by L. G. Davis
Even though I had to take a loan to buy the van from Dan, he sold it to me for less than he was asking for it. Given that we live in a disability access apartment building, Dan received many requests from tenants interested in the van. But he chose me. Maybe it’s because I water his plants and feed his cats when he’s out of town, or because he was feeling sorry for me. Either way, I was ecstatic when he handed me the keys. Even more so when he spent a few days showing Ryan how to drive the vehicle.
The day I presented the car to Ryan, I saw something resembling joy in his eyes, but the emotion was so fleeting, I decided I must have imagined it. He never once thanked me, not that it bothered me. What bothers me is that he hardly uses the van.
I had hoped he’d go out to meet people, to visit places he had enjoyed going to before the shooting. The only person he’s interested in being around is me. His idea of fun is tormenting me.
I cover up the containers and put them in the fridge.
“Do you want one?” I ask when he won’t stop staring. “I baked them for school but you can have some if you like.”
He shakes his head, but barely.
I reach for a dishcloth and wipe my hands. “We have a fundraiser tomorrow afternoon to raise money for an orphanage in town. Family and friends are welcome. Want to come?”
The silence between us is broken only by the ticking of the clock above the door while Ryan works his mouth with no words coming out. “What time?” he finally asks.
A flicker of hope warms me from the inside. “It starts at one and ends around six. It would really be nice if you can come. Since your physical therapy is at eleven tomorrow—Sandy is coming over for your first session—you’ll be able to make it to the fundraiser in time.”
“What makes you think I’d want to come to your crappy fundraiser?” His pupils are like boiling pools of lava. “Your groveling sickens me.” He wheels himself back out of the kitchen.
As I stand with feet glued to the floor, he returns. The darkness has returned to his features.
“You said I make you sick. So, what do you want from me?” I can’t stifle the bite in my tone.
“Be home by six thirty tomorrow,” he says in a commanding voice.
“No.” The word exits my lips like a dart. “No, Ryan. You have no right to tell me what to do. I’m seriously tired of your mind games.”
“Is that so? That’s too bad because I’m just getting started.” He runs a hand down one side of his face. “And by the way, tormenting you is much more fun than some boring fundraiser.” He leaves again before I can respond.
I charge out of the kitchen, determined to continue the conversation, but he has locked the living room and the TV is blaring. Even if I shout, there’s no way he’ll hear me. Left with no option but to walk away, I squeeze my eyes shut, count to ten and switch the lights off as I head to my bedroom, barely glancing at the wall where a single photo of my broken family hangs.
A father who died in prison, a mother who, like her husband, found comfort at the bottom of a bottle and eventually death. And then there’s my brother and me, the kids who carried the scars of their parents’ decisions.
The picture was taken a week before Dad received a one-way ticket to prison for bank robbery and other felonies. Six months into his seven-year sentence, he was involved in a brawl that drove him to the grave.
I lock the door behind me and stand in the middle of my room, between the door and my bed, chest rising and falling as I take and release painful breaths.
What the hell can I do with Ryan? I’m seriously tempted to threaten him with throwing him out if he refuses to change his behavior. But the guilt would eat me alive.
But how can I just stand here watching my life crumbling before my eyes?
In the stillness between one beat of my heart and the next, the little voice inside my head gives me an answer that both gives me hope and terrifies me in equal measure.
If you really want things to change, only you can change them.
In the morning, as soon as Sandy arrives for Ryan’s physio session, I exchange a few words with her and usher her to the living room.
She’s a tall, middle-aged woman with a shock of ginger hair in a pixie cut, clad in gray and white yoga pants and a tank top that shows off her small, but athletic frame.
As we enter, my nose wrinkles at the smells of rotting food, dirty socks, alcohol, and body odor. I’d opened the windows and was about to clean up, but Sandy came half an hour earlier than planned. I would have cleaned up last night, but Ryan had not opened the door until I fell asleep.
“Sorry about the mess.” I pick an empty plastic bottle of Coke from the floor.
The only area of the living room that’s tidy is the path Ryan cut through the mess for his wheelchair to move, the path leading to the TV screen.
“That’s all right.” I’m both touched and horrified as she helps me clean up.
“You don’t have to—”
“Don’t worry. I’m used to it.” She gives me a sympathetic smile that makes me feel worse. “I have a son whose hobby is to trash the living room.”
“Thanks.” I hide my shame with a smile.
“Anything I should know that you haven’t already told me over the phone?” Sandy fishes a sock from underneath the couch and hands it to me.
“Yeah.” I release a deep sigh. “He’s not been in a great mood lately.”
“Don’t worry.” She strides over to her bag, glancing at me over her shoulder. “I’ve handled worse.”
Before we can finish our conversation, Ryan appears at the door. His dark gaze travels between Sandy and me and takes in the somewhat tidy living room. It returns to Sandy.
“Hey,” he says to her and enters the room.
“Good morning, Ryan. It’s nice to meet you.” Sandy extends a hand toward him, which he ignores.
Wishing the ground could swallow me up, I move to the door. I clear my throat. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have a fundraiser to attend at school.”
“That’s fine. Go ahead.” Sandy gives me an assuring smile. “Ryan and I will be just fine.”
I give a small nod and ignore the snorting sound coming from Ryan.
To calm my nerves, I take a long shower. As warm water bounces off my skin, I try not to think of Ryan floating in the bathtub only days ago—the fear I’d felt.
Today, I choose a different color from my usual shades of black. I often reach for black clothes automatically. Black makes me feel safe, hidden. But today I want to be seen, so I opt for a cornflower blue cocktail dress and complete the look with a pair of tan espadrilles.
For the first time in a long time, I put on some makeup—a pale pink lip gloss and mascara. I’m determined to feel good about myself.
Maybe if I look good on the outside, it’ll reflect on the inside. It doesn’t hurt to try. After the sleepless night I’ve had, I now realize that I’ve reached my breaking point. I’m tired of feeling bad every day, tired of feeling guilty, exhausted of walking on eggshells every time I’m around Ryan.
I step out of my bedroom, planning to slip out of the apartment before Ryan is done with his session. My blood runs cold when I find him in the dim hallway, a few inches from my door, a smirk on his face.
“What are you doing?” My eyebrows draw together in a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”
“I needed a break.” He watches me through his hooded gaze. “Why are you all made up? Are you meeting someone? I thought you were going to a work thing.”
Scraping up the courage to stand up to him, I plant my hands on my hips. “That’s right. I’m going to the fundraiser event. And as a staff member, I have to look presentable.” My gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“I don’t have a problem with you going to the stupid fundraiser. But I will have a problem with you meeting up with anyone.” He sucks in air through his teeth. “You better not be lying to me.”
There’s no point in discussin
g anything with Ryan, so I walk past him, ignoring his presence as I get the cupcakes from the kitchen and leave the apartment, feigning a confidence I don’t feel.
Inside my car, I pull in a few deep breaths. I force myself to remember the earlier feeling of excitement and the hope that had filled me minutes before I saw Ryan. Through the windshield, I look up at our apartment in time to see the curtain twitch. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s watching.
Chapter 9
Inside the staff bathroom, I hang up the phone and drop it into my bag. Then I meet my eyes in the mirror, gazing into them, forcing myself to look past the searing pain, in search of the brave woman I long to become.
“You’re doing well, Paige. You’re having fun.” I allow a smile to sweep across my pink lips. It doesn’t matter that I don’t feel it inside.
The fundraiser has been in full swing for two hours now. The entire time I’d done my best not to think about Ryan, not to allow thoughts of this morning and last night to poison my mind.
The only times I thought about him was when I had to call him once an hour. I still wrestle with myself before giving him a call, the stubborn part of me daring me to ignore the impulse, only for the little voice inside to remind me of one of the things he did when I didn’t obey his rules. This can’t go on. I have to think of a solution to this quandary before it escalates to greater proportions. For now, the image of him inside the bathtub makes me pick up the phone.
I have another hour to banish him from my mind, to try and enjoy my time away from home.
The compliments I received for my new look from both my colleagues and the students have been overwhelming, and my cupcakes keep people coming back for more. To some extent, this has given me a boost of confidence in myself. The confidence Ryan does his best to crush every day.
When I exit the bathroom, my phone rings, the sound bouncing off the walls.
What does he want now?
I don’t have time for this. I need to get to the assembly hall.
Isaac Baxter’s son, Dylan, who has apparently been in town since his father’s funeral, will be giving a speech in ten minutes.
Still walking, I scramble inside my large tote for the phone.
Before I can locate it, I crash into something. No, someone. My head snaps up.
My eyes lock with an intense emerald gaze. A warm, unfamiliar sensation spreads through my cheeks.
The stranger in front of me must be somewhere in his mid-thirties. He has dark curly hair that tapers to the collar of his crisp white shirt. His jaw is strong and slightly square under the neatly-trimmed beard. He has the kind of looks that belong on a movie screen.
I can’t help wondering if he’s the father of one of the newer students. I don’t recall seeing him around. By now, I’ve met most parents at least once.
“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” He places a warm hand on my shoulder, then seems to think twice about it. It falls back to his side. But the movement has released the scent of soap and warm woodsy cologne.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No problem. You might want to get that.” He glances at my bag with a slow smile that awakens dimples in his cheeks and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Yeah ... I … I should. Bye.”
As I walk away, still searching for my phone, the back of my neck tingles. He’s watching me.
I keep walking.
Before I exit the hallway, I finally locate the phone. “We just talked,” I say to Ryan. “What is it now?”
“I’m aware of that.” He pauses. “Bring me Chinese food when you come home.”
“Absolutely not.” I shove open the wooden door to the assembly hall. “There’s frozen lasagna in the fridge. Pop it into the oven. You know how it works.” I hang up before he can say anything else.
Inside the hall, I take my place next to Thalia as usual. Margaret is on the stage, informing the audience that Mr. Dylan Baxter will be a few minutes late. The shuffling of feet, an occasional cough, and whispers fill the hall along with the ticking of the large clock on the front wall above a large painting of Isaac Baxter.
Five minutes later, Dylan Baxter arrives, smiling as he appears next to her, shaking her hand. The way she’s beaming up at him, he could have been the president.
My heart jolts at the sight of Dylan Baxter. He’s the man from the hallway. No wonder I’ve not seen him before. This is a small town. There’s no way somebody that handsome would walk around without causing a wave of gossip to sweep through town.
“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Thalia says with a sigh.
I respond with only a nod then return to staring at Dylan who, if I’m not mistaken, is also staring at me from across the room.
He finally clears his throat and peels his gaze from mine. “Good afternoon students, staff members, and parents of Baxter Junior High. It’s an honor to be among you today and to witness the dedication you have toward making a difference in this town. When I heard about this fundraiser, I knew I had to be present. I felt it would be the perfect opportunity for me to introduce myself to you.” His smile falters. “My father loved this school. He often said it was one of his greatest accomplishments.” Dylan’s eyes flicker in my direction again before returning to the room as a whole. “If it’s any comfort, I would like to assure all of you that even though he is no longer with us, nothing will change. My hope is that BJHS will remain a cornerstone of this town.” He moves on to praise Margaret as well as the teaching staff, then finally, he presents a check with many zeros, a gift from the Baxter Foundation, to be added to the money raised today.
Once he walks off the stage, I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The relief of hearing that my job is safe rushes through me.
After the applause dies down, we’re asked to return to our stands and continue to sell our products. With only ten of my cupcakes left, it won’t be long before they’re all gone.
I’m arranging them on the tray to make them more visibly appealing when the air around me shifts. I look up, and there he is. This time as well, my body reacts.
“Hey there, nice to see you again.” He glances at the cupcakes. “Those look delicious. Did you bake them yourself?”
“I ... Yes, yes I did.” I glance at the cupcakes. “Would you like to have one?”
A smile curls the corners of his lips, causing a dimple to flutter in one of his cheeks. “I’d love one.” He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and loosens his midnight blue tie. “May I?” His hand hovers over the cupcakes.
“Of course.” Being in the presence of someone who has the power to impact our livelihoods makes it hard to breathe. “Have two ... if you like.”
“How much?” He bites into the cupcake he picked.
“Hmmm ... nothing.” I run the palms of my hands over my dress, wiping away the sweat. “I mean, they’re free for you.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. As he finishes up the cupcake, his eyes are on my face. Behind him, two people are lining up for their turn, and others are walking by, staring at us.
“These are fantastic,” he says finally, and my shoulders sag with relief. He picks up a napkin next to my pitcher of lemonade. “They’re too delicious to be free.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He removes a hundred-dollar bill and hands it to me.
My mouth drops open. “I can’t take that. A cupcake costs two dollars. That’s way too much.”
“They’re worth more than that. I’m paying for their true worth.” He flashes his very straight, very white teeth at me. “Go ahead, take it. It’s for the kids.”
“For the kids.” I stifle a giggle. “Thank you, I guess. Do you want another? On the house, this time?”
“No, I’m good.” He leans slightly forward and on reflex I lean back. “I’d like your number, though. I wanted to ask for it in the hallway, but you went away too fast.”
“My number?” Heat
floods my cheeks.
“Yes.” He narrows his eyes. “You do have one, don’t you?”
“No.” I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. “I mean, yes, I have one. But you can’t have it.”
“That’s rather honest.” A quiet smile plays on his lips. “I have to say it’s refreshing.” The people behind him melt away to move on to other stands. I can only imagine what they’re saying to each other about me and the billionaire heir.
“Why? Are you not used to women saying no to you?” I place a hand on my lips, the heat in my cheeks exploding into flames. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” What’s wrong with me?
“I like it. People are way too careful around me.” He pushes his hands into his pockets. “I’d really love to continue this conversation over coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee.” It’s amazing how this man manages to pull me right out of my comfort zone. He’s a billionaire and I’m talking to him like someone I’ve known for a long time.
“I’m sure we can find something you enjoy the taste of.”
“Maybe.” I looked to my side and notice Thalia staring at us, her hands clasped in front of her, face beaming. “But I don’t go out for drinks with the boss.”
He leans forward again and says in a loud whisper so I can catch the words over the sound of country music that just started playing. “I’m not your boss. Margaret is. Just think of me as any ordinary guy. That’s what I am.”
“That’s not true. You’re no ordinary guy. You’re Isaac Baxter’s son.”
He straightens up again. A fleeting shadow crosses his handsome features.
“I guess I am. But I prefer to be called Dylan.”
“Dylan, thank you for the invitation. But I can’t go out for drinks with you.”
“I’ll be around here for a few more minutes. I’ll come back to see if you’ve changed your mind.” He gives me another dimpled grin and walks away, hands still in pockets as he moves on to a flower stand. The man oozes confidence.