by Sybil Bartel
“I said, let go.” The hand tightened.
Carly blanched. I squeezed her hand to reassure her, then reluctantly let go. Inhaling, I stood and faced my interruption.
I was glad I had a few inches on him because the fucker was big. Fight-club big. What the hell? Was this her boyfriend? “You got a problem?”
“Yeah, I got a problem, tattoo freak.”
“Is that the best you can do?” I cracked my knuckles and rolled my shoulders, suddenly in the mood for a fight. This guy would be a snap to take down. The muscle ones always were.
“Harlan, back off. Graham, take a walk.” Carly’s voice cracked with anger and something else I was too distracted to identify.
I glanced at her but she was furiously wiping down the bar. More than a few heads were watching us, and I asked myself if I wanted to start something in my neighborhood bar. I looked back at Fight Club. Yeah, I really did. Well dressed, clean, no scars, Fight Club got his muscles in a gym. Breitling watch, tailored shirt, he reeked of money, and more than anything I hated the fact he knew Carly. “This your boyfriend, Carly?”
Carly said “no” the same time Harlan said “yes.”
“Harlan, back off! You are not my boyfriend.”
It was all I needed to hear. “You heard the lady,” I said evenly.
“Yeah, she told you to take a walk.”
What a fucking tool. “And she told you to back off. Twice. Out of respect for her, you’re still standing but I can remedy that.”
The idiot took a swing.
Years of practice, I didn’t even have to think about it. Before his fist connected with my jaw, I moved ahead of its trajectory and grabbed his arm. Using his momentum, I swung him around, bent his arm behind his back and slammed his face against the bar. The wet-sounding slap of skin meeting wood, and the satisfying crack of cartilage fueled my adrenaline. I kicked the back of his knees and dropped him. A dozen chairs scraped against the concrete floor as people moved out of our way. Without loosening my grip, I bent to his ear.
“You want Carly here all night cleaning up your blood or you gonna walk out like a man?” I asked, my voice low and controlled.
His free hand went to his nose to staunch the bleeding. What a pussy.
Carly rushed over with a bar towel and bent down to him. “Jesus, Graham, what’d you hit him for?”
I let go but I didn’t say shit. If she seriously didn’t know the answer to that, it wasn’t worth my time trying to explain it. I contemplated leaving but Fight Club was going first.
I let Carly put the towel to his nose but the second his hand took over, I hoisted him up by his arm. “Time’s up, Romeo.”
“This isn’t over, freak.” He threw the bloody towel down and stormed out.
Like I said, pussy.
“Sorry, he’s a jerk,” Carly mumbled, bending to pick up the towel.
I glanced at her legs in her short skirt then made eye contact. “So you think I’m hot?”
Her hands went to her hips, blotchy color mottled her face and suddenly she looked pissed as hell. “I did. Now I know you’re no better than him.”
Shit, that stung a little more than I wanted to think about. “He started it.”
“And you finished it. Good for you.” She jabbed a finger at my chest.
Adrenaline still pumping, my reflexes primed, I grabbed her finger and took a step closer. For the first time, I noticed how she smelled—warm, citrus, flowers. It was intoxicating as hell. Desire mixed with the adrenaline and my voice dropped. “How come you never said anything?”
“About what?” She snapped the words at me but her hand trembled.
I closed my fingers around hers and rubbed my thumb across her palm. “What you think you know about me.”
She didn’t answer right away but when she did, she threw me. “How come you never smile?”
I dropped her hand. “You want me to smile?”
“I want you to want to smile.”
The words were like a sucker punch to the gut. The air left my lungs, my stomach clenched and I fought the urge to step back. From years of keeping my emotions in check, my expression remained cold but I had to concentrate on inhaling and exhaling. Three breaths later, I told myself she was no one. She didn’t know me and she never would.
“Get me a beer, I’ll wait till you close then walk you to your car.” My voice rough, I sounded like a prick but I didn’t care. I took the bloody towel from her, pitched it in the trash and sat back down. I pretended not to notice when she stood there a moment too long.
Chapter Three
Ride
Carly didn’t look at me the rest of the night. I pulled my phone out and pretended to be busy but I was watching her. Grimy floors, century-old brick walls, worn wooden bar top, she was the only bright thing in this dump. I wanted to ignore what she’d said—hell, I wanted to be pissed but all I could think about was the look in her eyes when she’d said it. Innocent, concerned—I didn’t know what it was but it was making me uncomfortable as hell. I was an idiot for not walking away.
The bar cleared out and Carly came over.
“You don’t have to wait for me.” She stared at her finger as she traced a scratch on the bar.
“I know.” It bothered me that she wouldn’t make eye contact.
“Harlan’s long gone.” She shifted her feet.
“I know.”
She finally looked up. “Then why are you waiting?”
“Because I said I would.” And because now I wanted to.
“You can’t walk me to my car.” She sounded almost embarrassed.
All right, I’ll bite. “Why not?”
“I don’t have one.” Her hands went defiantly to her hips.
“Then I’ll drive you home.” Easy enough, in fact it had a certain appeal. I’d probably hate myself for this later.
Carly glanced everywhere but at me. Her hands twisted and she took a deep breath. I knew she was deciding what to do. I wasn’t going to sway her one way or another, yet.
She puffed out a slow breath. “I’ve been getting home by myself every night for two years. I think I can manage.”
And there it was. The reason I didn’t fuck with women except for sex. Carly hadn’t said yes and she hadn’t said no. She made the decision my problem. I knew how the game was played. No matter how I responded, I was screwed. Instinct told me I wasn’t getting sex from this girl so the question was, did I really want to deal with this?
Fuck it. “Tonight you don’t have to. Let’s go.” I stood and put my jacket on.
“You’ve been drinking,” she said quickly.
I was irritated until I recognized the fear on her face. I leaned across the bar and put a knuckle under her chin. “One beer and one drink I didn’t finish.” Jesus, her skin was soft. My thumb glanced across her throat. “I’ve been here two hours. I’d never risk your life or mine and I’m not stupid enough to get a DUI. Any other problems?”
“A bunch,” she said on a sigh, looking resigned.
A corner of my mouth tipped up at her honesty. “C’mon, I have to work in the morning, let’s go.” I forced myself to drop my hand.
She nodded. “I’ll lock up.”
I waited while she hit the lights, closed out the cash register and disappeared in back. She returned a few minutes later in her coat with a messenger bag slung across her body. She looked cute, kinda college, kinda girly. I wondered what she did outside this job. “Ready?”
“Yep.” She half smiled.
I put my hand on the small of her back and led us out the door. “I parked a block away.”
She glanced around the empty lot behind the bar. “Was the lot full?”
“No, I just hate leaving my car here.” I always parked in a strip mall down the street. It was empty at night and I had a thing about my car.
“What do you drive, a monster truck?” She nudged me jokingly.
“Yeah, something like that.” I threw an arm over her shoulders and prete
nded I wasn’t glad she didn’t move away.
When we rounded the corner and Carly saw my car, she let out a little sound of excitement. “Holy cow! Is that a seventy-one?”
I stopped dead in my tracks and looked down at her. There was one distinction about a seventy-one Barracuda that made it different from every other year. If she actually knew it, I was a fucking goner. “Yeah.” I held my breath.
“I knew it! Double head lights,” she sang out. “This car is beautiful. Did you restore it?” She ran her fingers along the hood and looked in the window.
Oh. Shit. “Yeah.” My heart went to my throat and it was suddenly impossible to swallow.
“Nice, Allen! Can I drive?”
Hearing my last name was a reality slap in the face. “No.” Hell no. “And don’t call me Allen.” I unlocked her door, purposely not waiting for her to get in.
“Okay, Mister Allen.” She waited till I was in my seat, then slammed her door shut.
I gripped the steering wheel, bit back a curse and turned the key. “Where to?”
“Oh my God.” She did a little dance in her seat when the ignition caught.
I closed my eyes and tried to count to ten. I made it to three. “Where. To.” I repeated.
“Everywhere?” She smiled like a kid in a candy store.
I panicked. And because I was a dick, I sneered at her. “It’s just a car.”
Her smile didn’t falter. “Okay, fine, brooding Graham is back, but it’s still an awesome car. You did a great job restoring it.”
I didn’t want to know how she knew so much about cars. “Where do you live?” My voice sounded computer generated.
“Magnolia, but take Broadway past and circle around, it’s one way,” she said cheerfully.
Walking distance to the bar. She walked home every night after her shift? Alone? My anger went into a tailspin. I inhaled. I exhaled. It didn’t work. I swung the car around and we didn’t speak until I was on Magnolia. By the time she directed me to a decent-looking building, I’d managed to almost calm down enough to speak.
“Want to come up?” She smiled innocently.
For the second time tonight, she’d thrown me. I shoved down the thought of her walking home alone late at night and tried to gauge what she was up to. “Why?” If she was any other chick, I wouldn’t have questioned it. We’d already be inside and she’d be half naked.
“Why?” She looked at me like I’d grown two heads.
Christ. Here we go. “Yeah, you want to chat? Listen to music? Bullshit each other with lies of exaggeration? Or maybe you want to drink a bottle of wine and fuck like rabbits. When the awkward morning comes we can tell each other it was an alcohol-induced mistake.” I wasn’t going to sugarcoat shit. It was one way or the other. My vote was for the latter but she wasn’t the type and that was why I was asking in the first place.
“Gee, Graham. Don’t mince words. Say what you mean.” She smiled.
Yeah, definitely not the type. “Just keeping it real, sweetheart.” Without thinking about it, I reached to tuck a loose strand of her white-blond hair behind her ear and she flinched, big time. “Hey.” Frowning, I pulled back. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her eyes went vacant, she went perfectly still, and just like that, the girl from the bar was gone. She stared right through me.
What the hell? Instinctually, I reached for her. “Carly.” My hand cupped her neck and I brushed my thumb across her cheek, but she didn’t move. “You hear me?”
She blinked and her eyes focused.
Relief washed through me and I stroked her soft cheek again. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she whispered back.
“You okay?”
Fragile like a bird, eyes blue like the sky, she was so innocent and pure, I wanted to kiss her, but I didn’t move.
She leaned back, cleared her throat and smiled, megawatt. “Keeping it real?” she asked, as if nothing had happened. “Hope that works out for you.” She jumped out of the car and leaned in the open door. “Thanks for the ride, cowboy.”
Stupidly, I didn’t question what’d just happened. Instead, I focused on her last word. I had more tattoos than I could count, shaved my head, and I’d never owned anything remotely resembling a Stetson. I’d been called a lot over the years, but never that. “Cowboy, huh?”
“Yep,” she said with a hint of mischief.
Christ, she was pretty. “You’re insulting me after I gave you a ride?”
“I could’ve walked.”
I bit back my amusement and forced menace into my tone. “Go inside, Carly.”
“Yes, sir.” She slammed my car door, turned tail and went into her apartment.
I smiled.
Chapter Four
Skeletons
The next day I was wrapping up at work, putting tools away when my dad called. I quickly wiped my hands and answered the phone.
“Hey.” I walked into my office and sat. My dad never called.
“How’s work?” His gravelly voice boomed through the line.
“Steady.” The shop I owned kept me busier than the band. I specialized in restoring muscle cars but I took in repair work when I had the time.
“The band?”
“Booked.” We had gigs lined up months in advance thanks to Myles. Not only did he play guitar and do lead vocals for the band but he ate, breathed and shit music.
“Myles?”
“He’s good.”
“Women?” My dad continued to go through his checklist.
“Around.” There wasn’t much my dad didn’t know about me.
He sighed. “They always are.”
Something wasn’t right. “What’s up?”
I was met with silence until the sound of ice in a glass rattled in the background. “You haven’t come home in awhile.”
“Ocala is my home.” I’d moved from Miami when I was nineteen.
A rush of ice cubes clattered together and a solid clunk sounded as my dad put his glass down. He didn’t say anything.
“Why are you drinking?” He rarely drank, let alone at five in the afternoon. Like me, he owned his own shop and he worked most nights till at least six.
“I was thirsty. Why do you drink?”
Surly son of a bitch, no wonder I was such a prick. “You called me,” I reminded him.
“You coming home anytime soon?”
“No.” I went to visit my dad most holidays or he came here. It was just the two of us, so we alternated. Up until today, he’d never asked me about coming down independent of a holiday.
My dad cleared his throat. “She came to the shop today.”
The blood in my veins turned to ice. “Who came to the shop?” But there was only one she between us. It had to be her.
“Your mother.”
My nostrils flared and I sucked in a breath. “What did she want?” I managed through clenched jaw.
“Your address.” He didn’t hesitate.
My address. My fucking address? I clenched my fists to save myself from breaking a hand then viciously kicked at my desk. The metal cabinet drawer caved in from my steel-toed Doc Martens but all I could think was I hadn’t laid eyes on her in twelve years and she was showing up now? What the fuck?
“Hey!”
I looked down at the phone in hand, surprised I hadn’t hurled it across the room. I lifted it back to my ear. “What?” I barked.
“You done?”
Not even close. I took a deep breath and let it out slow. “You tell her?” I kept my voice controlled.
“I made my choice twelve years ago.” He reminded me, angry.
Fuck him. He’d made his choice too late. My mother had beaten the shit out of me for twelve years and he’d done nothing. As a kid, I’d told myself he didn’t know it was happening, but he knew. He fucking knew. And now he was going to throw his decision to kick her to the curb on my shoulders and blame me? Oh fuck no. “You think that makes you a saint? Watching your kid get beaten by a sick fuc
k like her? You did nothing.” We’d never talked about this.
“I didn’t do nothing!” He raised his voice.
I forced a lethal calm into my words. “You’re right, you let it happen.”
“Is that what you think?”
I struggled to keep my tone even. “You left me alone with her, every day, while you hid at your shop.”
Silence.
“You did nothing. I was the one who made it stop.” A twelve-year-old kid pushed to the edge and I’d fucking hit her, as hard as I could.
“You don’t know what she came from.” Anger snapped each one of his words.
“And that’s supposed to make me care?”
“You don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand?” She was a sick fuck and he’d turned a blind eye.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
He was sorry? That was supposed to undo the twelve years of beatings I’d thought I deserved? Twelve years I never said shit because he said I shouldn’t make her mad? “Sorry doesn’t fix shit.” It never did. That was why I didn’t apologize. Ever. Not for anything.
“I failed you, son. All I can say is I’m sorry.”
Go fuck yourself. “Apologies mean nothing.”
Then he dumped his guilt as if he had a right to give it away. “I should’ve protected you.”
I hung up.
Chapter Five
Drama
I forced myself to drive past the bar where Carly worked and go home. For reasons I didn’t want to think about, all I wanted was to see her. I wouldn’t even care if she smiled. I wanted to walk into that bar, sink my hands into her hair, hear my name cross her lips and lose myself in her touch. But that was a fucking fantasy. No one was ever going to touch me again. Not where it mattered.
I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter and reached for a bottle of Jameson’s. Turning the stereo on, loud, I took a swig and fell on the couch in my grease-stained clothes. I took another swig. And another.
Half the bottle was gone before my heart rate slowed and the strain in my muscles eased. I was still pissed, but it’d gone all loose around the edges. I’d even calmed down enough to wonder why my piece-of-shit mother was looking for me. It had to be money. She spent twelve years saying my dad didn’t make enough. Truth was, she drank away all the money. When she wasn’t drinking, she was hitting...or kicking...or using something she could swing. Fucking whore, she wouldn’t get one fucking cent from me.