by Barefoot, LW
I grab a glass of wine from the kitchen and head upstairs with a single-minded goal. I peer through the dark bedroom, Rufus my faithful shadow. I shake off the fear that’s inching its way up my spine. I take a drink and make up my mind that I can’t panic while I’m awake, my dreams will soon turn to their usual nightmares. With the photos of me floating around my mind, tonight’s going to be rough. I finish the glass of wine and decide I would be safer with the whole damn bottle floating in my belly and force sleep to come uninterrupted.
I text Jamie to have him call me. Not a minute ticks by before he texts me that Evan already swung by the restaurant and explained Brad’s presence and why it’s necessary. My phone dings with incoming texts asking if I’m okay. Then Jamie’s apologies and promises that he would never let anything happen to me. He smothers me through written words. I silence him with telling him I’m all right, even though we both know I’m lying.
I turn on the bath and go back downstairs to retrieve the bottle of wine. Brad cleans a handgun in the living room. The dim lamp darkens the shadows of his face. His huge shoulders and bright eyes alert, settle more of the reeking fear that’s pushing me to drink. He is every bit the dark shadow he promised he could become. He stands and shifts through his bag and tosses me a bottle of tiny pink allergy pills.
“This will help.”
“Thanks.”
Fast friends indeed.
I set the bottle on the counter in my bathroom when I walk back upstairs and undress. I sink through the foaming bubbles and running water, willing the combination to work miracles. I allow myself to indulge with long sips of wine, while staring at the innocent bottle of pills. The wine helps with the promise of sleep, but it’s a shallow warranty the Sculptor’s voice will penetrate. He’ll roar in triumph in the dark recesses of my mind and win a little more of my soul in the process.
The plastic lid clicks open with a pop. I shake two hot pink tablets on my eager palm and down the little beads of relief followed by a healthy pull of red wine. I climb under the covers and envelope myself in their warmth.
I have a nice length of uninterrupted sleep. No demons. No masks. No duplicate Roman numerals. No painful promises hissing across my mind. I didn’t even get a glimpse of hateful ice blue eyes.
There’s a single purple rose laying on my nightstand when I wake. Sunlight filters in through the flimsy curtains. I reach for the note next to the flower.
‘Harper, you are stunning even when you sleep. I wanted to wake you, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I will steal your dreams another night. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.’ - Evan
I don’t think he could have woken me if he tried. I’m keeping Brad’s bottle of blessed relief and I wake up the slumbering bulldog next to me.
Harper
It’s been two weeks since we left Chicago. I haven’t heard a word from Evan since he left that single, now pitiful rose on my nightstand.
I totally misunderstood his intentions. I bought every word he spoke. I kept the dead shriveled up flower right where he left it. I thought seeing him at Mae’s showed a different side of him, but I must have been mistaken.
Each day ticked off the calendar, I feel more resentful towards him. I refused to go along with Tom and the FBI and I will be eternally thankful to Evan for helping me. But I never asked him for anything. Maybe it was his honor as a gentleman to take control of the situation. But now it’s pushing me to crazy and the rose serves as a reminder that he does exist.
That all too familiar voice comes back full force… ‘I’ve told you precious, you are so disappointing it breaks my heart, forcing me to break you. This is all your fault, you know that? You’ve made me do this. You’ve made me destroy you.’
If Evan would have reached out to me once to reassure me, I would feel completely different. I know I’m more trouble than I’m worth.
Every night before I go to bed, Brad’s hulking form cleans a handgun in my living room. His steady gaze and presence is the greatest gift Evan could have given me. Past the silly gifts of flowers and clothes, he gave me much needed security. So I can’t completely hate him and I don’t. His last words are scribbled in ink instructing me to ask if there was anything I needed. And I absolutely hate that what I need from him is something he should have freely given after our night together in Chicago.
My soul had to have known Brad in a past life. Jamie and I fold him into our daily routine. His loud pounding feet next to me as I run help keep that damned fear at bay. I feed off his strength and try like hell to become more like him.
The mysterious Mardi Gras masquerade invitation was long forgotten and discarded. I stuck it in a random junk drawer in the kitchen and this morning when I came downstairs it was posted on the fridge. My bloodstain still tainting the edge of the expensive stationery.
Brad and Jamie talk me into going and having a mask made, just in case. Jamie purchased a cheap one and tried to get me to try it on. I threw it in his bedroom and slammed the door closed. He laughed and said we would try again.
Every morning Brad and I jog through the Quarter, the decorations for the season glitter in the sun. More abundant than Christmas decorations, metallic masks, and beads grace wreaths and garlands, balconies and storefronts. Cut-out holes for eyes and mouths and noses and every single one I see has the Sculptor’s promising, soul-crushing eyes sparkling from underneath it, lying in wait, watching me from a distance.
“Think about it, Harper. Your refusal to face your fear is keeping you from overcoming it,” Brad says.
Jamie slaps him on the back and nods his head in agreement.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jamie chimes in. “Kate’s going this afternoon to have her mask made, it might be fun for you guys to hang out.”
“It’s done then,” Brad says, his laughter lights up his eyes.
He noticed the growing tension of my avoiding the subject and the way I stared at the invitation on the fridge the last couple of days.
Entering the small boutique and seeing walls covered in masks makes me back up as my knees buckle. A rock hard wall blocks my escape. I meet Brad’s sympathetic gaze. He shakes his head and pushes me away from his broad chest.
“It’s now or never. Stop feeding that fear, Harper.”
He leans down and whispers how silly some of them look. He scoops one off the counter and slips it over his face. I turn around so I won’t have to see him with it on.
“Harper, turn around.”
I shake my head like a child, refusing him.
“You’re feeding that fear,” he reminds me.
Kate picks one up and slips it on. This is an ambush. I turn around and Brad’s brilliant eyes sparkle against neon feathers. He slaps a ridiculous boa around his neck and poses.
“So, how do I look?”
His silliness breaks down barriers. This enormous bodyguard with his gun hidden under his jacket acts like a well-trained drag queen. I laugh because I don’t see the Sculptor. I see Brad. Beautiful coffee skin, light eyes, and I double over when he kicks his hip out, and twirls the pink boa around in circles.
“See that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Kate asks.
I regain my composure and smile up at him.
“You’ll be with me, right?” I ask, referring to Mardi Gras, but meaning so much more.
“I’m not leaving your side, Harper.”
Whether he’s paid or not, his words blanket me with the strength I’ve been searching for. I turn around to Kate, who’s still giggling over Brad’s little performance.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” I say.
The elderly artisan insists she’s seen Brad on Bourbon Street haggling people for money. The tension breaks around us. I keep my focus on the fabric swatches the woman holds up to my face and repeats the same with Kate.
“I take it you want to keep this simple?” she asks me.
“Yes, please.”
“Did you bring your invitation? It wi
ll help me to better understand the expectations. Your friend there wouldn’t be able to get into half of them, wearing that.”
Brad laughs and hangs up the ridiculous mask and boa. I pull the stiff envelope from my handbag and offer it to the woman. She slides her weathered fingers over the ornate crest on the invitation. I want to warn her not to slice her finger on it.
“Well, I’ll be damned. He finally sent one out,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask, not wanting her to lose her train of thought.
“There has been a lot of speculation about this particular invitation.”
Brad clears his throat when she says this. It breaks her concentration and she snaps back to the fabric samples.
“Don’t show this to anyone else,” she mutters.
Her gaze shifts to Brad ever so often while taking measurements of our faces. We get ready to leave and I offer her my credit card.
“It’s already taken care of, but you have to take it with you. It won’t take me long.”
These locals with their gossip and superstitions. It’s only a piece of lace I will wear once. And reluctantly at that. I might not even make it out of the house and I haven’t even thought about getting a dress.
“Do you mind if we grab a drink a few doors down?” I ask.
Not wanting to get stuck here too long. It’s already putting my unease into overdrive, no matter how funny I found Brad’s act. Kate and I talked about getting a drink to wait for Jamie to finish with his brunch shift at the restaurant.
“I have a bottle of champagne just for this,” she says.
The artist walks back with glasses and a chilled bottle, handing it over to Brad to uncork. He looks at us like it’s no big deal, as if there’s nothing strange in us having to stay to wait on her to make the mask.
I down the bubbles and sit as close to the window as possible. Keeping my focus on the passersby on the street. I’m trying not to imagine the crowd of concealed faces. In my musings I see shocking blond hair and freezing cold eyes in anticipation in every single one.
Between Kate and I, we finish the bottle. Brad helps us pass the time with conversation. I’m a little tipsy and thankful for the liquid courage. The woman comes back with a wrapped box and hands it to Brad. Kate’s will ready by the middle of next week because she insisted on custom embroidery on hers. I went for the bare minimum.
“Are you sure I don’t owe you anything? Especially for the champagne?” I ask.
“It’s already been taken care of. Thank you, though.”
Brad holds the shop door open for us. I wait for Kate who makes a joke about purchasing Brad’s pink boa for him, when I look up to Evan walking towards us.
He’s different. His clothes are still impeccable, but the hair on his head is longer and his face is clean shaven. His angular contours are gorgeous and more noticeable without his five-o’clock shadow, but I think I prefer it to this. I hate admitting that to myself. I don’t know him well enough to have missed him, but I thought we were something. We had something between us and he extinguished it.
The woman I saw climbing out of the limo at the airport has her arm draped over Evan’s. She’s older and has an air of authority about her. Evan halts, while Kate stumbles out the door. He looks shocked to see us. All this time I thought nothing happened in his world he didn’t plan for.
He offers me a sad smile while the woman brushes past us.
“Harper,” Evan says.
I stare up at him speechless. As I do, I watch as a pretty blond weaves her fingers with his, stepping into view. I’m incapable of hiding my surprise. My eyes shoot to Evan. We had several dates, teasing texts, one unforgettable night together, that’s it… ‘I can no longer taste your sinful flesh, I need to dig deeper sweet girl, you haven’t given me enough. Not even close. You’ll be mine and only mine, I swear to you.’
It’s a miracle I haven’t started responding to that voice out loud. The one that continues to be correct in its ugly speculations.
Evan hasn’t had one second to pick up the phone and call me. Even his silly texts would have sufficed. Now I see he didn’t need to. He mentioned that we both had our own secrets and I helplessly exposed mine and now his secret stands here, touching Evan and claiming him in ownership. Her dark eyes measure me up and find me lacking.
Evan can kiss my ass for all I care. I hurt just watching the stunning couple. I turn around and walk to the car. Kate’s heels click on the pavement to catch up to me. I climb in the back seat and watch as the beautiful woman walks into the shop. Evan’s hand on her lower back, before she disappears through the entrance. Brad closes the store’s door behind her and talks to Evan.
The champagne settles well into my bloodstream, that thin thread of control I had since entering that shop slips.
I keep hoping Evan will follow us to the car. But the closest he gets is with his eyes, watching and trying to see beyond the tinted windows. It’s his damn car, but he doesn’t make a move towards it. Brad’s head shakes from side to side, then he opens the boutique’s door. Evan walks through and disappears.
Wrong fucking move, Mr. Hawthorne.
Harper
Brad walks back to the car apprehensive and in a sour mood. Apparently we weren’t supposed to cross paths with Evan. He climbs in the front seat and starts the car. Kate’s clueless as she taps the screen on her phone. Brad asks if we’re still planning our night out. I ask if he could drop us off and he can call it a night.
“Harper, you know I can’t do that,” he resigns.
“You know what, I just saw your boss not give a damn either way. So if it’s all the same to you, just leave us alone for tonight.”
I didn’t mean to lash out at him and I instantly regret it.
“I’m sorry. We’re in such a weird situation and I don’t want you telling Evan everything that goes on with me. Not that he cares.”
There was that nasty bitch, Insecurity, rearing her ugly unwanted head. I let her out and I can’t take her back. Brad looks at me with pity.
“It would make my life easier if you let me do my job and besides, I’m one hell of a good time, so it’s you who would be missing out from my absence,” he winks at me.
“Okay. I’m sorry you have to do this. Evan’s intentions are misplaced and you don’t have to follow me around anymore. We’re still going to be friends no matter what happens,” I state, wanting the fun-loving Brad I’ve gotten used to, to show up.
But my words are a lie, because his presence has eased so many threatening fears.
“Evan’s not the only reason I’m looking out for you. It’s either me or Tom and his crew infiltrating your life and I think we both know you wouldn’t be here if it’s up to Tom.”
He rewards me with a smile as understanding settles in.
“So you work with Tom, as well?”
“We only know each other. The government trained me, but I’m private sector now.”
I attempt to press Brad for more information about how they know each other and why I’m just now finding out. Brad doesn’t give anything away. He’s usually an open book but when he starts guarding his words and changing the subject, I know I won’t get any more information out of him.
Hours later we find ourselves taking in the amazing music on Frenchmen Street. The loud atmosphere in the club is a nice distraction. Music clouds over any need for conversation.
I weave my way through the crowd to order another round of drinks. Brad’s watchful gaze follows me every step of the way. I lean over the long bar to get the bartender’s attention, but there’s not a chance. He’s slammed and my voice disappears as soon as it leaves my lips and it’s no use. I get pushed and jostled. A guy standing next to me grabs my arm to pull me from the fray. I look up at his face to thank him and apologize for being pushed into him.
“I’m so sorry,” I basically shout and want to run away, but far too many people are a moving roadblock.
It’s my natural reac
tion to tall, blond hair, and blue eyes, it’s completely unfair, but if there’s a handsome face to go along with it I tend to freak out a little. Tonight’s consumption of alcohol quiets the unnecessary reflex that accompanies me when I see a resemblance of the Sculptor. There’s depth in this strangers eyes and that’s worlds apart from the set I’m running from.
He leans in and says, “You can stumble into me anytime you like, beautiful.”
“Sorry, it’s crowded. I was trying to get the bartender’s attention,” I try to explain.
“I’m not sorry at all, you caught my attention. What are you having?” he asks.
“I’m buying a round for my friends.”
I want to deflect from him buying me a drink. He puts an arm around me to keep us from getting pushed more by the packed room.
“Okay, then what are you and your friends having?” he asks.
The bartender comes over at the stranger’s wave and I rattle off the list.
I see the kindness behind the stranger’s eyes and I try my hardest to shake off my earlier apprehensions.
“Grayson,” the tall helpful blond leans in closer.
His lips brush my ear as he introduces himself. I hear my name said, but it’s not from my lips. Grayson pulls back from me, our bodies pressed against each other.
“Harper,” Evan’s strong deep voice drips in disdain.
I pull my eyes to Evan and gasp when I see the contempt in his heated stare. It’s like he’s disappointed in me, as if I’ve done something wrong. Like I’ve betrayed him. He has no right to come barging up to me like I belong to him. I look between the two men and realize they’re glaring at each other. There’s history between them and I don’t even give a shit about it. My pulse hammers away and it’s caused by Evan’s abrupt presence.
Grayson acknowledges Evan with a simple nod. “Hawthorne.”
“Grayson,” Evan replies, his eyes find me again.
It feels as if the music has gone down in volume and the only people here are the three of us. The bartender places a tray full of drinks on the bar, and I turn my attention to it. I pick it up, throw cash down, and Grayson steps away from me. I push past both of them, leaving them behind, not caring what their pissing contest is about.