Jesus, this kid.
Rubbing my temples, I look past her hoping to find her mother, but Layla isn’t anywhere in sight and the kid continues to ramble on, revealing all her mama’s secrets.
“Tommy says we’re here because Mom can’t afford a house in the city,” she adds. “But I think it’s also because Mommy hates Daddy and wants to be far away from him.” Her lips straighten into a thin line as she glances down at the floor seeming to be in deep thought. “That sucks too,” she mutters with a frown.
Dropping my hands from my face, I shove one into my pocket and stare at her. Not sure what to say, not really understanding why the fuck I care, I press my finger under her chin and lift her eyes to mine.
“Divorce sucks, kid,” I tell her.
“You said sucks,” she says.
“Yeah, you did too,” I point out, watching as the frown fades from her lips. Lifting her chin, she studies me curiously. Having a pair of little eyes on me, eyes that are full of wonder is a sobering moment for a bastard like me. It makes me think about how I’m perceived in the eyes of a child.
My thoughts are quickly jarred when I hear Layla scream from deep inside the house. I hear her other two kids shout and before I realize what the fuck I’m doing, I’m following the little girl into the house. Running into the kitchen, the kid comes to a complete stop and I stand behind her, taking in the chaos.
Water spurts from under the sink like a waterfall and Layla awkwardly holds a pot in front of her as if she’s going to catch the fucking water. The older boy grabs another pot and tries to help his mother while the other girl covers her face with her hands.
“Make it stop,” the girl cries.
“I don’t know how,” Layla shouts, emptying the pot into the sink. The water continues to rain down around them, making it clear they’re fucked. Unsure where to look first, I take the son in as he goes sliding across the floor. Instinctively, I reach for him, but Layla quickly grabs a hold of his wrist and stops his fall.
Watching them flounder around helplessly, I stomp through the puddles soaking the kitchen and kneel underneath the sink. Finding the water valve, I twist it closed and immediately spot the busted pipe. Suddenly the commotion comes to a standstill as the water trickles off and silence fills the kitchen.
Slipping my head out from under the sink, four sets of eyes peer back at me like I’m a fucking unicorn. Wiping my hands along the front of my shirt, I focus on Layla as she seems to be the least judgmental of the four.
“The main pipe under the sink cracked. I shut the water off for now,” I explain as she continues to stare at me in disbelief. Unable to help myself, I take her in too. Dressed in a pair of pajamas with her hair piled high on top of her head, she’s quite the sight. The thin tank top of her pajamas is soaked, molding to every curve of her body, revealing a narrow waist and hips that a man holds onto. Lifting my gaze higher, my eyes zero in on her tits.
Those perfect fucking tits.
Her nipples are hard and fully visible through the wet shirt, leaving nothing to my imagination. It’s hard to believe the tall boy standing next to her is her son or that any of these children came from that body.
Forcing my attention away, I reach for the towel hanging on the back of one of her chairs and toss it in her direction.
“Might want to cover up,” I tell her, eyeing the boy standing behind her, wearing the same stumped expression as his mother.
Recovering, she catches the towel and crosses her arms against her chest, hiding her perfect tits from my view. My gaze meets hers and I decide the view up top is just as sweet as everything from the neck down. I thought she looked pretty last night, but seeing her without a stitch of make-up I can honestly say she’s fucking beautiful.
“What…how did you get in here?” she stammers, finally finding her voice. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to thank me for stopping the waterfall in her kitchen but she just looks at me expectantly.
“I let him in,” half-pint offers.
Instantly, her brother turns to her and lectures her, claiming the role as man of the house.
“You can’t be letting strange men in the house, Lexi,” he reprimands, wringing out his t-shirt.
Half-pint rolls her eyes to the heavens before looking back at me.
“What’s your name?” she questions innocently.
It’s a simple question, yet I stare at her as if she asked me if I knew the cure for cancer. My first instinct is to tell her my name is Pipe, but I feel like I’d be lying to the kid. I’m not the man who got his road name because he made pipe bombs his club sold back in the day. I don’t ride with the Satan’s Knights anymore.
I don’t know who the fuck I am.
“Lee,” I mutter. “The name is Lee, kid.”
She steps forward and offers me her little hand.
“I’m Lexi,” she reveals as I awkwardly shake her hand with my massive paw. She drops my hand and turns to her brother. “Now, Lee isn’t a stranger anymore, Tommy.”
“Okay, party is over kids,” Layla declares. “Jenna, take your sister upstairs and help her get dressed.”
“Why do I have to help her? She’s five.”
“Because I said so,” she replies exasperatedly. Cringing as the words leave her mouth, she turns to her eldest child. “You too, Tommy.”
“I’m not dressing Lexi.”
“Go shower, now,” she orders. “We need to get a move on.”
The two girls prance out of the kitchen but Tommy remains still, sizing me up much like he did last night. It’s clear the kid is protective of his mother, and since half-pint squealed all her mama’s business, I can respect him for stepping up. In fact, I almost feel bad for yelling at the little shit.
Almost.
Then I remember assuring him last night I wouldn’t hurt his mother.
Suddenly, I’m not staring at the kid who smoked a joint in my garage, but I’m looking into the eyes of a younger version of myself.
A boy who loves his mother.
A boy who is worried for her.
A boy who isn’t sure how to care for her.
There’s a reason for it and I can’t help but wonder what it might be.
Holding his gaze, I jut my chin and silently vow that everything is okay here.
“Tommy,” Layla repeats and the boy finally tears his eyes away from me. He nods to his mom and a moment later he leaves the kitchen.
“Thank you for turning the water off,” she says once we’re alone and I turn my attention back to her
I nod, letting my eyes roam over her, wishing she’d uncross her arms now that her kids are out of sight.
“But you didn’t come here to fix my plumbing and I’m sure after last night’s events you’re not in any condition for another sparring match, so I’m confused as to why you’re standing in my kitchen.”
“Your car is blocking my driveway.”
“You mean the car your friends smashed?”
“That’s the one,” I reply, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “The fucking troopers up here won’t think twice about giving you a citation for the busted bumper, but on top of that your radiator is leaking. Which means you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” I pause, angling my head slightly as I continue to take her in. “I’m guessing that’s the last thing you need right now.”
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as her eyes narrow in anger. Grinding her teeth, she drops her arms and draws in a deep breath as she balls her hands into fists.
“And how would you know what I need?” she bites back.
Oh, I know what she needs. Any man with a pair of working eyes can tell this woman is wound tight. She needs to release some of that tension inside her. She needs to get fucked until she can’t remember her name let alone her troubles, but I doubt she wants to hear that.
“Your daughter has loose lips,” I say instead. “Might want to tell her not to spill your business to strangers.”
“Thanks for y
our input but I think I’m going to pass on the parenting advice from a man who took two girls home that were probably old enough to be his daughters.”
“Suit yourself,” I retort with a shrug.
“I’ve got everything under control,” she adds, and for a moment I wonder who she’s trying to convince.
“Good to know,” I say as I push off the counter. “Give me your keys.”
“Are you crazy?”
Ignoring her, I spot the keys on the table and make a move for them. She reaches around me and I quickly side step her, caging her against the table.
“Easy, killer.”
“Layla,” she whispers before sighing. “My name is Layla not killer,” she adds, emphasizing the name by adding air quotes.
“Nice name,” I say as I start toward the door.
“You can’t just take my keys, Lee,” she calls after me.
Hearing my name causes me to pause for a beat before I continue heading for the front door. My hand closes around the door knob when I hear her curse and my lips quirk slightly.
Half-pint was right.
Her mother has a filthy mouth.
A wicked mouth.
Chapter Thirteen
Running after Lee, I forget my kitchen resembles a small pond or that I’m soaking wet myself. Hell, I don’t even have a chance to process his actual name before he’s folding his large frame into my car. Shuffling down the steps, I hurry toward him making sure I don’t wind up taking another flop in the mud.
Finally reaching the car, I splay both hands over the hood and lean forward.
“Get out of the car,” I demand.
About to switch gears, he turns his attention toward me and narrows his eyes. The thought of him possibly judging me sets me off into a frenzy.
“You’ve done enough damage,” I tell him, smacking the palm of my hand against the hood. “I wouldn’t be in this mess if you could just keep your dick in your pants, but no, you had to go and pick possibly the two dumbest people on the planet to sleep with and now I’m the one paying with a broken car.”
“I didn’t actually sleep with them,” he mutters.
My anger doesn’t seem to quell and the more he sits behind the wheel staring at me, the more my hands tremble. Lifting them from the hood of the car, I applaud him sarcastically.
“Congratulations, you’ve spared yourself the risk of getting gangrene. Me, on the other hand, has to still suffer the consequences of your poor choices,” I spit.
“Jesus Christ, woman, I’m trying to make it right,” he shouts angrily, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. Seeing the frustration radiate from his features, I drop my arms to my side and narrow my eyes in disbelief.
Since the moment I met this man he has been nothing but nasty to me. Even when I apologized to him he acted like a dick. Now he wants to be helpful and I’m supposed to believe he grew a conscience over night?
“Why?” I blurt. “Why all of a sudden do you care?’
Clearly annoyed, he rubs his hands vigorously across his face before putting the car in park and stepping out of it. With one arm braced on the door, he pins me with those incredible eyes of his and I temporarily forget what we’re doing.
“Would you rather I didn’t? That change could be arranged,” he hisses. “Your car is fucked, Layla, and fuck me if I know why, but I feel responsible. Now, the man upstairs didn’t give me a whole lot of blessings but he gave me hands, and I’m damn fucking good with them.”
Unsure how to respond to his confession, I remain silent. I quickly learn giving him the floor is a mistake because what he says next breaks the little resolve I have.
“For crying out loud, haven’t you ever had a man help you before?”
His words slam into me with force and the weight of every burden I’ve been carrying drags me down. Willing myself not to let my emotions get the best of me, I swallow down the lump lodged in my throat and shake my head.
“Not without wanting something in return,” I confess. It’s a truth I didn’t realize until I was already on my own. I can’t say for certain that my ex-husband was the exception. He dangled that fucking house of his in my face for years. It didn’t matter that I was the one who made it a home, in his eyes I should’ve been grateful he put a roof over my head. I never felt as though it was ours. It was his and I was the woman who lived there.
Suddenly, it’s not about the car but about everything that has ever gone wrong in my life. Every single hole I’ve had to dig myself out of.
“Let me fix your car,” Lee says, dragging me away from my head.
Staring at him blankly, I shake my head as I give into the tears.
“I have insurance…shit,” I cry, wiping at my eyes. “I mean, I think I have insurance,” I amend, unsure if I paid the bill. I suppose it’s a good sign I don’t remember getting a cancelation notice in the mail.
“Oh God,” I moan, lifting my hands to my face. “I’m sorry,” I sob. The tears fall freely and I can’t keep up. Realizing it’s a wasted effort, I drop my hands and unload all my grief. “I’m overwhelmed,” I admit. “You’re right, this is the last thing I need right now. I have three kids who basically hate me since I left their father, a son whose favorite pastime is getting into trouble and a shit job that doesn’t pay the bills. Let’s not forget a house that’s falling apart at the seams. I’ve never felt more out of control than I do now, and every time I think I’m getting ahead, something else happens that sets me back. And now I’m standing in front of a man who is basically a stranger and I’m crying. I’m fucking crying and I don’t cry.”
“Shit,” he hisses, stepping awkwardly toward me. Lifting a hand, he seems to debate on what to do with it until he pats my shoulder uncomfortably. “There, now,” he mutters. “Pull yourself together, killer.”
If I wasn’t falling apart I think this would be funny. I mean we make quite the pair. He’s fighting a hangover and I’m having a nervous breakdown. While I’m dressed in pajamas, he’s wearing the same clothes as the night before and we’re both drenched from the waterfall inside my house. I have diarrhea of the mouth and he has no idea what to do with me as we play tug of war with my car. Not to mention my kids are on the front porch watching the whole exchange. Yeah, we look like a bunch of clowns.
A laugh flies past my lips and I cover my mouth with my hands to stop the fit of giggles that insanely erupts.
“Oh good, we’ve moved onto laughing,” he says, dropping his hand from my shoulder. Taking a step back, he shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at me like I have three heads.
“Oh my God,” I say, chuckling. “You should see your face right now,” I comment, grabbing my stomach. His eyes narrow at me.
“You playing me, girl?”
“No,” I hiccup, shaking my head. “I swear.”
Having had enough of me, he blows out an exasperated sigh.
“So, do we have a deal?”
“Wait,” I say, sobering up. “There was a deal?”
“Yeah, the deal is I fix the fucking car.”
“And what do I do?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, stop. Let me do this. It’ll make me feel better and like your son, my favorite pastime these days seems to be getting myself in a shit ton of trouble. If I’m busy fixing your car then I’ll be too busy to make the next bad decision and it’ll keep the whores off the front lawn, both yours and mine.”
“I don’t have any whores.”
“Feeling better?” he questions, lifting an eyebrow.
My situation was hopeless, and no, I wasn’t feeling better about any of it but for some reason I wasn’t feeling weighted down by my life.
“I’m not sure,” I admit as I cock my head to the side and study the faint lines in the corner of his eyes. After a beat, I shake my head and break away from the hypnotic spell they seem to have me under. “I’ll pay you back. I’ll call the insurance company and put a claim in.”
“Whatever makes you sleep better, killer,�
�� he replies. “Or you can make me a pot of coffee and we’ll be even. Either way, get out of my way and let me get started.”
“There he is,” I start. “I was starting to mourn the asshole I’ve come to expect.”
“Have no fear, I’m an asshole first and foremost,” he says.
We both grow silent for a moment and I swear I see his lips quirk ever so slightly.
“Thank you,” I murmur softly.
“Get on, girl,” he says with a nod.
Hesitantly, I step around him and glance up at my house. Three sets of eyes stare back at me and I’m reminded of the busted pipe and the list of things I was supposed to do today. Things I’m not sure how they’ll get done now that I don’t have a car.
“Jesus Christ, what is it now?” I hear Lee say behind me.
Turning around, I watch as he lights a cigarette. Taking the first long pull, he leans against the side of the car and waits for me to deliver my next blow.
“I don’t have a car.”
“Is this a delayed reaction type thing?”
“It’s just, well, I mean we’re not in the city. I can’t hop on a bus. I’ve got a busted pipe I need to fix and I was supposed to go into town today. And then there is school. How am I supposed to get my kids to school every day?”
“Lay it on me, killer, what do you need to do,” he says, pushing off the car. He ashes his cigarette before taking another long pull and leveling me with those eyes of his. “Aside from the pipe thing because I doubt you can fix that thing on your own.”
“How would you know? I happen to be very handy,” I defend.
“I bet you are,” he says with a smirk.
I’m not blind and as brief as it is, I watch his eyes scan the length of me.
“How handy are we talking?” he adds.
“I have a pink tool belt,” I blurt, feeling the slightest blush creep across my cheeks. In that instant, I remind myself that he’s the same man from last night, the guy who spent the night with two women. The man who yelled at my son. The man I threatened with a pair of brass knuckles.
From the Ruins Page 11