Miss ~ Harloe Rae

by Rae, Harloe

  “Zeke, I’m talking to you!”

  “And I hear you. Just don’t care,” I spit and punch the wood again.

  He grips my shoulder and yanks me away from the destruction I’m creating. A pile of ruined tools and equipment rest at my feet, a gravesite of sorts. My focus settles on the heap of damage, and chaos gains strength inside of me.

  “Look at me,” Devon demands. I swing my glare his way. “I’ve let your surly attitude go for long enough so knock it off. Maybe you need some time off,” he suggests.

  “No way,” I clip. “I need this job to stay sane.”

  Devon levels his gaze at me. “You call this sane?” He gestures around us before pointing at me. “Look at your fucking hands. You’re not even wearing gloves. There’s blood everywhere, Zeke. How am I supposed to react to your careless behavior?”

  I shrug. “Look the other way.”

  He grunts and gives me a rough shake. “Snap the fuck outta this . . . whatever you wanna call it. You’re a good worker, but this shit won’t be tolerated.”

  “Or what?” I challenge while wiping my palms on a dirty towel. The abused skin burns, but I hardly feel it.

  Devon juts his chin out, meeting my furious stare. “I don’t wanna fire you, but I will if it comes to that. I can’t have unstable people on this crew causing liabilities. We talked about this when you first started. There’s been no trouble since so don’t go backwards, kid.”

  My breathing is erratic, and I pant uselessly. “This isn’t like that.”

  “No? Then tell me what’s eating your ass.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Stop lying, Zeke. Anyone in a twenty-mile radius can tell you’re not okay.”

  I exhale and try to cool down. “I’m having a bad week.”

  Devon hoots. “You can say that again. What happened? Is Lewis bothering you?”

  “No, he’s not a problem. I can handle him.”

  He studies me silently. “Is this about your girl?”

  I grind my teeth and growl, “Don’t mention her.”

  “Ah, I see. That explains a lot,” Devon says and crosses his arms.

  “You don’t know shit.”

  “Better watch it, Zeke. You’re skating on damn thin ice.”

  I rein it in, hoping he’ll leave me be. “I’m sorry for the mess. Dock my wages or whatever.”

  “That’s not my concern. I’m worried about your wellbeing. Take the afternoon off and screw your head on straight. Pretty sure a doctor should look at your hands too. Come back on Monday ready to actually work. Got it?”

  I open my mouth to argue but think better of it. Losing my job will drive me over the edge, and I’m not quite ready for that. My gut churns while I stew in his unyielding presence. Devon’s expression remains neutral as he waits me out. I offer a jerky nod and storm off without a word.

  Delilah’s beautiful face filters into my thoughts. A flicker of joy prods at me until her bruise comes into view. My head hangs in shame as I trudge along the sidewalk. I’m fucking everything up. Was an alternative ending ever possible?

  I’m a few feet from my pickup when he calls out.

  “Hey, boy.”

  The fire blazing across my skin instantly turns to ice. I’m being punished for hurting Delilah. I deserve the shit-cannon my life has become. Crap just keeps pouring down in a relentless stream. I don’t turn around, not ready to face the monster breathing down my neck. Guess he got tired of haunting me from afar.

  “What? No warm welcome?” He limps around my left side, and I almost stagger at the sight of him.

  What the fuck? I barely recognize this man.

  Malcom Kruegan was always a frightening darkness. An enforcer of immoral justice with an arsenal of weapons.

  This person in front of me is nothing more than mottled flesh and crippled limbs. He smells putrid, like spoiled waste, and I fight the urge to cover my nose.

  “How’d you know where I was?” I hate the slight tremble in my voice.

  “Your ugly truck sticks out like a sore thumb. Always hated that piece of garbage.”

  His gaunt complexion and hunched posture are the lasting effects of tough years. No surprise there. I want to avert my eyes from his evil grin, but that would be showing the weakness he feeds off.

  I clench my jaw, greeting his malice with my own. “It’s reliable, which is a lot more than I can say about certain people in my life.”

  His lip curls into a sneer. “We already done with the pleasantries?”

  “I prefer to dump the garbage before it stinks up the place. Speaking of, you look like shit.”

  “Yeah? Well, you look like a felon.” He gestures to my busted-up knuckles and disheveled appearance. “And that’s no way to address your dear, old dad,” he tacks on for fun.

  “Get fucking real. You’ve never been a real dad. Especially after Mom—”

  “Don’t you dare, son.”

  Him cutting me off gets my blood pumping hot again. “Pretty sure the years of you telling me what to do are long gone.”

  “That might be the case. You better still respect her memory by leaving it resting in peace.”

  I scoff. “Because you’ve respected her wishes by taking care of me?”

  He shuffles toward me and wags an unsteady finger in my face. “You’re such a little punk. If I wasn’t desperate, I’d keep pretending you were dead, too.”

  Being this close is like suffering his cruel abuse all over again. My healed bones cry out with the memory of breaking, and I wince. He’s relying on the fear I always carried with me. I doubt he’d bother raising a hand to me in this condition, though. It would be laughable to see him try. I shove the shadows away and flatten my expression into concrete.

  “So, I’m guessing there’s a reason for this delightful reunion,” I say.

  My father rolls his bloodshot eyes. “Way to go, genius. You solved the puzzle. I need money, a lot of it. Got myself into hot water and gotta bail out.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Not sure why I bother asking.

  “The less you know, the better. That way if the cops come sniffing around, you won’t be lying.”

  I let out a humorless chuckle. “That almost makes it seem like you care.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, son. I don’t want you leading them to me.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m broke.” I have plenty saved. He’s not touching a dime of it.

  He squints and tilts his head. “Wonder what would happen if I ask that pretty girlfriend you’ve got? She’d fork some over. Especially if I say you’re in trouble.”

  The threat of Delilah getting dragged anywhere near him is enough to make me foam at the mouth.

  “Don’t even think of her, you piece of shit.”

  Too late, I realize he’s found a new weakness. My only one. Using Delilah is the lowest blow and proves his thoughtlessness. I don’t want to imagine the scare tactics he’d use on her.

  “Might have to if you insist on being difficult. You’ve got a fancy gig here. Must be pulling in some decent coin,” he says and motions toward Roosters.

  I rely on the truth, hoping it saves me. “Well, that won’t get you far. We’re not dating anymore.”

  “Is that so? Wonder why,” he muses with a tap to his chin.

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “But it is. Nice thing about Garden Grove is everyone knows everything. I’ve only been around a day and caught up on the latest quick. Even gutter rats like me hear the whispers of what you did. Was it nice smacking her around? Make you feel like a big man? Suppose I taught you well.”

  I have half a mind to dig out my hammer and use it on his skull. But I’m better than him. It’s time to fucking prove it. “I’m nothing like you.”

  His rotting teeth are on full display when he smiles. “No? We share quite a few characteristics. Might even admit I’m a tad proud.”

  “You’re a sick fuck.”

  “Name calling won’t h
elp you or Delilah, Zeke.” He leans in, trying to intimidate me. “How’re your ribs holding up? The wounds always manage to heal, right? I wouldn’t worry too much about your precious honey. She’ll come crawling back.”

  Bile rises up my throat at his implication. I swallow the acid with an audible gulp. “You disgust me.”

  He shrugs off my insult. “Give me the money, or I’ll find it elsewhere.”

  My mind whirls with possibilities, but I can only think of Delilah. “You’re gonna stay away from her.” There’s no question in my statement.

  He holds his arms out. “You gonna make me?” I don’t move, and he laughs. “You’ve always been a wimpy pansy. Bet you can’t even look in the mirror. She probably hits harder than you.”

  His taunt drives a stake straight to my heart. I was scared of this man, went far out of my way to avoid any interaction. But what the fuck? Gasoline floods my veins and he’s striking a match. I roll my shoulders back and widen my stance. With startling clarity, I realize that all the fear I once felt for this man has dried up. I’m younger. I’m stronger than him, and I’m much bigger. Why the hell would I cower?

  “This is exactly what you’ve always done. Shame me and soil my mind with your bullshit. But we’re nothing alike. You’re a vindictive bully, and I’m ashamed of you.”

  He stares at me, seeming to decay more before my eyes. This decrepit state almost has me pitying him, but I douse that reaction.

  My backbone is a titanium rod as I stand tall and proud. I replay all the hits and whippings, nights of nursing injuries, of cursing my existence. This man deserves a beating, but I won’t stoop to that level. My father will get what’s coming to him soon enough.

  “You’re a haggard old man, begging for change like an addict. But instead of being a decent human being and asking for it, you threaten me. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. This is who you are.” I expel the poison from my lungs and take a fresh breath.

  “You about done with the tantrum? I don’t need to witness your fucking awakening. Just hand over the cash,” he spits.

  I take another calming inhale, picturing Delilah. “If I do this, we’ll never hear from you again?”

  His beady gaze gleams with victory, and he nods. He’s pummeling me once again, without laying a finger on my body. But this is a battle I don’t mind losing. I’ll easily cave when it comes to keeping Delilah protected. Paying him off is the easy solution.

  I walk to the passenger door and open the glovebox. Without hesitation, I write a check with far too many zeros. Everything inside of me rebels at the idea of handing over this much to him. What he doesn’t know is I’d offer double this amount to keep Delilah away from him.

  I smile at that, awareness smacks me in the back of the head. I’ve always been comparing myself to this man. Constantly terrified of turning into him. But his visit has taught me a valuable lesson. I’ll never be like him, and that’s because of Delilah.

  “What the fuck are you grinning about?”

  This was the wake-up call I needed. “You can take my money, terrorize me, but I come out the winner.”

  He rips the check from between my fingers. A smarmy grin curls his lips when he catches sight of the amount. “Whatever makes you feel better, son. I hold all the power, just like always.”

  “You have nothing. You’re alone with nobody loving you. I hope you’re happy taking from me.”

  “Love? What a joke. You’re such a prideful, sniveling shit. Got too much of your momma. Fucking soft and sensitive. You’ll never be worth anything,” he stabs.

  “Let’s be honest, your opinion means nothing. The bar has been set pretty damn low. Regardless, I don’t care what you think. Never have.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Pleasure doing business with you,” he says with a salute.

  “Afraid I can’t agree. I don’t plan to ever see you again.”

  “That can be arranged. Unless—”

  “Nothing. This town won’t be victim of your presence ever again. Otherwise I won’t be as forgiving next time.”

  He scowls but doesn’t say anything else. I give him a final look, wishing there was a single moment between us not full of hate. But I come up empty handed. With a spring in my step, I hop in the truck and take off without thinking twice.

  My father can eat my dust.

  A pure sense of ease lifts me up for what feels like the first time. I’m finally ready.

  CLEANSE

  Delilah

  I SETTLE DEEPER in the tub, letting the lavender salts and bubbles relax my muscles. This has been a hellish week for a laundry list of reasons. Zeke refusing to speak to me is by far the worst one. I snivel into my glass and take a greedy gulp. At least it’s Friday night so I can soak as long as my little heart desires.

  My toe jiggles the faucet, and a stream of hot water pours out. I’ll probably lie in here for hours . . . or until my skin is wrinkled like a raisin. The grip on my emotional control is a ticking bomb. Each second is a challenge held together by fierce determination and fraying hope. But any moment now, I’m going to collapse into an ugly-crying puddle and never get up.

  I could call Raven. She’s more than likely with Trey, though, and I don’t want to interrupt their romantic evening with a bawl-fest. Her reliable shoulder is probably still soggy from my last shed tears. Addison is working at Dagos, and I could drag my ass out to visit her. But the weekend crowd is rowdy and my fragile stability isn’t up for that. I’m so drained and just . . . tired.

  Looks like wallowing by myself is all the action for this evening.

  Normally I don’t mind living alone. I enjoy having my own space and being the master in command. There’s plenty of perks, right? I can walk around naked, blab to myself without being judged, and binge on the cheesiest Netflix shows. I’d give all those up in a snap, though. They won’t keep me warm at night. Maybe I should get a dog . . .

  “Great idea, D. That will solve everything. Or how about not,” I mutter.

  Only silence greets me, which doesn’t help my pathetic pity-party. I bang my head against the wall, wishing for a certain growly timbre to interject. I glance at the door and buzz my lips.

  “Don’t worry, Trip. We’ll be right as rain soon enough,” I say in a purposely deep voice.

  Ugh, I’m a loser.

  I smack my forehead and sit up. It’s time for an intervention . . . of the ice cream variety. I ease out of the claw-footed relaxation station and stand on wobbly legs. I stumble toward the vanity and shake off the dizzy spell. Maybe I overindulged a smidge—on wine and bubbles. It’s easy to lose track of time in porcelain monstrosities fit for two.

  A broken sob hurdles up my throat when I see Zeke’s toothbrush. It was a dream having him here each night, cover-hog or not. I wonder what he’s doing tonight.

  I shake off that train of thought, knowing it will lead to more suffering.

  Instead, I focus on my foggy appearance. The bruise on my cheek is barely a blemish, which should help my case tomorrow. With a confident nod, I slather on some moisturizer and wrangle up the strength to comb my hair. The persistent cramp in my chest has eased slightly and I’m calling that a win.

  I slip into my favorite pajamas, grab a carton of Rocky Road, and plop onto the couch. After clicking through numerous channels, my brain returns to a numb state. Losing the will to care, I land on Friends and stretch out across the cushions. My feet shuffle against the opposite armrest, and the empty space is magnetized. I miss Zeke letting me lounge on his lap as if there wasn’t another spot to sit.

  Why am I insisting on this torture?

  I should probably recruit backup to keep my willpower intact. I’m just a sad sack of lonely, liable to make bad decisions. I take another useless glance around my loft for any potential distractions. These are moments when nosey neighbors would be appreciated. My weary limbs beg for bed, but I’m too wired. I chew on a nail and think about my big plans. I shake out my hands and mentally list all the things to do. Tomorrow I commen
ce Operation Smother Zeke With Love. He’s going to hear me out one way or another.

  I reach for my phone and open the string of unanswered messages I’ve sent. My fingers hover over the keys. To ease my weeping heart, I’ll send him a preview of what to expect. I groan and fling an arm over my face.

  Dammit, I’m so weak.

  But one more sappy text won’t hurt.

  D: This week without you has taught me a lot. Most importantly? I can’t live without you. I actually refuse to. I’m yours in every sense. Don’t assume I’ll ever be moving on. I’ll always love you, Zee.

  I roll my eyes, but the weight on me feels lighter. Guess that counts for something. Restlessness swoops in, and I stand up. All the oxygen gets sucked from the room when I peer down at me cell. Three dots appear on the screen, indicating he’s typing. My legs tremble and demand movement. I begin pacing in circles while holding my breath. When the alert sounds, the tears begin to flow.

  Zee: <3

  I blink at the screen through blurry eyes. On any other occasion, receiving a single emoji in response wouldn’t be cause for celebration. But this is totally different. I’ve gotten nothing but radio silence from this man for six days. That tiny heart might as well be a five-page manifesto.

  Without a word, Zeke soothes my worries. He’s granted me the key to unwind the knots twisting me up. Confidence scrubs off all the doubt clinging to me. He’s still mine, isn’t he? But how am I supposed to wait twelve hours to prove it?

  Renewed faith infuses me, and I shimmy around the room. After a few spins, I’m wide awake and totally rejuvenated. I waffle between pouring another drink or doing something more productive . . . like read a smutty romance. My inner fangirl squeals with her choice. I’m about to go in search of my Kindle when a heavy knock calls out from the foyer. I furrow my brows and glance at the clock. Who the hell is dropping by—unannounced—at ten o’clock?

  I consider not answering, but that’s plain rude. Plus, it would drive me semi-bonkers to never know who’s there. A little peek into the peephole will ease my curiosity, if nothing else.

  I slink across the carpet with measured steps. I press my palms to the wood, hop up on tippy-toes, and almost fall backward after getting a good look. An embarrassingly loud gasp escapes me, and I slap a palm over my mouth.