Just thought I’d find out what I could for you since I live closer.
“That him?” Declan asks, but Mollie only offers him a quick nod in reply.
Thanks, Semper Fi, but I don’t need your help.
“Must be impossible for him not to play the hero.”
“Army blokes are like that.”
“He’s a Marine. Big difference.” Mollie waits for a reply from Vaughn and looks up at Declan as they continue down the highway. The mountains inch closer the further toward Cavanagh they drive and the cool breeze in the car from the downed windows relaxes her.
“It was the same back home. Lads I’d known my whole life went off to training and came back unrecognizable. Fair play on them, God bless them for what they do, but they come back different and don’t seem able to let go of the hero bit after their time is up.”
“My dad always said the military breaks a man down so they can build them back up the way they want them. I guess it’s the same process all over the world.” She doesn’t tell Declan everything her father said about the military, and certainly not his conspiracy-theory, doomsday prepper mentality that had her stockpiling canned goods and planting gardens from the time she was able to pull weeds.
“I reckon that’s true,” Declan offers, but then his own phone rings and his voice raises a few octaves and words like “love” and other ridiculous endearments Mollie tries to ignore lift out of Declan’s mouth and she knows he’s talking to Autumn.
She thinks about being silly, making smooching sounds to annoy Declan, but then her phone chirps with another alert and Mollie has to force herself not to frown at Vaughn’s reply.
Vaughn: You still pissed I called your dad a squid? I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said t
hat.
Mollie: You really shouldn’t have. He’d kick your ass for that. I should by proxy.
Vaughn: You going to proxy ass kick me?
Mollie: Thought about it. A lot. Especially when I found out you’re putting your nose in my business.
Vaughn: Trying to help, you know.
Mollie: Got plenty of help YOU KNOW?
Vaughn: Ouch. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re telling me to keep away from you. Don’t really want that, do you?
Vaughn Winchester is the single most confusing man Mollie has ever met in her life. The mixed signals he sends her has her head spinning and she isn’t sure how to respond to that last little dig for information. If he thinks she’s a kid—and his behavior at his studio certainly made Mollie think that’s exactly what he thought—then why is he flirting? Why is he so concerned about getting information from Mannie?
“Absolute fuckery,” she says to her phone.
“What’s that?” Declan asks, as he hangs up.
“Nothing.”
She stares at her cell, at Vaughn’s last cryptic message as the car continues down the quiet highway. She doesn’t answer the text. She doesn’t speak much at all as Declan makes small attempts at conversation or sings off key to whatever comes on the radio. Instead, as two hours pass, then another half hour, Mollie thinks about how to best avoid Vaughn’s attention. It’s something her instinct tells her not to do, but that baser inclination niggles in her mind; the one that tells her Vaughn is only curious about the burglary. He is, after all, a soldier, a hero. That surely is his only motivation.
Finally, Declan pulls into Cavanagh and Mollie decides to ignore Vaughn’s inquiry about her wanting him to stay clear of her.