by Anthology
“Do not move.” Without another word, he sprinted across the street. I followed with my eyes, but stayed crouched on the ground. I was gripped with bone-chilling fear when I realized why he was running. On the other side of the street was a giant of a man; one I would recognize anywhere, even though I had never seen his face. It was the man who broke into my apartment yesterday.
He saw Marcus coming and took off, but his hulking body was no match for Marcus’ speed. I watched in amazement as Marcus leaped through the air, plowing into the man and dropping him to the pavement below. There was a scuffle as each man got in his fair share of punches. Finally, Marcus kicked the man in the stomach and he dropped to his knees. Without hesitation, Marcus pulled the man’s hands behind his back, and whipped out a pair of handcuffs. When he was securely detained, Marcus dragged the man roughly to his feet and led him back to where I was hovered on the sidewalk, my mouth gaping in amazement at what I’d just seen.
“Is this the man who attacked you?” Marcus asked me.
I nodded my head, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Who hired you? I know you aren’t smart enough to pull this off on your own.” Marcus eyed my attacker. “You broke into her house yesterday, and I’m guessing you’re the one who just tried to blow us up. What did you do, puncture the gas line?”
“I’m not saying anything. You’ll never get it out of me. I want a lawyer.” The man sneered angrily at me and I shivered, realizing that he had tried twice to end my life. He continued, “You might want to watch your back. She’s really out to get you.”
About that time, two firetrucks, an ambulance, and four police cars arrived. Marcus led my attacker to the back of one of the cars and he was hauled away to the police station. The wheels in my head were turning. I had a pretty good idea who’d hired that goon to kill me. I only knew one woman who had both the money and the motive. I would need more proof, and I was determined to get it.
I watched in stunned silence as the firemen worked to put out the flames. I couldn’t believe that everything I had worked so hard for was gone. My business, my livelihood was destroyed in the all-consuming fire. I reminded myself that I was lucky to be alive, and no one else had been hurt. My food truck could be replaced, and once my father found out what happened, I had no doubt it would be. If I wanted to continue following my dream, I was going to have to suck it up and let him help me. It would take some time to accept that fact. Fortunately, time was something I had.
I gathered my wits about me and rose to my feet. I walked slowly to where Marcus stood talking with another police officer, his back turned to me. The other officer’s eyes practically bulged out of his head as I approached. He stared at me, mouth gaping open, while I tried to figure out what he was looking at. Glancing down, I realized with horror that my shirt and bra were ripped to shreds, and those shreds did little to cover what was underneath. That was just my luck. My clothing seemed to melt away when Marcus was around. He turned to see what the other officer was gawking at, and burst out laughing. I rolled my eyes at him, but my heart beat a little faster as he turned and smiled, pulling me into the safe haven of his arms.
“Ma’am, you are going to have to learn to keep your clothes on, or I’m going to have to arrest you for indecent exposure.” Marcus kissed me on top of my head and I felt his body shake with laughter.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Just be sure you know what you’re asking for. There might come a time when you’re going to want my clothes off.” I smirked at him.
“I have no doubt that you’re right.” Marcus kissed the tip of my nose. “You, my dear, are just an accident waiting to happen, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been told that a time or two. You know, you’ve managed to save my life twice in two days. Not too shabby,” I fluttered my eyelashes playfully at him.
“Well, it’s a life worth saving, I think.” He traced the tip of his finger on my cheek, sending chills down my spine.
“What now?” I wasn’t sure what I needed to do. Everything in my life was in disarray, and I had no idea what came next.
“Well, you should go home and rest. I don’t think you’ll be getting a lot of work done today,” Marcus looked sadly in the direction of what used to be The Dancing Crêpe.
“You’ve got that right. I can’t begin to imagine the insurance forms I’ll need to fill out. Are you coming back to my house with me?” I was hopeful that the answer was yes.
“Of course; I told you, I’m your security detail until we’re sure you’re safe. You’re stuck with me.” Marcus took off his sweater and wrapped it around me as we walked away.
“Stuck with you…I think I can live with that.” I clasped my hand in his. “You sure are a lucky man, getting paid to hang out with me. I bet it’s the best job you’ve ever had.”
“It is by far the best job I’ve ever had; a beautiful woman who can’t seem to keep her clothes on. I’m a lucky man indeed.” Marcus roared with laughter.
We walked hand in hand the rest of the way home. Perhaps I was wrong. I’m pretty sure I was the lucky one…
About the Author
Heidi Renee Mason is a passionate romance novelist, as well as the author of a poetry book. Heidi is a member of Romance Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and Willamette Writers. A native of the Midwest, Heidi now resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and three daughters.
Visit Heidi at:
www.heidireneemason.wordpress.com
On Twitter @heidireneemason
Or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Heidi-Renee-Mason/1588917641371359
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When in Portland – Jaycee Ford
Life never goes as planned. After an abrupt divorce, Quinn finds herself with more wealth than she ever imagined and feeling more alone than she’s ever felt. Burdened by the weight of wasted years with nothing to show for it, she takes a chance on fate and embarks on a spontaneous journey to find herself. After leaving her South Carolina home for beautiful Portland, Oregon, she finds more than she bargained for behind the bar of an Alberta Street pub.
One
The waves pummeled the beach one after another. The hypnotic rhythm of each crash grew more intense. The cold water’s edge rose higher, threatening to take my feet under. I wouldn’t have noticed either way. From a distance, the ocean looked calm and untouched. Up close, the water attacked an old dock, the wooden posts succumbing to the violence. I stared across the Atlantic while, without realizing I was doing it, my thumb fidgeted with my ring, a habit I picked up long ago. The ring had been loose for a few years, not loose enough to fly off on its own, but it twisted around my finger with ease. I always compared the constant flicking to a scab. No matter how hard I tried not to, I couldn’t help but to pick the scab, knowing it would just bleed again. I’d tried. I’d tried to do everything in my power to hold it together. There wasn’t anything I could say or do. The scab had been picked countless times and a deep scar had already formed. He was gone. I had signed the papers to make it so. It wasn’t my choice, but I couldn’t fight to keep him any longer. How much could one person be willing to overlook before it was just too much? I had lost who I was long ago, and now I was stuck with no identity. He had agreed to supplement my income for as long as I was single, but it was just another way for him to control me. He would go off with his new wife and be happy, and I would get money as a consolation prize. But money didn’t matter to me. I was happy when we were broke.
Mid-February wasn’t exactly spring break at Myrtle Beach. I came outside to the desolate sand for comfort. My chest remained hollow still. It had all happened so fast. I sat outside of the beach house we moved into a little more than a year ago, staring across the hopeless ocean. In retrospect, he had bought me this house as a way of appreciation. He wanted to make me comfortable. But what was this house without him? It wasn’t a prequel to the family life I thought was to come. It was only a house. Granted it was a beautifu
l house, but still just a house. He had a new life in Charleston now, with a new fiancé, and I had a really big, empty house.
I tore my eyes from the water and dug my fingers into the cold, damp sand. I had so many options. The house was mine. I had a car, too. And with the income from the cheating ex-husband, I didn’t need to work anymore, or at least not work for a living. I had no one to answer to. I didn’t need to ask permission for anything. I could do whatever I wanted. If only I could figure out what I wanted to do.
I spread my legs apart and drew a circle in the sand. Inside the circle, my finger pressed into the sand, forming the Atlantic coastline down to Florida, and then I drew the outline of the Gulf Coast. My cheek quirked up. It felt like a ghost smile; something so faint, I wasn’t sure if it even happened. My finger continued to carve what was supposed to be the Rio Grande separating one country from another. The trench in the sand continued into an outline of the Pacific coast, and then the border separating us from the Canadians in the north.
I stared down at my really sorry drawing of the United States. I could go anywhere. I hadn’t been on a trip anywhere without him since my Bachelorette weekend in New Orleans. That was seven years ago. I’d met him my first week at Clemson and we went on every Spring Break together at Myrtle Beach. I needed to get out of Myrtle Beach. I grabbed a rock and lifted it high above the rudimentary map. I closed my eyes, exhaling from this small rush of adrenaline. The only way to let go of the past was to let go of the rock. The future was in my hand. Wherever this landed was where I would go for a month. If I wanted to change locations again, I would do this same thing after a month. It was time to stop dwelling on the past and make my own future. I could do this. I could do this without him.
The rock thumped against the sand. I cracked my eye open to find the ocean in front of me. As much as I loved this sight, I knew I had to move on. I had to find myself again. This marked the first time in ten years that I had to make decisions based only on me. I’d gone from being a kid, to being a teenager, to being a wife. He treated me well. I’d been lucky enough to find a good man and keep him, up until he broke my heart. A broken heart was the hardest wound to mend. But it was time to move on.
I looked down. My eyes widened slightly and my cheek quirked again. I had no idea what exact city or town the rock landed on, but with my expertise in map drafting, I could name the state it landed on. My thumb fidgeted with the diamond ring and matching band again. I needed to stop picking the scab. I stood up and walked to the water’s edge while easing the loose white gold from my finger. I stared down at the simple band. No matter how happy I had felt in that moment when he’d asked me to be his, the ring only represented lies. I stretched my arm as far back as I could and tossed the glimmering reminder out into the ocean, confident it would never be seen again.
Two
Research and packing consumed the next two weeks. I spoke to a rental office and arranged for my four-bedroom, three-bath beach house to become a high dollar Myrtle Beach rental. All the furniture in the house was brand new, holding no sentimental value. I packed away any valuables I wanted to keep but didn’t want to lug around with me: a small bookshelf my grandfather built me, my grandmother’s chair from the 60s, a floor lamp, a desk from college, a few books I didn’t want to leave downstairs on the bookshelves for the renters, and a few boxes of scrapbooks. A padlock on the door into the enclosed attic separated my past from the strangers who would be staying on a week to week basis in my home. Maybe in time I could figure out what to do with the items in the attic, but for now I was content in leaving them behind. I decided to part with my wedding dress. It wasn’t like I had a daughter to pass it down to. Shockingly enough, it sold rather quickly on eBay. My car earned me some easy cash. If I budgeted correctly, I figured I could live off the car money alone for the next few months, making my consolation prize of a yearly salary a steal. I also quit my job. Though I’d gotten a degree in English, I worked as the manager of a clothing store. My degree had never been put to any good use.
The two weeks ending my former self flew by. Now, there was only one thing keeping me from my new life: the seat belt sign. I stared up at the ceiling of the airplane, looking at the light and waiting for the ding.
“Welcome to Portland,” screeched over the speaker.
Portland, Oregon. I had never been west of the Mississippi River, except during my Bachelorette party when we took a ferry across the river from New Orleans just to say we were west of the Mississippi River. That really didn’t count. This was pretty far west.
At the sound of the ding, I hopped out of my seat. I’d splurged for first class just so I could be one of the first people off the plane. I was full of excitement at the thought of embarking on this journey. If the hardest part of the experience was dragging two huge suitcases and my laptop bag in and out of airports, then this whole thing was going to be a breeze. I wheeled the bags out of the airport and into the crisp air of Portland: fresh and mountainous, a world apart from the beach I’d left behind. I sat on a bench, stared at the grey skies, and pulled on my hoodie. I’d read that umbrellas were the stigma of a tourist so I left my umbrella for the renters back in Myrtle Beach. I pulled out my phone. The time read 4:00pm. I swiped over to the Uber app and requested my first ride. Such a small thing to do, but considering I had never done anything for myself as an adult, this was a small victory. I’d flown across the continent and requested an Uber to pick me up all by myself. It was the little things that mattered.
A Toyota Prius pulled up in front of me. I stared down at the app, alerting me of my car’s arrival. I hopped up as a man stepped out of his car.
“Hi, are you Quinn?” he asked coming toward me. He wore a flannel shirt and the growth of a beard. I had a feeling this would be my first of many flannel-and-beard types.
“That’s me.”
He reached for one bag, which barely fit inside the hatchback, and then helped with the next, placing it inside the backseat.
“Where to?”
I pulled out my phone again and clicked on the Airbnb app. I gave him an address near Alberta Street. When looking for places to stay, it seemed to have so much to do on one street.
“Is this your first time here?” he asked, pulling away from the airport.
“It is,” I said with a little too much excitement. The man driving this car had no idea what it took for me to actually get into his car. This was a huge step for a twenty-eight-year-old recent divorcee.
“You’ll really enjoy Alberta Street. There’s a really rad pie place my wife likes.”
“Do y’all live around there?” I caught his eye looking at me in the rearview mirror.
“Oh, a southern girl. Where are you from?”
“South Carolina.” I had a feeling the accent would give me away, not that I cared.
“Long way from home.”
His words hung in the air. What was I doing? I could have just gone to stay with my parents. Maybe I should have, but what would that have taught me? This was a learning experience. I had to learn how to have a life.
“It’s not exactly close.” I smiled at his reflection in the mirror.
Soon after, he pulled in front of a two story craftsman. I grabbed the suitcase from the backseat as the driver retrieved the other from the back.
“Thank you for your help.” I offered money for the tip. He waved his hand.
“Just have fun.”
I smiled in thanks as I shoved the few bucks into the pocket of my hoodie and turned toward the house. I had reserved a room with its own bath, but the house was shared. From what I could gather, a girl around my age owned the house and rented out spaces to travelers. I wasn’t much of an extrovert, but I needed the experience of meeting new people. At least, I had my own bathroom. I didn’t need to experience a shared bathroom. I wasn’t that brave yet. Baby steps.
I left my bags on the sidewalk and climbed the concrete steps to an orange door. The knob had a punch keypad to use instead of a key. I
raised up my hand and knocked. A dog barked behind the door just as it clicked open. I remembered the picture of the person I was renting the place from. That girl had blonde hair. This girl had a full head of rainbow.
“You must be Quinn. I’m Zoe.”
Same girl, much different hair.
“Hi, I left my bags down there.” I pointed behind me.
“Right on,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “Is that all you’ll need for a month?”
I laughed. “I hope so.”
Her hair was a reflection of her personality. She had that way of putting people at ease, which was good because I was a ball of nerves. We dragged my bags up the few stairs and into the living room. A black Labrador greeted me as I entered.
“This is Hades.”
I patted his head and he obediently sat, definitely not being a hellish creature. I took in the room around me. The orange from the door extended inside, along the wall underneath a chair rail. A large mirror hung over a brick fireplace, and bookshelves took up almost all of the walls. A couple of chairs and a sofa were anchored in front of the fireplace. I couldn’t see a TV, which probably wasn’t needed.
“I stay in the basement,” Zoe said, starting the tour, “which is just down through this door.” We stepped into the kitchen and she continued, “I do like to cook and have a habit of cooking more than I should for one human, so you’re more than welcome to eat whenever I do cook. Treat this like your home. Be comfortable and pick up after yourself.”
“I can handle that.”
“You’ll be in the second master, which is upstairs. There are two other bedrooms and one bathroom. There are guys staying up there. Is that an issue?” I shook my head. “Good. One is gay if that helps.”
“I have no use for men these days.”
“Well, there’s a lesbian couple staying in the downstairs master. They’re sweet. They know a few people here if you need an introduction.”