by Bry Ann
“Of— of course,” the kid stumbles over his words, before sliding the clipboard over to me.
“Sign in, please, sir.”
I stare at it for a long moment. Shit, what am I supposed to write? I can’t write ‘Cut’ here. I’m no longer in my own world where I have complete control of who I see and when I see them. In a world where criminals rule and things like names don’t matter in the slightest. In this world, a world of white walls and rules, names matter. Looks matter. It all matters too damn much, and I don’t belong in that anymore.
I feel Maria’s arm slide up along my upper back as she leans up over the clipboard. I turn and glare at her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What are you going to write, Cut?”
My eyes widen, while her smirk deepens. She’s never called me that. Not once. She’s using it now to let me know she’s got the upper hand. She wants to know my name so bad. She’s cunning. I’ll give her that.
I shrug her off me, yank the clipboard to the side, write Brantley illegibly, and shove the clipboard back at Matt.
There. Done.
“Give me that clipboard, Matt,” Maria yells, reaching her hands through the glass slot again.
I don’t say a word. I simply step back and glare at the kid with my arms crossed over my chest. He ain’t handin’ that clipboard over.
“Um… uh… Maria…”
He looks mildly terrified and I feel a little bad about that, but there’s no way in hell she’s figuring out my name like this. Not when she looked so smug just a second ago. I’m not particularly competitive, but no way in hell.
“Ugh! He’s not gonna hurt you!” Maria whines. “He’s more likely to adopt a kitten than lay a finger on you! I swear, Mattie. Come on. Don’t you trust me?”
The kid looks at me again. I harden my glare. Maria’s playing hardball, so I will, too.
“Why don’t you just go on back?”
He looks at her desperately. She literally stomps her foot like a five year old and turns to me with a hard look.
“You’re only winning because I’m not a bitch and I don’t want to scare him. You played low, man. You wouldn’t hurt a hair on his head!”
I smirk at her. She huffs and turns around. I can’t stop the feeling of lightness that spreads across my chest after a moment that seemed so hard and so triggering. I follow behind her, trying to be quiet, trying to stay out of the way. But that’s hard when you’re my size. I just want to get in and out of here, but I’ll give Maria as much time as she needs without one iota of complaining from me. I’m good at staying quiet.
Maria’s gone quiet now. Soon we are through a second pair of doors and in a big, open room. There are scattered tables and chairs, big, open windows, and several elderly men and women roaming the room. Maria is on a mission as soon as she gets in. She quickly walks over to a man standing in the corner. He’s older, with a white-grey mustache, wrinkled tan skin, and a stern look in his dark brown eyes. Definitely ex-military. Although, yes, there is a resemblance between him and Maria, I immediately can’t believe they are related. He’s so hard. So stern. Maria has those traits, I guess, but with her, they are forced. A coping skill of sorts. A learned trait. With this man, it’s part of his DNA. Maria’s soft underneath all her bravado.
I step back and let Maria go to her dad.
“Papa,” she calls over to him in a slow, hesitant voice. “Miss me?”
“Jefe!”
She beams and runs over, wrapping her arms around his neck. She’s so warm in her greeting. His hand pats the back of her hand a few times, never really returning her warmness. She pulls out a chair and sits across from him, leaning all the way forward, eager.
“How are things? How’s Kerri?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. He just shakes his head at her before his gaze immediately goes to me hidden in the corner. Ex-military, I’m a good hider, but his senses are better. His eyes are dark and intense as they roam over my scars.
“Who are you?”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
I step out of the shadows and extend my hand. Maria stands and walks to my side, placing her hand on my shoulder. I’m confused by the gesture, but her dad homes in on it. I realize then she’s ensuring he’s nice to me. I stare at her for a moment. She confuses me so much. My head hurts.
“Be nice to him, papa. He’s a friend.”
“Who is this?”
My mind quickly spins with how handle this. “Mr. Taylor, sir. I’m just helping your daughter out.”
Apparently the wrong thing to say. Maria’s hand flies off me, her father’s lips purse, and the moment becomes incredibly tense.
“He’s not helping me,” Maria hisses. “He’s seeing his family. I’m seeing mine.”
I frown. She found out about my desire to visit family two minutes before we left. What the hell is she doing?
Her father studies her for a long time before letting out a deep sigh.
“If he’s helping you, there’s nothing wrong with that, jefe.”
His voice is resigned and tired sounding.
She scowls at him. “I’m not here to be coddled.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“I need you to lay it straight.”
He tilts his head to the side, studying her. The more he does, the more deeply ashamed she looks.
“I’m slipping, papa.”
His jaw grits, but he forces it to soften as he reaches across the room for her.
“Maria, my daughter, you are so much stronger than you realize, but…” He looks down. Guilt weighs heavily in his eyes. “You have your mother in you, too. Softness. Love.”
“I’m not like her!” She yells, making several people around her jump. “She’s a bitch! I’m not her!”
There’s something desperate about her voice.
“Maria, your mother is a lot of things. A coward, irresponsible, weak even, but she had goodness in her too.” Maria’s already shaking her head. “She was loving and soft. It’s why I fell for her. You have—”
“I’m not,” Maria begs him. “I’m not like her.”
He tightens his grip on her hands. “I’m not gonna be around much longer, jefe. And I need to know—”
“Don’t say that,” she pleads. “Dad, don’t say that.”
He walks nearer to her, so they are standing face to face.
“Let me finish,” he demands, voice firm, bearing no argument. “I need to get this out.”
The unspoken words weigh heavily between them. I need to get this out before my memory goes.
Maria swallows hard and nods.
“I’m not gonna be around much longer, Maria. That’s a fact you have to accept. I need to know you’re going to be okay.”
He levels her with a hard stare when she opens her mouth to assure him she’s fine. We all know that’s what she was going to say. It’s Maria.
“I did my best raising you. God knows I tried, but I failed you. I raised you like you were going off to war instead of a young girl craving her father’s love. I did what I knew how to do, but it wasn’t enough.” Her father looks to me. I can feel the guilt and despair washing off him, even though his face doesn’t show it. “Maria, it’s okay to let someone help you. You’ve proven yourself. I know you’re not weak. You couldn’t possibly let me down. I never meant to make you believe love was wrong. I should have fucking…”
He chokes on his words, and looks at his daughter affectionately.
“Maria, when your mother left us, I should have taught you it was worth loving her when I did, that love lost was better than not loving at all, but I didn’t. I hardened you. Taught you weakness was never okay and to do it all on your own. I was wrong. I was the weak one, and Maria, my precious daughter, I am so sorry.
“I know you came here to have me harden you. To help you get a grip on what’s going on in your life without crying or leaning on anyone.” His gaze meets mine again, with no judgement.
Just like his daughter. Then he swings it back to her. “I’m not toughening you. You’re perfect just as you are, and I trust every single one of your decisions.”
Maria has tears streaming down her cheeks, clearly at a loss for words.
“Papa, you didn’t fail me. Please don’t think that. I love you so much, because I know you loved me. Even when I was irresponsible and dumb, you loved me and helped me in the best way you knew how.”
Her dad’s eyebrows furrow, and as they do, a dark feeling settles in my gut.
“Excuse me, can I help you?” He looks her up and down, assessing for recognition and finding none.
With those six words, Maria physically jolts like he shot her. Even though I know she’s probably heard those words several times before.
“Dad, it’s me. Remember?”
Her eyes are begging him to remember her. Despite all her strength and courage, there’s a little girl inside her who desperately needs love, but thinks she just needs order. I shake my head as I watch her. I want to touch her, offer comfort, but I don’t understand how I could possibly comfort her. I’m more monster than man at this point. I can’t change that.
“Dad, come on,” her voice quivers. “Toughen up. Remember!”
I remember when I saw her on the street screaming at her dad. Telling him he was a soldier, like willpower could fix this. The way she smashed her phone to bits, and quickly replaced it like nothing had happened.
This girl is hurting. Bad. Desperately hurting. I shove aside my strong aversion to judgement and rejection and walk forward, placing my hand on her lower back. She jumps back. I furrow my eyebrows as I watch her. Her mouth is tight, hands fisted, hip cocked to the side, breasts pushed forward. It’s hard not to be aroused by her, but I can’t right now. Sexuality and control are her MO. Her armor.
“Ma’am, if you don’t need anything, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I can direct you to the front desk.”
With that, she just shatters. Her legs crumble underneath her. I quickly catch her and turn to the confused man in front of me.
“I got her,” I tell him with as much respect and consideration as I can put into my tone. “I got her from here.”
I didn’t realize then how true those words would come to be.
20
“I’m so sorry,” Maria sobs against my chest after I dragged her out of there easily by wrapping my arm around her waist. Matt was looking at us like I fucking made her cry and was now kidnapping her. I dare him to come out here and say so, though. Stupid kid.
“It’s okay,” I assure her, rubbing up and down her back. My words only serve to make her cry harder. It’s like she’s letting go of things she’s been holding in for years.
Now that I think about it, she probably is.
I glance around. This nursing home really is in a nice location. The best. We are on a bench on the side of the building, right outside the gates of the home’s large patio. There are birds chirping, beautiful orange and yellow trees and grass so green it looks like something straight out of a movie. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been in nature, not surrounded by training equipment, boxing bags, mansions, and dingy alleys.
Years. Minimum.
“Wanna talk about it?” I ask her gently.
She looks up at me from under my chin, where her head is lying against my now very wet t-shirt. Good thing I brought the leather jacket lying beside me, not that I’d care either way. Her big brown eyes are full of water and loneliness. So much loneliness. She tucks her head back into me and shrugs. Her crying has ceased. I almost wish she’d continue so she could get it out of her. I know she’s still hurting.
“Can you rub my hair again?” She asks, unable to look at me.
I’ll do anything if it will make her stop hurting so bad. Slowly, giving her time to realize it’s me and change her mind, I lower my hand to her hair and start to stroke it.
“I wasn’t prepared for that,” she whispers after a long silence. “He… he never talks to me like that. Then for him to... and go away. It was like goodbye, and I’m not ready.”
“I understand.” I put more feeling into my touch.
“My mom left soon after I was born. I never really knew her. I have some very vague memories, almost like dreams, but they mean nothing. She wasn’t there; Dad was. And you know what? I hate her. I hate her rotten guts for leaving us. Dad loved her, and what girl doesn’t want her mom when she’s little? But she hurt my dad, and I think I hate her most for that. Now what to say about Dad?”
She taps her finger on my thigh, making my cock stir uncomfortably… and currently inappropriately.
“He’s tough,” she laughs. “I don’t think he ever expected to get stuck with a daughter all on his own. He was really, really hard on me.”
“How so?” I ask, brushing the hair out of her face. She sighs and curls her legs up so she can snuggle in closer. She genuinely seems to find comfort in this. I don’t understand. I stare at my bruised and scabbed knuckles for a moment. “I’m not judging,” I add, sensing that’s what she needs to hear.
“He wasn’t abusive, and I’m not in denial, either. It’s just, if you weren’t there you wouldn’t understand. My dad was a soldier and wanted me strong. Always strong. Jefe means boss. That’s what he calls me. It’s the expectation. I’m the boss of my own life. It’s why I am the way I am, ya know?”
“Give me an example,” I say softly.
She tilts her head to look at me again. I stop rubbing her hair for a moment.
“I’m not judging,” I assure her again. “You have my word.”
She nods and goes back to the same position as before. When I don’t immediately start rubbing her hair, she reaches her hand around and places it on her head. I shake my head, but do as she asks.
“When I was sixteen, I was a bit of a hellion. As you can imagine, my dad was not having it. Let me tell you. This is why I get kind of get irritated with the assumption that I’m irresponsible and slutty because I like to fuck, party, and drink. Yes, I like those things. Yes, I actively participate in those things, but up until my recent series of flukes, I’ve never missed work, never had an STD, or gotten pregnant. Hell, I’ve never been unavailable to one single person who needed me, even the people who spread all sorts of rumors about me because—”
“Maria,” I cut in, “I think highly of you. You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”
She stills completely.
“You do?” Her voice is soft. “Every time I see you I’m fucking up, and I just… I don’t want you to think I’m some dumb girl who runs through life not taking responsibility for her actions.”
“I do not think that, Maria.”
“Okay.”
She nods, letting some of the strength and deviant playfulness slip back into her voice. But only some. The aura around her is still sad and hurting.
“So yeah, when I was sixteen, I had a strict curfew of 11:30 pm. It was 11 pm prior to that, but I bargained with my dad. If I learned to change the oil and tires on my car, I could stay out a half hour longer. So, I went to the local lube center and hit up one of the guys. I flirted, played the desperate girl act, and got him to teach me. I came back the next day and dragged my dad outside, showed him what I knew. Bam, 11:30 pm curfew.
“Anyway, one night, a friend of mine gave her virginity to this asshole and he told her she was the worst fuck ever and he could tell she was a virgin. Obviously, she was crushed. I got her call at 10:30 pm. I thought I’d be fine. I went over and found her a mess. She was completely drunk, sobbing on the couch. I wouldn’t let that dick hurt her like that. I dressed her up. Texted that bastard on my phone, knowing he’d meet me where I wanted, and dragged her ass to the best club in town. My friend was a little nerdy, but I dressed her like the slutty girls this asshole liked. When he saw her, his mouth dropped. Just in time for her to smack him across the face. When he was down, she kicked his dick hard with her heel. I warned her not to go too far. She coul
d get assault charges, but the chick shrugged and said ‘my dad’s a cop’.”
Maria laughs at the memory.
“Anyway, I didn’t get home ‘til 12:05 that night. Dad was waiting up. I knew instantly I was in so much trouble. He was tapping his finger on the table with a stern look on his face. I tried to explain, but he held up a hand and stood up. I was told that it wasn’t just about the time. I disrespected him by not calling and letting him know where I was. That his rules were firm. I should have been home. Should have found a way. I had six months of volunteer work after that with no going out. He kicked my ass. Literally. Whipped my ass with his belt so bad it hurt to sit. I hated it, but you know what, I always take people’s time into consideration now.”
“That’s… harsh,” I say carefully. I do think he went way too far. She was a sixteen year old girl for crying out loud, but Maria has a different experience, and it’s her life, not mine. I said I wouldn’t judge and I won’t.
“I know. I could tell a hundred stories like that. The house wasn’t one of comfort, but it was one of love. He loves me in the only way he knows how, and I won’t let anyone fault him for it. He served in wars. Saw his friends blown to bits and adults using children as bait. He’s hard, but he makes me proud.”
A feeling I can’t explain spreads through my chest and down my body. I want to pull her off me and go fight. Fight this feeling out, but I can’t do that to her. Not after what she just told me. My hand does stiffen and I squeeze her head far too tightly. She slowly removes it and sits up. She looks at me with her chin lifted and proud, but vulnerability shines through in her deep brown eyes.
I shake my head, trying to get a grip on what I’m feeling. It’s funny. I can fight two guys at once, take a hit, a scratch, a cut, a bullet probably, but this, this talk, this feeling, I can’t handle it.
I stare at her intensely. No words will come out of my mouth. I’ve never been good with words. Actions are how I’ve expressed myself. Even before Cut, when I was just a naive young boy, I was still a man of action.
I take her hand, fairly certain she won’t pull away, and run my thumb across the top of her palm and squeeze. She looks at my hand engulfing hers, then at me.