Rush_Hector & Millie

by Marianne Knightly

  Three hours later, after a painful shower and a copious application of aloe vera, she’d cleaned up the mess and now sat at her table. She was hunched over, her hands fisted in her hair on either side of her head, her eyes blank but her mind racing.

  She couldn’t focus. Back when she’d worked for Piers, it had been like this. Her mind had never been able to focus or be creative right after she got home. It had always taken her time to wind down before she could refocus on what she needed to do.

  Today, however, three hours clearly wasn’t enough.

  Piers had called her. That meant he wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d been a fool to hope for it. A dumb, brainless idiot who kept hoping for better and was surprised when things just got worse.

  When the pounding came at her door, she jerked back in her chair. The sharp taste of fear coated her tongue.

  God, was he here?

  She fisted one hand against her stomach and stood, grabbing her phone to call the cops if it came to that.

  “I know you’re in there, bitch!”

  Fuck, shit, fuck!

  Her hand trembled, but she didn’t waste any time and dialed Officer Sullivan; he’d told her to save his number after Piers was arrested.

  Unfortunately, she dialed the wrong number first.

  “Hey, baby. I’m glad you called. Did you change your mind about coming?”

  Hector! She’d called Hector! And he sounded happy that she called.

  Oh, man.

  More pounding on the door.

  “What was that?”

  Eep! “Nothing. Uh, I need to go. Bye.”

  “Babe—”

  She hung up and then she felt terrible for hanging up. But then she remembered her front door wasn’t that great, because the building wasn’t all that great, and focused on calling Officer Sullivan.

  She was still on with him when she heard a loud thunk at the door.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Miss Asti?”

  Her voice dropped down to a whisper. She wasn’t sure why, there was no reason for it, but it did. “I think he’s trying to break in. Oh God!”

  “Remain calm, Miss Asti. Miss Asti?”

  More pounding.

  “Amelia? May I call you Amelia?”

  She almost said ‘that’s Hector’s name’, but stopped herself just in time. “Call me Millie.”

  “Millie, take a deep breath. Is there another room or a fire escape you can use?”

  Her eyes darted back and forth across her apartment. “I have a bathroom and a storage closet. I have a fire escape, but it’s not really usable.”

  “I see,” Officer Sullivan muttered and he seemed to be talking to someone else. Then, with a clear voice, he continued. “If you don’t think you can use the fire escape, then secure yourself in the bathroom. We’re on our way.”

  She hung up and ran for it, passing the door on the way as another thunk landed against it. “Shit!”

  She suddenly stopped dead, whirled around, and ran back to the dining table. Only after she got the small hammer she used for making metal jewelry did she bar herself in the bathroom. It wasn’t much, but the only weapon in the bathroom was a toilet plunger.

  Though, come to think of it, she wouldn’t mind plunging his stupid face.

  She heard the crash and crunch of the front door, and she whimpered.

  She sat down in the tub, which was still damp from her shower, but she couldn’t care. For some strange reason, she closed the shower curtain. As if she could hide herself behind the pale yellow cloth and plastic liner. As if he wouldn’t see her or figure out where she was when he came inside.

  A few minutes later, there was another crash, and this one she knew was the front door giving way.

  Terror.

  Sheer, agonizing terror filled her.

  Her eyes were glued to the bathroom door through the shower curtain, while her heart raced so fast, she thought it would jump out of her chest. Her hands were jittery, and her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, as if she were freezing.

  A sing-songy voice came from too close. “Where are you, little sister?”

  A thunk, then the sound of something shattering. Was he breaking her stuff, too?

  “We have to talk about what a shitty sister you are. Come on out.”

  She almost whimpered again but took a deep breath instead. She had to stay as calm as possible or her fucking brother would find her.

  Though, he’d probably find her anyway. It wasn’t like it was hard to find her in the only other room in the entire apartment.

  “Shit! Did you go out the window, little bitch?”

  A spark of hope jumped in her veins.

  She’d left the window open! There was a screen, but if he thought she’d gone down the fire escape, maybe he would leave.

  God, she hoped he would leave.

  This was her brother. Her goddamn brother. He was supposed to love her and protect her. Not be cruel in a million different ways and hate her with such fury.

  More voices from the other room. “Police! Put your hands up.”

  “Oh, thank Christ.” Her arms relaxed and fell to the tub floor, the hammer she’d been clutching landing with a clang.

  They were here. Someone would finally help her.

  A knock came at the door. “Police! Come out with your hands up!”

  Her heart thumped furiously again. What was happening?

  She stood, slipping slightly on the wet in the tub, and pulled back the shower curtain. “I live here! I called for you!”

  “Are you alone in there?”

  Her eyes darted around, suddenly frightened that someone was there and she’d missed seeing them. “I’m alone.”

  “Come out slowly.”

  She licked her lips and stepped carefully out of the tub. She walked softly to the door, as if making a noise would disturb someone sleeping nearby.

  “I—I’m coming out.”

  She clicked the lock, her heart still thumping, and slowly opened the door. She was always having to open doors slowly, it seemed.

  She peeked out first, her face so close to the door that her glasses were pushed tighter against her face. They would leave a mark, but that was the least of her worries right then.

  Seeing only a cop, but also not seeing Piers, she shoved the door open and stepped out. “Where did he go? He was just here.”

  The two cops in her apartment glanced at each other, then back to her.

  “We’ve got him. Don’t worry,” the nearest cop said.

  “But where?” Had he hidden in the closet? Or maybe—

  “Get your hands off me, you fucking—”

  “Uh-uh-uh. You don’t want to finish that sentence,” an Irish voice said back to Piers.

  She jerked at the sight of Piers in her window, Officer Sullivan behind and restraining him.

  Officer Sullivan had a grin on his face. “How are you, Millie?”

  “Uh, okay?” It wasn’t really a question, but it came out that way.

  “Did he harm you?” the nearest cop asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I never saw him. I heard him, though.” Her eyes darted to the front door. Crap! Now she needed a new front door. And a new lamp and her jewelry supplies were scattered all over the floor. It would take ages to pick up all the beads and stones and sort them again.

  Fucking Piers.

  “I thought he couldn’t get out on bail? What happened?”

  “We looked into that once Sully reported your situation,” another cop said. “Apparently, the judge threw out the attempted assault on Prince Lorenzo, which meant he qualified for bail.”

  What? How could that happen?

  Crap.

  “Amelia?”

  Double crap!

  Hector was here. Why did he always seem to show up when her life was in shambles?

  Hector’s lips thinned at the state of the front door. His eyes immediately began searching and found hers easily.

  He cam
e directly to her, ignoring the call of the officers to step back, and put his warm hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

  She shivered. Was she cold? Why was she cold?

  He rubbed his hands down her arms, then back up again. Slow, soothing motions that were oddly calming. “Amelia, baby? You all right?”

  She nodded, her black eyes locked with his own deep, dark brown. She liked his eyes.

  “She may be going into shock,” someone said.

  “Sit her down in case she passes out,” another said.

  “Joe, can you take him down to booking? I’ll need to stay since I was present the first time he accosted her.”

  “On it, Sully.” The sound of shuffling feet and Piers’s curses followed.

  “Millie?” a new voice, this one female, joined the fray. “Millie, my God, are you all right? What’s happened?”

  At the sound of her apartment manager, Persy’s, Irish country accent, Millie finally clicked out of her trance. Millie’s eyes flitted to her, then to Hector.

  She couldn’t break down in front of him, she couldn’t do it.

  She had to stay strong.

  She couldn’t show weakness, not at all.

  She took a deep breath. Then another. Then another.

  Time to pick up her wreck of a life. Again.

  “I’m okay.” Her voice was scratchy and grating, so she cleared her throat. “I’m okay. I’ll need some help, Persy.” She pointed at the door.

  Persy nodded. “Of course. Did someone break in?”

  Officer Sullivan stepped forward and held out a hand. “I can answer that. I’m Officer Sullivan. Sully.”

  She gave him a wary look but shook it.

  “You are?”

  “Persy. I manage the building.”

  “You’re Irish.”

  She crossed her arms and lifted a brow. “So are you. What of it? Can we focus on helping Millie right now?”

  Officer Sullivan looked as though he was fighting a grin. “Of course, Miss…?”

  “Persy is fine. Now, you mentioned you could explain what happened?”

  “Someone broke into her apartment. We caught him trying to leave through the fire escape. However, because the fire escape is…not up to code, the bottom portion of it collapsed, so he was stuck.”

  Persy’s lips thinned. “I’ll need to call the owners.”

  “I’d like a word with them myself. Can you ask them to come down to the station?”

  She shook her head. “They don’t live in Masillia. Up near Vollywood, last I heard. I talk to their management office, and they’re the middleman to them. I’ve never even met them or spoken to them.”

  Officer Sullivan turned to another officer. “Hmm. Chris? Look up the owners of this place. Maybe we’ll have a better chance of getting a hold of them directly.”

  “On it.”

  Persy pointed at the door wreckage. “I still need to call and let the managers know. I’m not allowed to fix the door unless I get the go-ahead from them.”

  Millie’s gut clenched. What if they couldn’t get the door fixed? What if she had to stay here with a busted door and a busted window screen? She couldn’t afford a hotel. Even with paid time off, she still wasn’t making enough for that—mostly because she didn’t have the tip income to supplement it—so she couldn’t afford even one night, much less more.

  “It’ll be all right.”

  Her eyes swung to Hector.

  “I’ll fix it if they won’t. Don’t worry.”

  Don’t worry. Two innocuous words, yet they meant so much. Practically her entire life had been full of worry. She’d never had someone tell her not to worry before. It was a new experience.

  She liked it. Boy, did she like it.

  She suddenly became very aware of his hands on her. “Hector.”

  His hands had stopped rubbing but stayed on her shoulders. He gave them a squeeze. “Yeah, baby?”

  “Why are you here?” It was the first thing out of her mouth. Not a ‘thank you’ for offering to help. Not even a crazy ramble about how he should run far away before he realized what a mistake she’d be.

  He wasn’t angry though. If anything, he looked amused. “You called. I could tell something was not right and that you needed me. So, here I am.”

  “You came because you thought I needed you?”

  He moved closer. “No. I’m here because I knew you needed me.”

  Wow. What the hell did she say to that?

  “Thank you?”

  He huffed a chuckle. “That a question you’re asking?”

  She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and spoke deliberately. “No. Thank you for your assistance.”

  “Christ, you’re cute. No wonder I like you.”

  “Mr. Perez?”

  “Call me Hector. I’ll be there in a second. Be right back, baby.” He left to speak to Officer Sullivan.

  Oh. My. God.

  She was cute!

  Plus, he used the ‘l’ word again! Not the capital ‘L’ word. It was the lower case ‘l’ word, but it still counted.

  She was going to hyperventilate, probably pass out, likely make a complete and utter fool of herself, and he’d realize she was crazy, and—

  “How are you really, Millie?” Persy walked over and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

  “Oh. I’m okay. Really. It was just…traumatic.” To say the least.

  “I’m sure. I’ve left a message with the managers, but there’s no telling when I’ll hear back. If your man there is willing to help fix it, I’d take him up on it. I think we may have an extra window screen you can use. I’ll go check.”

  Window screen? Oh, man, it must be broken, too. “I think that officer likes you.”

  Another random blurt! What was wrong with her?

  Persy just scoffed. “One look and I can tell exactly what kind of man that one is. I’ll have nothing to do with him, thank you very much.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t. It’s been a trying day. Let me go check on the window, and you let your man look after you. He seems a decent sort.”

  “Oh, he’s not…my man,” Millie trailed off, but she’d already gone.

  “Not yet,” Hector said as he walked back. “But I will be.”

  Her cheeks burned. He’d heard her! Oh, shit.

  “You take as much time as you want. I’m not going to rush you.”

  Since she couldn’t think of anything to say to that, she didn’t say anything at all.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent dealing with the police and making statements to them about what had happened. Hector’s jaw had gotten so tight when she’d mentioned the phone call, but he kept calm.

  Which meant she did, too.

  Hector also called someone he knew to come over and fix the door, Persy found a screen for the window, and they’d both helped her clean up the lamp and her jewelry supplies. By the end of the day, it was almost like it hadn’t happened.

  But it had.

  When everyone but Hector had gone by early evening, she collapsed on the couch.

  Hector walked over, eyeing her from where he stood. “You want some dinner? It’s a little early, but you never had lunch.”

  Her hand went to her belly. She wasn’t sure she could manage food. “I’m fine.”

  “You gotta eat a little. Maybe some soup? I’ll get some delivered.”

  “I—”

  “Soup it is.” He pulled out his phone.

  The weight of the day was still on her shoulders, not to mention the embarrassment that her brother had wanted to hurt her. Who had fucked up families like that? She did.

  She was sick and tired of people telling her what to do, where to go, how to live. Piers had spent years trying to control her and she’d allowed it. It was hard enough trying to make it on her own without someone like that oppressing her life.

  She wasn’t going to put up with it from Hector.r />
  Did she want help? Yes, even if she was wary of it because she’d never really gotten it before. But she still needed to make sure that any help she got was actually helping her, and that she wasn’t trading one bully for another. Just because Hector’s pushiness could be coming from a good place now, it might not stay that way. She knew how quickly that tide could turn. Any day, he could decide he knew what was best for her in other situations, too, and that might not work out well for her.

  So, she snapped.

  “I don’t want soup, I don’t want food, I don’t want anything. No, actually, I do want something. I want you to leave.”

  She was staring at his shoes, because she didn’t want to see the truth in his eyes. The truth that either he was pissed at her for standing up for herself, or that he that he’d decided her fucked up life was too much for him and her snapping at him was the last straw.

  Damn it. How could she want him and be annoyed by him at the same time? Nothing made sense anymore. Not that it ever did, anyway.

  “Even pissed at me you’re cute. I’ll go order the soup.”

  Her eyes darted up to meet his. “What?”

  “Soup. Chicken noodle. It’s good for you.”

  “I don’t like chicken,” she said, though she did. Why was it so hard for her to accept help?

  “Right,” he mumbled and started speaking into the phone.

  She sagged against the couch and began picking at a loose thread in the cushions.

  God, she was tired. But she couldn’t sleep because her dumb bed was the couch, and her couch was three feet from Hector, and he wouldn’t leave. So, no way could she open her bed.

  Not to mention, she really wanted to put on her pajamas. Something cozy and comforting. Mostly, she just wanted to take her bra off.

  Bras were evil. Seriously evil. Her c-cups always hurt after a long day wearing her bra. It also didn’t help she had to buy the cheapest bras, made out of scratchy, awful material. But no way could she take it off if he was still here.

  Damn it!

  “Food’s on its way. They’re just around the corner so it’ll only be a few minutes.”

  Delivered food meant paying for delivered food, which meant she’d have to pay for it. She could maybe manage her portion, but not both of theirs. “How much do I owe you?”