Control: An Everyday Heroes Novella

by K. Bromberg

  “So Grant says he’s been trying to convince you to stay here in Sunnyville, Reznor.”

  Reznor stopped mid-motion as he released the chuck on his electric drill and nodded. “He has indeed.”

  “We’re not exactly a small town anymore. I know we’re not San Francisco, but we’ve grown a lot in the past few years. Now we have a lot more crazy,” she says and laughs. “Grant thinks having an experienced SWAT commander is a good thing. Besides, it’s safer here...and we have lots of wine.”

  I’m here, I thought.

  “It won’t be easy going back, that’s for sure,” he said as he looked at me, those brown eyes of his giving nothing away before looking back at Emerson. “But yeah, I’ll be going back. My guys need me.”

  The pang of pain from his words hits me just as hard now as it did when he spoke them.

  Maybe even harder. Because I hear other words about when he is leaving. It could be sooner unless I find something here that piques my interest enough to want to stay. And clearly, I haven’t piqued his interest.

  Em was wrong.

  Admitting that hurts just as deeply.

  I glance out the window toward his place, where the soft glow of the light reflects against his closed curtains.

  Want to know the best way not to have your heart broken, Desi?

  Keep your guard up, heart closed, mind clear. In other words, don’t let yourself fall in love to begin with.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Reznor

  “Coming,” I yell in response to the knock on the door. I set down the book I was reading and head to answer it.

  I’m surprised when I open it and see Desi standing there, bright orange sundress on, and a smile on her lips. “Hi there.”

  Jesus, that voice, that smile, does shit to my insides.

  “Hi.” It takes me a second to see the plate of cookies she’s holding out to me. “You made me chocolate-chip cookies?” My stomach rumbles at the thought.

  “I wanted to say thank you for the alarm system.”

  “No biggie,” I say as I take the plate from her, pull the Saran Wrap off, and take a huge bite of one as I wave her in. “Oh my God.” The cookie is incredible. I close my eyes and enjoy it. When I open them back up, Desi is watching me, and I don’t give a flying fuck if it looks like I just came. I can’t remember the last time someone baked for me who didn’t share the same gene pool as me.

  Our eyes meet, hold, and she shakes her head as if she’s trying to remember why she came here.

  “You didn’t need to do that. The alarm. I mean...It was incredibly thoughtful of you.”

  She’s nervous. Good. I like when she’s flustered.

  “I just wanted to make you feel a little bit more comfortable in your own house.” I set the cookies down and don’t say the obvious. And because I’m going to worry about you when I’m gone and not living within shouting distance of you.

  “It has made me feel that way. Thank you...again.”

  We stare at each other, both measuring what exactly to say. Fuck it. I’ll go there.

  “I stopped by the other day.”

  “When?” she asks but I can see the shift in her eyes. I can tell she’s nervous.

  “Sunday. Monday. Earlier.”

  “Oh.”

  It’s all she says—all she needs to say—for me to know my hunch was right. She was home, she heard me knocking on the door...but she decided she should shut me out.

  Let me the fuck in, Desi. Ask me the million questions swimming in your eyes.

  But she won’t.

  “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

  She takes a deep breath, and I can see her fighting the need to leave. The need to avoid “more”—whatever the fuck way she defines more in that gorgeous brain of hers.

  “I’d love to.”

  Thank fuck.

  I looked her in the eyes and told her I’d be leaving soon and she showed no reaction. Yet, I still want her, and I’ll take whatever I can get.

  Clearly, I’m an idiot.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Desi

  “Hey Des. Got a minute?”

  “Hi, handsome,” I say, recognizing Grant’s voice as if it were my own brother’s. “How are my babies doing?”

  “Driving me crazy,” he says through a laugh, but I can hear the absolute adoration in his tone and the smile on his lips.

  “Isn’t that the job of all women?” I shut the baby gate so the four pooches I’m dog-sitting are confined in their special room, and I can pick up the grooming area.

  “Seems like it.” He clears his throat. “I have some good news for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “They caught him.”

  I freeze mid-step and then stand there as those three words sink in. “They did?”

  “Another house in Melville. Same scenario, except this time the husband happened to be sleeping on the couch and the perp didn’t know it. Woman screamed, husband came...he may have roughed the fucker up to keep him until the police showed up, but...that’s what he deserved.”

  “How do you know it’s the same guy?” I ask, staring at the yard beyond and wondering how many nights since my incident I’ve stood here and wondered if someone was out there staring back at me, waiting until I go to bed to stand over me again.

  “Because he confessed. I guess he had a box of shit, something he took from each house.”

  “Ugh.” The thought that he had something of mine is enough to make my stomach churn. “Please tell me he didn’t have a pair of my panties to sniff or something.”

  “Not yours, no. But he did have others. He had a Doggy Style business card and he had the date of his visit written on the back of it,” he explains as chills creep over my skin at the thought of him touching anything of mine. “And I know what you’re thinking, but no, you didn’t know him. You did nothing to reject him or spur interest...it was just a random thing—which I don’t know if that’s creepier or not, but it’s over.”

  “Thank you, Grant.”

  “I didn’t do anything, but you’re welcome.”

  I sag against the counter, and for what feels like the first time in months, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  But when I hang up the phone, I know that’s not true.

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief the night Reznor took me to the haunted house and showed me that it was okay to be scared. That I didn’t always have to be the strong one.

  Without thinking, I drop the phone, run out the front door, and over to Reznor’s.

  For the first time, I don’t have to think about what it is I want. I don’t have to remind myself of the pact I made with myself to simply enjoy what little time I have left with him before he leaves. I don’t have to tell my feelings to shut the hell down.

  But when I knock on the front door—over and over—I realize that no one is home.

  Reznor’s not home.

  And with each passing second, that excitement I felt moments before slowly comes crashing down around me. This is how it’s going to be sooner rather than later.

  Because this isn’t Reznor’s home.

  He’ll be gone.

  He’s not here now.

  He’ll be gone permanently very soon.

  And I’ll be here.

  Alone.

  Again.

  Shit.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Desi

  “Great work today, ladies,” Reznor says as he smiles.

  Yeah, my insides melt at the sight of it.

  Just like they have for the past hour every time he touched me or addressed me. Of course, our interaction was purely professional because there was an audience, when all I wanted to do was sink into him and hold on for dear life.

  But I didn’t.

  It was a rude but much-needed awakening when I knocked on his door and he wasn’t home.

  So I kept my distance. I didn’t give him the flirty eyes or the little squeeze of his hand like I have in the past
.

  From the concerned look in his eyes I know he noticed. But was it concern or was it hurt that flickered there?

  I’m not sure and I’m too busy protecting my heart to ask.

  The same way I was when he came knocking on the door the other day to tell me how he relieved he was that they’d caught my intruder. I pretended to be on the phone with a supplier and that I couldn’t talk with him.

  Cowardly? Yes.

  A necessity to save my heart from the impeding heartbreak? Definitely.

  “Can I have one minute more of your time, ladies?” Bear asks just as we begin to walk off the mat. I nod eagerly, because that means one more minute to compose myself before I have to face Reznor.

  The funny thing is that for the first time, I didn’t come here today out of fear. I came here because I wanted to. Because I wanted to see Reznor.

  I came because for the first time in forever, I felt okay.

  “Who here has enjoyed working with Rez?” Bear asks.

  Hoots and hollers echo off the gym as women applaud and praise him. Reznor looks at Bear—his cheeks slightly flushed in embarrassment—and then shakes his head before looking over and locking his eyes on mine.

  The look in his eyes and the pulse of the muscle in his jaw—I already know what Bear is going to say before he speaks.

  “Next week will be our last class with Reznor unless you can convince him to stay.” The women around me groan while I stand stoically.

  And my heart implodes.

  No. I don’t know if I say the word or if I scream it, but it’s on repeat in my head, even though that simple word does nothing to truly express how I feel inside. How it feels to have your insides drop to your toes while your body has to keep operating.

  “He’s been called back to SFPD...some shit about them needing him. Don’t they know we need him?” He laughs.

  Don’t they know I need him?

  Bear drones on, but it’s Reznor’s eyes I can’t look away from. It’s his broad shoulders and proud posture I want to hold on to. It’s those strong arms I want to wrap around me.

  But they won’t.

  I knew this was coming...and yet I didn’t expect to find out like this.

  I didn’t expect to hear it secondhand from Bear and not from Reznor himself...and that stings. I feel...angry suddenly, and although I don’t really have the right to direct it at Reznor, that’s where it is. It’s fueled by hurt and heartache and disbelief, and I...I need to get out of here.

  But he keeps staring at me.

  I can’t stand here anymore.

  I’m mad at myself for doing the one thing I swore I couldn’t—fall for Reznor. And now I have and he’s leaving regardless, so who looks like the idiot now?

  It’s all my fault. I’ve got to get out of here.

  “Excuse me,” I murmur to the lady beside me as I step back and off the mat as Bear continues.

  I quickly grab my things and jog out of the gym, trying not to call attention to myself. My feet move to staunch my anger but my head and heart keep fueling it.

  “Desi. Wait up.”

  And his voice...his voice fuels it too.

  “Leave me alone, Reznor.” Hurt, pain, heartache—all three spin an eddy of discord through me that I don’t want to feel.

  “Des?” More footsteps on the pavement beside me.

  I walk right past my car and out of the parking lot—needing space, needing privacy, needing to get away from him as my eyes burn and my chest aches.

  Once I clear the corner and we’re out of eyeshot of most of the class, he grabs my arm. Within an instant, I’ve spun around, locked his arm with mine, and have my knee coming up to his groin in a move we’ve practiced many times in class.

  “Whoa there,” he says, counteracting me and pinning my arms to protect himself. The laugh he emits only serves to irritate me further. “Well, at least I know I did my job and you can protect yourself.”

  Yep. You did your job. That’s all it was.

  “It’s not funny,” I say through gritted teeth, as I yank my arms free of his and stride ahead of him.

  “I know it’s not.” He jogs beside me, but I refuse to look his way.

  “You couldn’t tell me yourself? You had to let me find out from Bear—in front of the whole class—that you were leaving?”

  God. As much as I didn’t want more, right now I do, and hell if it doesn’t sting being the one on the other end of the situation I’ve always controlled.

  “I was going to tell you, Des.”

  “When?”

  “After class.”

  “Wow. Thanks. I’m surprised you weren’t going to sleep with me so you could guarantee one more quick romp before you told me.”

  “That’s not how it is, and you know it.”

  “Then how is it?”

  This time when he grabs my arm, I don’t fight him. I’m out of breath and hurt, and I stop in the middle of the sidewalk with his hand on my arm and my eyes asking questions my mouth isn’t ready to put a voice to.

  “I had a finite amount of time here. We both knew that,” he says. Yeah, but maybe I didn’t want to believe it. “Besides, it’s hard to talk to someone—tell someone something—when they’re already shutting down on you.”

  “I was not,” I shout.

  “Really? You’re ready to die by that sword, Des, because it seems to me you’ve made it a habit to be busy any time I’ve come around in the past few days. Or maybe you’ve already moved on to the next person, huh?”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Don’t push me away.”

  We stand and stare at each other in the waning light of the sunset, and I’m all out of things to say to him. All I can focus on is this stabbing ache in my heart. It’s the reason I’ve never gotten close to someone before, and it’s much easier to focus on that than how damn handsome he is and the pleading look in his eyes.

  “We have a week left. We can make the most of it and—”

  “Don’t bother, Reznor,” I say while my heart screams yes, please.

  “Don’t be like that. We can—”

  “We can what? Have sex a few more times for old times’ sake? Wow. Thanks for thinking of me. That would only result in me…” In me falling for you more than I already have when I know I can’t have you.

  “I care about you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Hurt me? At least he’s made things crystal clear. It would have no impact on his heart if he spent more time with me before he left. I would be his Sunnyville booty call.

  No. Fuck you.

  “Then don’t. Do me a favor and let this be it. Save me from...just let this be it.” My voice breaks along with every other part of me when I step up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye, Reznor.”

  And when I walk down the sidewalk, this time he doesn’t follow.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Desi

  “Grant says Reznor’s been trying to get hold of you.”

  “Stay out of it, Emerson.” I sigh into the phone as I pound my fist on the table when my computer doesn’t do what I need it to do.

  Nothing like attempting to design your own website when you’re computer illiterate so you can keep yourself busy.

  “He lives like forty feet or whatever it is away from you...what did you do? Close all your blinds so you can’t see his house?”

  I glance over to my blinds that are just that and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I asked you to stay out of this, Em. Please. I need to do this my way.”

  She must hear the desperation in my voice because the line falls silent. “It doesn’t have to be this way. It—”

  “Yes, it does.”

  I hang up the phone, not wanting to hear it anymore.

  This is what I need to do.

  This is how I have to do it.

  This is how I protect myself from getting hurt further.

  I have to shut him out.

  Just like all the times he’s come kno
cking on the door this week. Like how on Sunday when I came home from a girls’ night out, I didn’t say thank you after noticing he’d taken my delivery of bagged dog food, carried it to the back of the house, and put it in storage bins like he’d watched me do before. Or how on Monday, my lawn was mowed and the hedges had been trimmed. Or better yet, on Tuesday, how he pulled my trash cans out to the curb for me so I wouldn’t have to struggle with them since they were so full and heavy.

  All the things I don’t need to remember him doing. The thoughtful things I wish he wouldn’t do so I’m not reminded of what a great guy he is...and how much I’m going to miss him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Desi

  “Pussy, I’m really over you and your nails clawing me,” I say to the drowned-looking cat whose fur is flattened by water, making her body look a third of what it does when it’s dry.

  And there’s something about the moment, about the damn cat, that brings up the memory of the first time I learned Reznor was my neighbor. This cat was the catalyst bringing us together.

  The thought makes my heart lurch. Panic consumes me as I take the wet cat and put her in a crate, and without thinking of anything else, run out the back door as fast as I can. The gate to the side yard sticks, and I struggle with it momentarily before I shove it open.

  My fist pounds on Reznor’s door.

  Pure panic. It’s the kind that tells you that if you don’t act now, you’re going to miss out.

  Knock-knock.

  The kind that says, I’m sorry, but I really do need just one more night with you. Not just for the sex. More because I need to tell you how I feel about you.

  My hand stutters at the revelation. Because I do have feelings for him.

  Tons of them.

  Holy shit.

  Knock-knock-knock.

  I use more force this time. More urgency.

  I slide to the side of the door and cup my hands against the window and peer inside.

  He’s gone.

  The furniture is still there, as it was rented, but every little piece of him that made it his is gone.