by Kira Blakely
“I can’t believe I believed him.”
I’d been walking for about an hour, and a few cars stopped to see if I needed help. I waved them on. I didn’t need anyone’s help. Accepting a free heat coil was what had gotten me into this whole damn mess.
Now it was dark and no headlights dotted the horizon. I was alone. Just me, and the chirp of a million crickets, and the occasional spark of a lightning bug in the shadows. I talked to fill the desolate hum of the surrounding woods and walked over the soft, cool grass on the side of the highway.
“He begged me to come, and I told him that I didn’t want to get involved! I told him about Daniel, and then he brings me here, just so I can see some sloppy foreplay in the church with his ex? The one Chet warned me about? God!”
I had a feeling this night would have me on simmer for weeks.
Maybe it would be a good idea to hand off his case to another court attorney... but I could really use the money.
“I wish I’d known it would be this bad,” I grumbled. Here I had thought that I’d just be awkward and left out, but that turned out to be the best part of the whole damn evening. I’d spent my life awkward and left out. I could handle that. “But it’s my fault for coming,” I reminded myself bitterly. “I said no for damn good reasons—”
The light of a pair of headlights splashed down on the ground in front of me and I glanced over my shoulder at the approaching car, then looked back toward my destination. I could see the vague shape of uptown Pelham in the distance. These were the last two miles, I was certain. Most importantly, I’d be off the highway within thirty minutes, saving me the embarrassment of the entire wedding party passing by, asking me if I needed a ride, wondering what happened.
Please let this not be Andrew.
I heard the rumble and crunch of a slowing vehicle, but I continued my pace. I didn’t need a ride. I didn’t want to talk to anybody about anything. I just wanted to be left alone. That could be my tombstone.
She Just Wanted To Be Left Alone.
As the car continued its idle trek behind me, I twisted and glanced over my shoulder, then smothered the urge to roll my eyes.
Shit. It was a police cruiser.
As it coasted up to me, the passenger side window scrolled down and Chet’s face leaned so that we could make eye contact.
“Hey, there, pretty lady,” he called. His wheels crushed slowly along the road to keep pace with my feet. “How’d you get all the way out here?”
“I was at a wedding,” I explained lightly. Even though Chet had tried to warn me about Andrew’s enduring relationship with Lola, I still didn’t like him. I saw that dash-cam footage. He’d nailed Andrew twice with his elbow for no reason.
“Ah, shit, I meant to go to that.” Chet snapped his fingers with chagrin. “Why don’t you get in and I’ll take you on home? No sense in walking out here at night like this in that beautiful gown. You never know what someone might want to do with you.”
I glanced at Chet and thought about how true that was. He might have been obnoxious, and pushy, and an obvious narcissist but he had a car, and he wasn’t Andrew. So, he was perfect. He could get me off this road before the wedding party came through.
“That... sounds great,” I allowed.
Chet brought the car to a complete stop and pushed the door open for me. I let myself drop into the seat and Chet surprised me by leaning over me to close it, even though I was fully capable of closing my own door. His nose hung just above my cleavage for a few seconds and I tensed, but then he was gone, back into his personal space.
Okay, obnoxious, pushy, narcissistic, and slimy, but still better than Andrew.
Chet hadn’t humiliated me. Chet hadn’t fooled me. Chet hadn’t dashed my heart.
“So, carjacking?” Chet wondered as we cruised toward town. “Flat tire?”
“Asshole,” I explained brightly.
“Ahhh. Ace?”
“Yes,” I answered with a twinge of discomfort. Something deep in the pit of my stomach told me that I shouldn’t trust Chet, either. Talking about Andrew to Chet was a display of trust—but that twinge was buried beneath layers and layers of pain that I just had to get out. I had to talk to someone about it. “You were right about him.”
“I was?”
I pursed my lips and nodded, ignoring the surprise in his voice. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know he’d been right. It didn’t take back what I saw.
Lola crowded against him, her breasts pressed to his chest, his hands tangled in her top. Her hands down at their crotches, fondling either him or herself.
My angle hadn’t been perfect, but I’d seen enough.
“Yep,” I said, closing my eyes. I needed to rest. “He and Lola aren’t quite over yet.”
The cruiser reached the lights and storefronts of uptown Pelham, a quaint mixture of neighborhoods and businesses. I relaxed into my seat a little, knowing I’d be home soon, and I could bury my face in a tub of ice cream. I could turn on Netflix and let it cover the sound of unrestrained sobbing into Bubba’s worn, stuffed chest. Then a hot bath. Then bed. Bed for days.
“I’m real sorry about that, Michelle,” Chet said, twisting the wheel. The cruiser jostled gently through the Withers Community gate. “A woman like you deserves someone’s absolute and undivided attention.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, feeling nothing. “But it’s okay. I’m just going to go back to the way I’ve been for a long time.”
“Oh? What way is that?” We passed Andrew’s rancher and it stung. I forced myself to look at Chet, instead of looking out the window. How had he gotten so deep under my skin, so fast?
“How long has it been since you’ve been with someone like this?”
“Um, I last had sex in 2014...”
“I mean, like this.” He passed his hand back and forth between us.
I swallowed. “Never.”
“Me neither.”
I blinked away the reverie, letting it disintegrate and fall. “Alone,” I answered Chet solemnly, firmly. “It’s worked for years.”
“Don’t say that, now,” Chet chastised me in a gentle drawl. “Everybody needs somebody.”
We turned onto Mayhew and relief ballooned in my chest. This abysmal night was almost complete.
“I guess,” I said. But not me.
“Just give it some time, darling.” I shuddered again when he called me darling. “Ace is an asshole. It was better that you found out now, when y’all just started talking to each other. But there’s plenty of men in Pelham, and I bet they all want to be with a girl like you.”
Almost all of them, anyway.
“Thanks,” I allowed. I was really just trying to get through this conversation. I was almost home. “Maybe.”
The cruiser swooped around the cul-de-sac, where our homes nestled against each other, and Chet pulled into his own driveway. “Do you wanna come inside?” he offered. “Talk about it? You know what they say. Time heals all wounds... but, in the meantime, better cauterize it with some liquor.”
I gave up a soft half-laugh. “Thanks, Chet.” My hand was already on the doorknob. “But I just want to be alone.” I pulled the passenger side door open and climbed out onto the asphalt.
“All right,” Chet called after me, shutting down his engine. “Have a good one, Michelle. I hope you feel better.” He put the car in park and climbed out. I was already in the grass, halfway to my front door, like it was the finish line on the worst night of my life. Had Ace Bogart somehow managed to beat out Daniel’s betrayal for the most painful heartbreak of my life? “And your fountain looks real nice, by the way,” he added.
I paused at my front door and had to smile. I sent him home from trying to help me with that, early in the project. For a moment, I considered asking Chet why he was so combative with Andrew. Why did he take cheap shots? Was there a reason? Was Chet redeemable at all?
“Thank you, Chet,” I said without turning to face him again, sliding my key into the door lock. I tw
isted it, expecting the mild resistance of the tumblers and then the click of the lock, but nothing happened. The door wasn’t locked. It turned with no resistance at all.
I scrambled to push open the door and enter the foyer.
I didn’t shut the door behind me. I dropped my heels onto the wood floor with an echoing clatter.
Someone had been in here. Again.
“Chet?” I called, voice trembling with fear. It was so dark in here... and what if the assailant was still inside?
Why is this happening to me?
“Yeah?” I heard Chet’s distant voice from his yard.
I darted into the living room when I saw my phone, flashing on the coffee table. I hadn’t taken it to the wedding because it wouldn’t fit into my tiny gold purse. I never got the home invasion alert.
I swiped the phone open and saw that the security alert had gone off. Shouldn’t the police have come? What was going on? Was this thief a hacker? Did the thief know my passcode?
And can you call them a thief when it doesn’t appear that they ever take anything?
“What’s going on?” Chet called from behind me. His shadow clouded the open doorway and I turned to look at him, pressing my lips together, on the verge of tears. I felt so vulnerable right now. So unsafe.
“They were here again,” I told him, bringing my hands up to hide my face as it crumpled into tears. “Those kids were here again.”
Chet’s boots thundered over the foyer and I was stunned when his arms came up around me, tight and hard. He hugged me to his chest and I let him. We embraced for several seconds, and then I lightly pushed him away.
“I’m going to check this out,” Chet said, drawing his weapon and nodding to me. “Don’t you worry, darling.”
I watched him go with a sense of doom, but he circled through the entire house and came back in a matter of minutes.
“Gone,” I said, disheartened. Why was this happening to me? What were they taking?
* * *
The tenor of that night changed from one of heartache and self-pity to one of terror and defensiveness. I forgot about the ice cream and Netflix and Bubba. Instead, I quietly rooted through my possessions, trying to ascertain what had been taken, how they were getting in, coming up with nothing. I still had all my files, all my documents, all my cards. The living room and kitchen sets were untouched, just like last time. I took a deep breath and tried to move on with my life. It’s the only thing you can do, right?
I fell into a fitful sleep at some point, late. My phone vibrated and blinked on the nightstand with incoming text messages, and even though I hated his guts, I had to sit up and check every one. The first came around 10 p.m.
I know how you must be feeling. Please let me explain. Did you get home okay? Can we talk?
I made a soft “pfft” and fell back onto my pillow. Please.
Please just text back to let me know if you got home okay.
I opened a response, then closed it again. He could call all the hospitals in Texas if he wanted to.
I can completely explain what you saw between me and Lola. We are not together. It’s a long story… Can we talk?
I opened a response, wrote, No, we can’t, and then closed it without sending. That text message would count as talking, and attorneys don’t text their just-clients at night.
Michelle? Are you there?
That one came in at midnight. I had to admire his restraint—or else he was just with Lola, distracted.
All right…
That was the last text. I woke up to that one. It came in at 2 a.m.
I didn’t get anymore.
And a month went by.
Occasionally, I saw him. I never let myself hunt for him intentionally, but my eyes would slide toward his gray rancher every time I exited Withers Community, without fail. Sometimes he was outside and I’d catch a glimpse of him. Once, he had his powerful back bared, turned on the road, and I gave myself the luxury of tapping the brakes and admiring him for a second. The sun spilled across his muscles as they flexed and coiled during his hard work.
Then I exhaled and pressed the gas. It was over. And all those muscles—and the sex—couldn’t erase Lola’s tits from his hands. He was just like Daniel. He didn’t really love me. He was just trying to live his life. If I worked for the moment, great, and if I didn’t, that was great, too. Who would want that?
I got new clients and worked on their cases. Andrew’s case would be heard soon, but our defense was already assembled. He didn’t come to my office. He and Lola were probably firmly back together now.
I threw myself into housewarming projects: a flowerbed surrounding the porch, stepping stones in the backyard, a bookcase I painted all by myself. Chet visited without fail every time I was visible in the yard.
I lost Bubba.
There were two more invasions. It was always the same. Nothing taken. Nothing broken. No one there. Just the alert. I went to the police station and told them what was happening, and they told me that they weren’t getting the alerts. I called the app designer customer service line and they told me to uninstall and download the software again. I did. It was supposed to link up with my home system and with the police station. Then it happened again. The police didn’t show again. I decided I’d get a new security system altogether when I had the time and the money. In the meantime, no harm, no foul, I guess. At least I still had the television and the couch.
As I was coasting out of Withers Community to my office downtown, my eyes tracked Andrew through the windshield. There he was. We hadn’t seen each other in so long now—but there he was, on a riding lawnmower in his front yard. His shirt was off and his torso glistened with sweat in the July sunshine. That pepper-colored hair still fell wherever it landed. It seemed like forever ago... and I thought about my fingers sliding through his hair again, his hands hard on my back.
As if he felt my gaze, he glanced over his shoulder, and we made eye contact through the driver’s side window.
It was only a second, but my heart stopped.
My eyes flicked away and refocused on the road. My heart did the jitterbug in my chest, but I beat it down. It was just eye contact. We would have to see each other soon in court, and I couldn’t be this nervous and butterfly-infested then, could I? I needed to get used to him. I’d probably be defending him for another misdemeanor in a few months anyway, right? It was nothing, Michelle. Get over it.
I cruised through the front gate. If another car had been entering, I would’ve crashed smack dab into them and needed a mechanic real bad.
Guess I got lucky.
* * *
I didn’t dress up in anything special for Andrew’s trial. It was just the standard cloying black wiggle dress with three-quarter sleeves, and a tantalizing little froth of crimson silk at the bust in a sweetheart cut. It made my tits pop like a red-breasted robin’s. I pinned my hair up into the classic top knot bun, speared with black chopsticks, and delicately slid a pair of black cat glasses up my nose. I put on a touch of makeup. The usual: a quick flick with the mascara wand, a dust of foundation and some highlighter cream on my cheeks, and matte crimson lipstick to match the dress. Black pumps.
Totally standard.
As I walked across the courthouse parking lot, I took deep breaths and reminded myself that this was just another quick trial, just another client.
I strode into the courthouse with my pumps echoing behind me and my ass swishing from side to side, and Chet’s attorney spilled his pitcher of water across the plaintiff’s table. Andrew stood up like the national anthem was playing.
He wore a slate gray suit that barely contained his body, and my first non-sexual thought about him was concern that his jacket or his pants might rip if he didn’t move very carefully. He’d shaved, too. I didn’t know he owned a razor.
I placed my folder down on our table and didn’t look directly at him. He was just as likely to sear himself into my eyes as the sun was.
“Michelle,” his voice
grated behind me.
An involuntary shudder raced down my spine and I didn’t turn. I kept my head down and kept rifling through our file, just like I had done on the day he walked into my office five or six weeks ago.
I swallowed. “Yes?” I asked in a bright, fake voice. “Everything all right?”
“You shouldn’t be dressed like that today,” he replied.
I twisted to glance at him and saw that the bulge of his cock was clearly outlined in those tight dress pants. A part of me ached to reach out and stroke him right here—he was as big and rigid as ever for me, and in a matter of how many seconds?—but I pressed my lips together and burrowed back into my file.
“Take some deep breaths and think about baseball statistics,” I recommended.
“I hate baseball.”
“Then think about Lola,” I said. I knew it was a low blow and that this wasn’t the place, but the comeback was out of my mouth before I could stop it. When I glanced over my shoulder again, his erection was deflating. “Problem solved.”
I settled into my seat and crossed my legs, waiting patiently for the arrival of the judge to hear our case.
“How have you been?” Andrew wondered, settling next to me.
“Well. And yourself?”
“A mess.”
My eyes met his and held for a few beats. The room shrunk and we were the only people in it now. I could hear my heart in my ears. Those electrifying green-and-gray eyes were so soulfully pained, and I looked away again.
“I’m not going to do this here,” I said in a rushed whisper. I clutched my pen like I was trying to break it.
“Then where can we do it?”
“Michelle, Ace,” Chet’s voice broke into our conversation. “Good to see you two could put all that old bullshit behind you and focus on the trial.”
“You know me,” I agreed sweetly, though I did not look up to meet his gaze. Andrew stewed beside me as if he was telepathically slamming into Chet with a wave of animosity. “How about your team? Are you excited?”