Collide Series Box Set

by J. C. Hannigan

  "How was your first few days of school?" Danielle asked, making conversation as we rolled up cutlery for the morning shift when all of our customers were tended to. It was nearly eight o’clock, and the dinner rush was finally over. I enjoyed the quiet moments at night, watching the patrons enjoying their meals, doing side work, and chatting with Danielle to keep myself entertained.

  "Good." I shrugged.

  "I wish I could go back," Danielle said, sighing wistfully. I looked at her curiously. "Oh, I had to drop out…I'm doing correspondence now so I can stay home with my son."

  "Oh, right," I said, feeling awkward. I had almost forgotten Danielle had a kid. She certainly didn't look like it, but she had told me the first time we worked together. Plus, the other girls gossiped enough about her that I really should have remembered. "Well, if it's any consolation, I wish I could do correspondence."

  "Really?" Danielle laughed, delicately tossing her head back slightly. "Why is that?"

  "I hate people," I said with a shrug. "Mainly people our age. Not you," I added quickly, seeing her hurt expression. "But the majority of the other ones. They're all two-faced."

  "Yeah, I know what you mean." Danielle sighed. "I guess I don't miss that! I just miss the days of little to no responsibility…when my biggest concerns were what I should wear or if so-and-so liked me."

  Before I could reply, the door chimed as another customer walked in. I looked up and saw Mr. Bentley heading straight toward my section. He was carrying the laptop bag that I always saw beside his desk. I don't even think he noticed me at first, since I was behind the cashier counter talking to Danielle. He picked a corner booth and sat down. Danielle was watching him too and nudged me with a wide grin on her face.

  "Go get him," she whispered, winking. I rolled my eyes at her, grabbed a menu, and walking up to him with a flirtatious smile.

  "Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Bentley," I said, bending over slightly to give him the menu. "How did you know I worked here?"

  "I didn't," he said a little uneasily, straightening up and looking surprised to see me.

  "Is it just you, or will someone else be joining you? Your girlfriend perhaps?" I asked.

  "Just me," Mr. Bentley answered, smiling sheepishly. "No girlfriend." He ran a hand through his tousled hair and avoided making eye contact with me. I resisted the urge to lean forward and run my own hands through his hair.

  "Can I get you anything to start?" I asked instead, smiling. This was going to be fun.

  "Coffee would be good," he answered, keeping his eyes focused on the menu.

  "Coming right up, Mr. Bentley." I went to turn around. He gently grabbed my arm.

  "You can call me Iain," he said, still holding my arm and looking at me intently. He realized what he was doing and dropped his hand. "Here, anyway. I'm not at work…and Mr. Bentley makes me feel old." He looked surprised by his words and the personal contact.

  "Okay, Iain." I couldn't ignore the thrill just saying his name gave me. I brought him a cup of steaming coffee.

  "Thank you," he said, distractedly. He was reading a couple of the essays. I noticed mine was on top of the pile.

  "Are you reading mine?" I asked, curious.

  "Not yet…" he said. ”Right now I'm reading the menu." he smiled at me. I blushed a little, noticing the menu to the left of the papers.

  "Well then, have you decided what you want?" I asked, trying to regain composure. A guy hadn't made me blush in so long. It was almost weird.

  "Oh, no, actually," Iain said. His eyes left my face and focused back on the menu.

  "Might I suggest tonight's special? Spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread?" I said.

  "That sounds good," he said, nodding. I wrote his order down on his bill and took it to the kitchen window. I pinned it up and grabbed a couple plates for one of my other tables.

  Since rush hour was done, I was getting kind of bored. I actually loved the diner best when it was busy, especially at night. Side work only lasted so long, and the regular customers made me laugh, and they were easy to get along with. Especially the ones that tipped well.

  Tips paid for my indulgences, my clothes, my tattoos, and my marijuana, although I could now officially score that for dirt cheap, thanks to Jake. After my cell phone bill, I saved the rest of my paychecks. I was very good at saving my money. I was intent on getting the hell away from my mother and Larry and out on my own as soon as possible, so every penny counted and the busier the better. With only an hour until close, I knew I'd be hard pressed to find things to do to keep myself preoccupied and not stare at my high school English teacher.

  I checked up on Mr. Bentley when I noticed he was pretty much finished with his dinner. He had a few bites left but was focused on reading the papers in front of him.

  "Mr. Bentley, I mean Iain…can I offer you some dessert? Maybe cherry pie?" I asked, half a smile playing on my lips. His eyes shot up and he looked shocked for a moment. "The cherry pie is our best pie…" I trailed off awkwardly, surprised that I even felt awkward in the first place. Usually, I made sexual innuendos with ease, but I hadn't really intended for that to be sexual. "Or there's apple, or Boston cream pie…"

  "No, thank you, another coffee would be good," he replied. He loosened the collar of his shirt, his eyes lingering on my face for a moment before he went back to reading papers. I didn't bother trying to peek at what he was reading. I knew he'd get to mine eventually and I'd hear about it, likely at school. Besides, I didn't really want to remind him that I was a student of his, and I didn't want him to read it with me standing nearby.

  I topped off his coffee and asked if he was finished with his dinner. When he nodded, I cleared his table and left a bill. Then I breezed toward the counter, where a couple was waiting with their bill. I rung them out and started on tomorrow's morning prep, filling the cutlery tray and listening to Danielle chat. At five until nine, we started prepping for close. Mr. Bentley was still reading at his table.

  Danielle bit her lip and looked at the clock.

  "Seriously, Danielle, head out. I'll lock up," I offered. I knew she wanted to get home to her son. From what I'd gathered from the other girls at work and what she had told me, Danielle was a single mom who lived with her parents after her boyfriend ditched her and their unborn child.

  "Are you sure?" Danielle asked.

  "Yeah, whatever. I'll just wait until this guy goes, then I'll vacuum and close up shop." I had done it a couple times before. The manager liked to make sure that all the evening waitresses were trained on how to lock up. One of us had to stick around for sure, and one of the kitchen guys too. Ryan was still closing the kitchen, and I really didn't mind sending Danielle home. Especially not tonight, when Mr. Bentley was still sitting in the diner.

  "Thank you so much, Harlow." Danielle hugged me, and her boobs felt like rocks. I knew she was breastfeeding—that's why she had to take off for twenty minutes to pump every four hours.

  "Don't mention it. See you later!" I watched Danielle grab her purse and keys and dart out. When she was gone, it was just Mr. Bentley and I—and Ryan, but he was in the kitchen. Out of sight, out of mind.

  I took a deep breath, tossed back my hair, and approached him. His eyes darted up off the page as I walked up to his table.

  "Oh, sorry. I lost track of time," he said, taking in the fact that we were alone. I raised one eyebrow suspiciously. Did he really not see everyone leave and us prepping for close?

  "Do you mind if I ring you in now so I can shut my till down?" I asked.

  "Oh, sure." He fished his wallet out of his pants and pulled out a twenty. "Keep the change," he told me, shoving his papers into his laptop bag. He was suddenly in a great hurry.

  "Thanks! See you Monday, Iain," I said coyly. He flinched slightly and was out of the diner before I had even finished ringing his bill through. I bet he was regretting telling me to call him that. I was a little disappointed; part of me hoped that he was in the parking lot, waiting to offer me a ride home, but
that would have been weird.

  By that point, Ryan had sauntered out of the kitchen. Ryan was a really nice guy. He was a little on the chubby side, but he had a lot of muscle behind him too. I was pretty sure he was in college to be an electrician. He wasn't anything remarkable to look at, but he was very sweet and hilarious. He was madly in love with Danielle, but perpetually shy. He sat down and waited for me to count out the till and deposit the money in the office and grab my stuff. I typed in the security code while Ryan waited outside, then I made sure the door was locked.

  Ryan and I parted ways, both of us living in opposite directions from the diner.

  When I got home, Mom was in bed but Larry was sitting in the darkened living room. Instantly, the hairs on the back of my neck went up.

  "Hi, Harlow," Larry said cheerfully, taking off his reading glasses and putting them on the table beside his reclining chair. He was still dressed in his typical attire of a button up shirt and dress pants. "I've missed you the past few days. I haven't gotten a chance to ask you how your first day of school went."

  I relaxed, but only slightly. There was something about this situation that made me feel extremely uncomfortable.

  "Fine," I answered, taking my coat off and hanging it up in the closet. I kicked my shoes off and put them away too, feeling Larry's gaze on my back. My guard went up again.

  Larry and I hadn't really spent any time together alone. I was very careful to avoid it, and he had never waited up for me before. It made me uneasy that he had.

  I held my breath as I heard Larry get up and cross over to the front hall.

  "Your mother is very worried about you," he said softly, almost kindly. "She just wants you to be happy, you know?"

  "I know," I replied stiffly, backing away. My flight response had kicked on and I just wanted to get away. He was standing too close to me.

  "Just go easy on her," Larry told me. "I know you're mad at her for making you move up here, and that you think all of this is too sudden. But she's really trying to find her own slice of happiness too."

  He lifted his hand and gently squeezed my upper shoulder. I stood, frozen. Half a second later, he dropped his arm.

  I didn't know what else to do, so I nodded. "Well…I have school tomorrow. So, bye." I turned around and quickly walked down the hall to my bedroom.

  One of the first things I'd done the moment we moved up north was have a lock installed on my bedroom door. My mother hadn't questioned me on it; she knew exactly why I'd want it: for the comfort. I quickly locked my door and leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing.

  While Larry had done literally nothing aside from a harmless touch that I'm sure he meant as comforting, I couldn't help but fight off the panic attack of having him near me. Larry isn't Rodney, I told myself firmly, squeezing my eyes shut.

  Typically, I was okay around him—if my mom was around. But usually, it wasn't that bad; it wasn't panic attack inducing.

  The next day was Friday. After a night of restless sleep, I overslept and missed the bus. Begrudgingly, I allowed my mom to drive me.

  "I don't understand why I can't just drive the car," I grumbled. I had my G2 for almost a year. I knew how to drive.

  "I need the car during the day, Harlow. You know that," Mom said, keeping a cheerful smile on her face. I could tell it was forced, though.

  Mom tried to make small talk on the drive to school about all her recent and upcoming church volunteer projects, but I just didn't have it in me to listen. I was exhausted and my nerves were still frazzled from my panic attack the night before. I didn't tell her about it, although I probably should have. She had to know that being around Larry made me uncomfortable, since she had been the one to find out what Rodney was doing, but it wouldn't surprise me if she acted oblivious to my discomfort. Not that it really mattered. Larry was right, she did deserve happiness. I didn't want to inadvertently ruin that by crying wolf when nothing had happened aside from my own paranoia.

  When we pulled up to the school, Mom parked the car and looked at me. "Harlow…I need to ask. Are you okay?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "It hasn't been that long…since Lauren." Mom was looking at me with concern. She definitely knew how close Lauren and I had been.

  "I'm fine, Mom," I said, trying to keep my voice even and my expression neutral. The truth was, I wasn't fine. But it didn't help to tell her that. Telling her that I felt empty and blank would only make her want to send me to a grief counselor, a route that Larry had already tried to push.

  Mom nodded, accepting this answer, and attempted to kiss me goodbye on the forehead. I dodged it and got out of the car quickly. "Bye!" I said, slamming the door and cutting her off. She looked at me sadly for a moment before pulling away.

  The one upside to Mom driving me meant that I had arrived earlier at school than I would have had I taken the bus. I quickly headed over to the smoking section for a joint. I felt my muscles release the tension they'd been holding, and I started to relax. I rolled my shoulders and took in a deep breath.

  "Okay, now I know that's not a cigarette," a familiar, sexy smooth voice from behind me said, jolting me from my moment of peace. I smiled an actual smile, not a forced one. I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. His voice was already very familiar to me. It even accompanied my dreams…well, the better ones, anyway.

  "Mr. Bentley," I said, knowing better than to call him Iain on or near school grounds, especially after he had flinched the night before. I casually flicked the joint to the ground and squished it with the toe of my shoe, burying it in the dirt.

  "What are you doing, Harlow?" Mr. Bentley asked, frowning slightly. "You're a smart girl. You don't need to do drugs."

  I turned to face him. He was standing with a hot coffee in his hand, apparently walking over from the nearby Tim Hortons.

  "Marijuana is hardly a drug," I replied, trying not to show how nervous I was. I technically got caught red-handed smoking an illegal drug by a teacher. "There are a lot of health benefits to it. It helps with depression, anxiety, and a crap ton of other illnesses. Besides, I get the sense that you hit the bong every now and then yourself."

  He laughed, but before he could reply more students came over to the smoking session. "I'll see you…later," he said.

  I drew in my lip, watching him walk away. What did that even mean? Nothing, Harlow. It means he’ll see you in class, I thought, almost amused with myself.

  * * *

  The following Monday in English, I tried my hardest to not stare at Iain Bentley. It was difficult, but I managed to avoid his eyes almost the entire class, until the very end when he started handing back our essays.

  "Most of you need to work on your paragraph structure, grammar, and spelling. But I was pleasantly surprised by a few of you. A few of you have a great talent for writing, and I'm eager to see what else you present to me throughout the year." Mr. Bentley said this last bit as he handed back my essay. I glanced down at the paper. He'd given me a solid A, but also a Post-It note that said, "See me after class." Normally I'd be disappointed, but since Mr. Bentley was asking, I was curious and looking forward to it, even if I was in trouble. Which I likely was. Horror rose in the pit of my stomach as I worried if Mr. Bentley also wanted me to see a grief counselor. I was regretting being as open as I had been.

  "Next Monday, I'll be assigning another essay topic. But the majority of you need to read over how to structure a proper paragraph." The class laughed awkwardly. "If you don't, I'll know by the end of next week. This will count for five percent of your final mark," Mr. Bentley added, ignoring the groans from the majority of the class.

  The bell rang, and I kept my head down as I slowly packed up my things. Students spilled out of the classroom quickly; however, someone lingered behind me.

  "Harlow! What are you doing this Saturday night?" Riley asked, leaning forward from his desk so that his head was just behind my left shoulder.

  "That depends. It’s forever away. What's
going on?"

  "Party at my place. Tell Jake. He knows where it is. Starts at nine." Riley grinned.

  "Is this party going to be a 'my parents are home and in the basement' party, or is it going to be a party?" I asked skeptically.

  "Do you even need to ask?" Riley grinned, standing up. "Hope to see you there," he added before walking off.

  I watched him leave the classroom and glanced over to Mr. Bentley's desk. He was leaning back slightly, arms crossed and looking straight at me, his brows slightly furrowed.

  I grabbed my bag and stood up, walking over to him. He kept his eyes on me the whole time, and I felt my heart racing, only in a good way. Not like last night.

  "Well, you couldn't have hated it that much. You gave me an A," I drawled, giving him a half smile and raising one eyebrow. He smiled.

  "That's not why I asked to see you," he said, leaning forward slightly. I kept my expression even and tried to tell myself that he wasn't saying what I thought he was saying—what I wanted him to say.

  "Why did you ask to see me?"

  "I wanted to tell you that you write beautifully and articulately. You have a real talent and I'm looking forward to reading more of your work," Mr. Bentley said sincerely, his eyes meeting my gaze and holding it. There was meaning behind his words that I couldn't decipher, and he was wearing a secretive, sincere smile. Normally, I was very good at reading guys, but Iain Bentley was different. "Have you thought about a career in writing?"

  His words had humbled me. "Thank you…" I didn't know what to say for once. I hadn't expected him to enjoy my essay that much. I hadn't expected him to have me stay after class just so he could tell me I had talent. It was the first time that someone had actually said that to me and meant it. Then again, it was the first time I had been really open like that. "Yes, I've thought about becoming a writer...maybe someday."