In Time to Love

by Gloria Martin

  “I didn’t have time to move it anywhere else,” he said weakly.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, now placing the compress on his bicep. “I’ll go take care of it.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Don’t mention it,” I answered, finishing the last tape on the compress. Suddenly, I felt the hand on his wounded arm come up and weakly cover mine. I looked up to find that his gray eyes were staring at me intently.

  “I mean it, Kayla,” he said urgently. “Thank you. For everything.”

  My heart started to beat a million miles an hour in my chest and I felt like I was fourteen again, spotting Heath for the first time.

  Suddenly, my mind was back to the vague fantasies about him that I had to push aside.

  Fantasies that involved the broad hand that was holding mine as well as the rest of his body. His entire body covering me, his hands groping and his lips kissing and sucking and…

  I pulled my hand out from under his and, with a forced half smile said, “You should be okay for tonight. Just sleep there and I’ll go take care of your bike.”

  Without waiting for him to say anything more, I headed out of the living room and to the door in the kitchen that lead to the dark garage. Once there, I leaned up against the wall and took two deep breaths.

  I didn’t know if I would be able to control these stupid fantasies while Heath and I were sleeping under the same roof.

  I told myself it was only for one night. Surely I could contain my errant mind for the next eight hours.

  But, as I remembered placing my hand on Heath’s firm bicep, his warm hand covering mine, I began to doubt that when morning came, I would have any control left at all.

  *****

  “Look, Mom,” I said on the phone. “It’s different this time. He’s hurt, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  I’d called my Mom as soon as I woke up that morning, just after getting dressed in my scrubs for my morning shift.

  As I suspected, rather sexual dreams of Heath had filled my sleeping hours and I was anxious to get him out of the house before my previously repressed desires got out of hand.

  “Kayla,” Mom said, her voice dripping with weary exasperation, “if he’s as injured as you say he is, why doesn’t he just go to the hospital?”

  “He won’t tell me,” I answered. “But I know that he’s scared, mom. I’ve never seen him this scared before. I think he’s really in trouble.”

  “What is she saying about Heath?” I heard my stepdad Marvin’s voice in the background of the call.

  “Don’t worry, Marvin,” Mom called back to him, “if he’s really in trouble he can get himself help.”

  “Mom,” I answered, “I can’t keep him here. I’ve got my big exam in two days. I’m running day shifts at the hospital all this week—”

  “He’s a big boy, Kayla,” Mom said. “He can take care of himself.”

  In the background of the call, I heard Marvin mutter something that sounded a lot like ‘couldn’t we..?’

  “No, Marvin,” I heard Mom clearly though she had moved her voice away from the speaker. “He needs to learn how to clean up his own mess.”

  “So, that’s a definite ‘no’ then?” I asked Mom, my stomach plummeting to the floor.

  “Honey, tell him to go to the hospital,” Mom said. “Better yet, tell him to go to the police. If he’s in trouble they can protect him.”

  “I’ll try talking to him,” I answered. Though, I knew it would be difficult to tell Heath to go to the police without knowing exactly what had happened. I knew from experience that there were things the police couldn’t help with.

  “Ok,” Mom said. “Call us back to tell us what you’ve decided. And make sure to keep yourself safe first and foremost.”

  My stomach plummeted even further when I heard the concern in her voice. “I will, Mom,” I answered.

  I’d been so focused first on telling Heath off and then on patching him up last night that I hadn’t given much thought to what he really might have gotten himself into.

  I realized now that I’d given virtually no thought to how Heath’s actions might affect me. That, by answering the door, by letting him stay even for one night, I might have gotten myself tied up in whatever was happening to him.

  “What’d they say?” a voice from the couch asked.

  I turned to find Heath, eyes fully open and staring at me. There was more color in his cheeks then there had been last night. His hair was disheveled, but his lips were turned up in a familiar smirk that, though extremely cocky was also undeniably sexy.

  I turned away from him and began to gather my medical bag.

  “Mom says you should go to the police,” I answered.

  “How does she know I’ve done anything to warrant the police getting involved?” he asked.

  “Experience,” I said simply.

  “I guess I deserve that,” Heath said, “but, the police can’t help me out of this one.”

  “Why is that?” I asked, turning to him. I placed my medical bag by the wall next to the kitchen and moved to the coffee table. There, I sat down next to Heath.

  “It’s a long story,” Heath said again not meeting my eyes.

  “Look,” I said firmly, “you said it yourself, I’m the only help you’ve got. So, if you want me to help you, you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Ok,” he said with a small nod, “if you want to know...here it is. Basically, I’ve been running in this biker club. We’re called the Matadors. Anyway, we’ve got this rivalry with the Bulls on the south side of town.”

  I knew both names from the news. These gangs were notorious for drug running and shooting each other up.

  “So, you got into some turf war?” I asked, wondering how the police had not already been involved.

  “Not exactly,” Heath said, “What happened was, me and two other Mats were supposed to meet up with representatives from the Bulls. We’d agreed on a sort of truce. And it involved this...deal.”

  The way he said deal made me think that the two clubs were not trading marbles or opening up a restaurant together.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “the deal went south and the two guys sent by the Bulls shot the two guys with me. I ran for it. They followed me for a while, shooting at me. That’s what happened to the arm. Then, I slipped into this warehouse I knew of around that area, and they kind of gave up.”

  “And then you came here?” I asked. He nodded.

  “And they’re...they’re still looking for you?” I asked trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

  “I wasn’t supposed to survive,” he said. “The police weren’t supposed to know that anything went down until weeks later.”

  “But, you did survive!” I said. “So, you’ve got to tell them! You’ve got to go to the cops and say—”

  “No!” Heath said fiercely sitting up on the couch, “it doesn’t matter if I go to the police. They’ll find me anyway. Besides, I’m not going to snitch on my club.”

  “Really?” I replied, now frustrated. “You’re going to get both yourself and possibly me killed because you don’t want your friends to be mad at you?”

  “You don’t get it,” Heath said, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t.”

  “And what, exactly don’t I get?” I asked crossing my arms and staring at him. All the silly little fantasies that had filled my head last night flew out of my mind to be replaced by intense frustration.

  “You don’t just snitch on the Matadors,” he said. “When I joined I took an oath.”

  “So, some oath matters more than your life?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, “as a matter of fact, it does.”

  I stared at him one more moment and pursed my lips before making a firm decision.

  “Well then,” I said standing up and gathering my medical bag, “if this oath is so important your buddies should be able to help you out, shouldn’t they?”

  I moved
from the coffee table and towards the front door. I looked back at Heath. He was determinedly staring in the other direction, his arms crossed.

  “Yeah,” he said finally, “my shoulder feels better now. And you said I’d be able to move today, right?”

  “You should be,” I said, “just don’t do anything crazy and you should be fine.”

  “Ok, then,” he said, “I’ll call my buddy Keith and see if I can swing by the bar. Someone in the club should have a spot for me.”

  I nodded even though he still wasn’t looking at me and couldn’t see it. I stood there looking at him in silence for a moment. Utterly confused by his stubborn stance.

  “You’re sure they’ll help you, right?” I asked somewhat hesitant.

  “Yeah, they will,” he said firmly. “And even if they don’t, you don’t need to worry about it. You’ve done your part.”

  I nodded again without being seen and pursed my lips. Eventually, I turned to the front door and made to leave.

  “Kyla,” Heath called to me just as I placed my hand on the door knob.

  “What?” I said an edge to my voice as I turned back to him.

  “I meant what I said last night,” he told me. “Thanks...you know...for everything.”

  He gave me half a smile. His hair was smoother now and I could see the blood had stopped beneath his compress. I tried to smile back but, when I did, it came out as more of a grimace.

  “Don’t mention it,” I said, “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  And, with that, I rushed out the door and down the street. I fully expected that would be the last time in a long time I would see or hear from my stepbrother.

  *****

  It wasn’t. I got the call just as my shift ended.

  Night had fallen. It was a little past eight o’clock. My feet were tired and swollen, and my stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten much of anything for lunch and I knew I had very little at the house for dinner.

  I was just thinking that I would have to grab a greasy hamburger on my way home again when my cell phone vibrated in the pocket of my scrubs. I looked down and my heart jumped into my throat as I read Heath’s name.

  I picked up the call just before it went to voicemail.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Kayla, please, you’ve got to...I don’t know what…”

  I could tell it was Heath’s voice, but he was gasping and panting for air as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

  “Heath? What happened? Where are you?” I asked frantically. I suddenly had a horribly dark picture of him in some alley with a knife in his stomach.

  I shook my head to try and clear my thoughts, and listened carefully to what Heath said next.

  “I’m...I’m at the warehouse. They found me here and they…”

  “Heath, where is the warehouse?” I asked. “Can you give me an address?”

  He did, though I barely made out the numbers. I knew the side of area. It was certainly not a place you wanted to visit at night. All the same, I definitely could not leave Heath there.

  “All right,” I said, “hang tight. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

  As I drove to the location Heath had given me, I prayed desperately to whoever was listening that, when I arrived, I wouldn’t find a corpse bled out in front of the warehouse where Heath should have been.

  When I pulled up in front of a dark, tattered building, I did indeed find a body. But, luckily, it was breathing.

  Heath looked up at me with two black eyes a split lip and what looked like a few bruised ribs. His bright red bike was splayed out next to him lying on the side of the building.

  “What happened!?” I said running up to him.

  “Had another run in,” he breathed.

  “With the same guys?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “What about the guys at your club?” I asked. “Where were they?”

  He shook his head before clutching his side and grimacing in pain.

  “Okay,” I said, “Okay, we’re going to have to get you into my car. Can you walk?”

  He nodded and I helped him up gingerly, all but supporting his entire weight, as he limped his way to the front seat of my car.

  “My bike—” he began as I slipped him into the front seat.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll get it.”

  He nodded slowly and leaned his head back against the passenger seat as I closed the door and moved to his red motorcycle in the alleyway.

  I had inherited my parent’s old van, which I still used to go to work. I never desired anything more modern or feminine, and it got me where I wanted to go, so I never thought about changing it.

  Among some other junk, my stepdad had left an old door in the back from when he’d replaced one at home ages ago. He didn’t get rid of it, and I never bothered to take it out. I didn’t really know where I was supposed to put it. Now I was glad I hadn’t taken it out.

  I made a makeshift ramp with the door. I lifted Heath’s bike up onto its wheels. Now I am not a weak woman; most nurses aren’t. But that bike was heavy. I didn’t know how I would roll it up that door into the van.

  I heaved that bike. It was so heavy and I didn’t know how I could do it. I thought I might have to ride it up. But I thought about Heath, injured, and feeling of urgency came over me. I almost bust a vein but I somehow got that bike into the van, and lay it down there. I put the door back in, which was not exactly light, either.

  Once we and the bike were safely in the car, I drove away from the spot as quickly as I possibly could.

  All the way home, I kept looking at Heath out of the corner of my eye. I mentally assessed the wounds on his face and arms. He had stopped clutching at his ribs and was now only rubbing them tenderly.

  From what I could tell, there didn’t seem to be much lasting damage. A few scrapes that we could take care of quickly and one black eye.

  I pulled up in my driveway and opened the garage. As soon as I got out, I rolled his bike from the back seat and onto the garage pavement.

  “Careful with Ruby,” Heath said in a raspy, groggy voice. I smiled and rolled my eyes.

  “It is so weird that you named your motorcycle,” I said as I gently laid ‘Ruby’ against the side wall of the garage.

  “It’s not that weird. I mean a lot of guys name their—”

  “Please don’t finish that sentence,” I said grimacing at the image.

  “I was going to say cars but, whatever floats your boat, I guess,” I turned back to him and he was smiling. True, it was a little weak, but, all the same, it was clear that he’d gotten a little of his old swagger back.

  “Come on,” I said, “let’s get you inside.”

  I carried Heath through the garage door and towards the couch. I sat him down and examined his injuries more thoroughly as I got my medical kit.

  “So, what happened this time?” I asked as I took out an alcohol swab and began dabbing a cut just above his eye.

  “I thought the guys would help me but, it turns out, they blame me for the deal going south,” Heath said thickly. “I’m out.”

  “Did they do this to you?” I asked moving the swab to another scrape just above his cheek.

  He shook his head no.

  “Being out of the club just means I don’t have their protection anymore. The guys from last night found me,” he said.

  “You’re lucky to be alive then,” I told him honestly, “I thought you said they wanted to kill you.”

  “That was before they realized I’d taken what they wanted,” Heath told me. I stopped padding, sat back and looked at him.

  “What did you take?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Well, technically, the drugs never changed hands before they started shooting,” he said, “so, I kept the cocaine on me. I thought it would make for good leverage. Turns out I was right.”

  I stared at him dumbfounded for a moment.

  “So...let me get this straight,” I said. “You�
�re telling me you stole cocaine from a violent drug gang and you were hiding it in my house?”

  “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you,” Heath said in a louder voice than he had used since I found him beaten up by the warehouse, “I knew you’d freak out!”

  “You knew I’d freak out?!” I asked, now standing from my seat on the couch. “I’ve got news for you Heath, any normal person would freak out about this! I’m now an accessory to a crime!”

  “No, you’re not,” he said. “You didn’t know about it so you can’t be an accessory.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll sound believable in court,” I said sarcastically. My brain buzzing, I began to pace fervently up and down the living room floor. “And what if these guys come back for you, huh? What if they decide to kill you for good measure?”

  “They won’t do that for at least a day,” Heath said, “and by then I’ll be long gone.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “Because,” Heath said with an exasperated-sounding sigh, “I sent them on a wild goose chase.”

  “You...what?” I stopped pacing, “so...you...you didn’t give them the coke?”

  “Of course not,” he said, “I’m not an idiot. I knew they’d kill me as soon as they got their hands on it.”

  “So where is it?” I asked.

  He looked at me and pursed his lips together. Then he looked back down at the ground.

  “It might be best if you don’t know,” he said. He avoided my eyes by staring at everything in the room as though he was trying to memorize it. That was when I realized exactly what he’d done.

  “Oh, my god,” I said quietly, “you hid it in the house, didn’t you? It’s still here?!”

  “Not exactly,” he said, “but, it’s...it’s close by. That’s all you should know.”

  My mouth opened once, twice, three times trying to think of something to say to him. Anything that would express how disappointed and terrified I was.

  But I knew why he didn’t want me to know where the contraband was currently hidden. Not because he knew I would be angry with him, but so that I would be safe.

  If the cops asked me what I knew, I could say with certainty that I didn’t know where the drugs were and I didn’t know that he had them when he came to me for help. If these other men came looking for him, I could tell them the same thing. By not giving me all the details, he was trying to protect me.