by Jessica Ames
She flushes beautifully at my endearment. It was a slip of the tongue, but if it results in her looking this pretty then I’ll use it more often.
“See you later, April.” I turn back to the bed. “Bye, Luke.”
I pause, hoping for a second he’ll say bye back. He doesn’t and disappointment floods me.
A hand on my arm stops me from leaving the room, and I glance back to see April looking at me. “It would be kinder for yourself if you accepted your friend as he is.”
“Give up on him, you mean?” There’s a bite of anger in my voice that I shouldn’t be directing at her, but I do. I don’t want or need to hear her words. They don’t help me. “I’ll never give up hope, and I’ll never give up on him. Luke would never give up on me.”
April opens and closes her mouth, clearly shocked at my outburst. Then finally she says in a quiet voice, “Have a good day, Chris.”
She heads over to the bed, giving her back to me.
Fuck.
4
Chris
For the next two weeks my mind is still full of Luke, and annoyingly, April. I was rude to her and I shouldn’t have been, but hearing her words about Luke cut through me. I have to believe he’ll get better. I have to. The alternative is I broke my best friend, and I can’t live with the guilt of that.
Nova glances up as I step inside the building, her dark curls bobbing around her head. She does most of my admin and has been with me for a couple of weeks now—long enough to know I’m a jerk.
“Morning.”
I head straight for the coffee machine in the small back room that serves as the employees’ area. I need caffeine, pronto.
Halo Customs is the business my brother set up, but I took over the running of it when Curt moved to Iowa to be with Dana. He opened another shop there, and between the two places, we make a good amount of money—enough to retire comfortably on anyway.
“Morning, boss.” She loiters in the doorway while I fill a clean mug with steaming hot coffee. “Do you want to hear the line-up for today or do you want to drink your coffee first?”
“I’m a modern man, Nova, I can multitask.”
This earns me a snort. “You sure show your lack of multitasking anytime we have taxes to do.”
“I don’t like taxes. I like coffee.”
She shakes her head. “The rest of the stuff turned up this morning for your custom build. I put it all in the workshop for you with the other bits. You have a Honda coming in at three p.m. for repairs, and Mr Franklin has called three times this week about getting his Softail detailed.”
“We don’t have a detailer yet.” I’m still looking, but so far no bites.
“I told him that, but he’s not exactly great at listening.”
“I’ll call him back.” I place the pot back on the stand and turn to her, clutching my mug between my hands. “I’ll be out of the shop between twelve and one.”
I should have gone to visit Luke last week, but I kept finding reasons not to. I was busy in the shop, I needed to see my mom, I had paperwork to do—the list went on and on. I can’t keep putting it off, though. Luke deserves visitors and I need to go—even if it is just to assuage my own guilt.
I throw myself into work and by the time midday rolls around, I have a sense of dread in my stomach. It’s always there when I have to visit him.
Climbing on my bike, I head across town, and by the time I reach Sunnyside Care, I’m feeling a little more in control and my emotions are locked down. I wish I didn’t have to be here, but I’m also aware that one of the few reasons I come is April.
She doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s disappointed when I skip visits or go a long time between them. She cares passionately about all her patients and tries to advocate for them all—Luke included.
I pull my bike into the first space I find near the door. I cut the engine, kick down the stand and tug my helmet off, securing it to the back of the bike. A quick run of my hand over my head tells me my hair isn’t sticking up, and then I’m striding into the building.
I’d love to have April on the back of my bike, her arms wrapped around me, her face buried in the crook of my neck, but wishing for things that won’t happen is pointless.
As I step up to the reception desk, I find it empty. It’s not unusual for the staff to be busy around the facility and for no one to be at the front reception, but for some reason, I feel uneasy about it.
I quickly scrawl my name in the sign-in book and head down to Luke’s room. As I approach, I hear raised voices from another room further up the hallway. I’m debating ignoring it, but the guy speaking sounds angry. Then I hear April’s voice, and my feet are moving before I know what I’m doing.
When I peer into the room, my entire body goes wired. The guy is beefy, big, but he’s not muscular. Even so, he could cause damage. He has hold of April’s bicep in a grip that looks painful.
“Mr Garner, as I’ve already told you—”
“I don’t give a shit what you’ve told me. It’s lies—”
I don’t consider my actions at all. I push into the room and shove him hard off her. He goes back on a foot and nearly goes down, but he manages to steady himself at the last minute.
“What the hell?” he demands.
“You don’t put your hands on a woman in anger. You don’t put your hands on a woman ever. I see you doing that again or hear you have and I’ll knock your teeth out.”
My anger is raging. Seeing him touching her like that unlocks something in me, a primal need to protect her. I want to rip his head off.
Mr Garner brushes his hair back with a hand I notice is trembling. Good. Let him be afraid.
April grabs my arm and hisses through her teeth, “Can I have a word with you?”
I let her steer me outside and wait while she closes the door behind me. “What was that?” she demands.
“He had his hands on you.”
“Yeah, he’s upset,” she tells me as if I’m a dunce.
“That doesn’t give him the right to hurt you and yell at you.”
Her eyes roll. “Do you think I don’t deal with overemotional families all the time, Chris? There’s always someone. The people here aren’t getting better and some people can’t handle hearing that.”
I wonder if she’s talking about me and my denial. I know I’m having trouble accepting the truth, even though it’s been eight years since that incident in Afghanistan. I refuse to believe this is Luke’s life now.
“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have touched you.”
“Why do you care?”
This is a good question, and one I don’t have an answer to that won’t make things awkward. I care because I care about her, and I have no idea how to turn that off. It would be easier for us both if I could.
“I don’t,” I say finally. “I just don’t like seeing men hurting women.”
I turn on my heel and stride back up the hallway, heading for Luke’s room.
“Chris, wait.”
I don’t.
“Chris, stop!”
She rounds me, bringing me to a halt. I have to, or I’ll steamroll right over her. Peering up at me, April’s eyes scan my face.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?” I demand.
“Act like you give a damn about me when you spend ninety percent of the time ignoring me or treating me like I’m nothing to you.”
Heat infuses her cheeks, and it’s not from embarrassment, but from anger. She’s pissed at me, and I have no idea how to calm her down. She’s got claws when she’s mad. Her words do cut through me, though. Do I make her feel like she’s nothing? That’s never been my intention.
“April—”
“No, Chris. Just stop.” She straightens her scrub shirt. “I’m going to make sure Mr Garner is okay.”
She heads back up the corridor without a word.
5
April
“I can’t believe the audacity of the man.” I take a sip of my
wine, relishing the smooth taste.
“Well, honey, I’m glad he was there,” Bekah says from the other end of the sectional. Her hair is piled on top of her head, her feet are tucked under her, and she’s wearing a baggy sweater that drowns her, but looks so, so comfy. I’m also sitting in my jammies, my hair wet from the long shower I took to rid my mind of one Christopher Bannerman—not that it helped. If anything, it made it worse because I had time to think about him, which is always dangerous.
I snort in response to Bekah. “Mr Garner is a pussycat. He wasn’t going to hurt me. He was just upset when he learned his son’s prognosis. The kid is nineteen and a tetraplegic. He just found out this is the end of the road for treatment. He had every right to be emotional.”
“He does,” Bekah agrees, “but what he doesn’t have is the right to direct that anger and emotion at you. You didn’t make this situation. All you’re doing is taking care of his kid. Chris did the right thing, stepping in. What if he hadn’t and things had escalated with this guy?”
“I know you’re a cop and you see the worst of the worst, but not everyone is evil.”
She shrugs. “No, but in my experience, people are unpredictable.”
I suspect she’s talking about Mr Garner, but Chris’s behavior was also highly unpredictable. He rode like a white knight, ready to stand between me and the dragon.
Maybe I should have been a little more grateful…
“Chris was right to stand up and stop the situation before it got worse. Honey, you don’t go to work to be abused by people. It’s lucky Chris was there, and that Mr. Garner backed down so fast. Situations can get out of control fast.”
Guilt washes through me. Chris could have gotten hurt if Mr Garner had decided to let his temper get the better of him. Bekah is right. He didn’t have to get involved or stand between me and the danger. All he was trying to do was protect me from getting hurt.
That thought makes me feel a swell of warmth mixed with the guilt. Maybe he does care…
* * *
The next morning, I have a day off, but I get up early and head across town. I still feel terrible over my overreaction and I need to apologize to Chris. So, I find myself standing in front of Halo Customs at just after eight-thirty.
The bike shop is in two parts, with the shop frontage on one side and a small bay door to the other, leading to what looks like a workshop. Through the bay doors, I can see the star of my many late-night fantasies is crouched down in front of a shiny looking motorcycle. His dark blue coveralls pull tight over his ass, and I can’t help but ogle him for a moment before I force my feet to move toward the doors.
I’m not sure if I should enter, or if the garage floor is an off-limits space to customers and groveling women, so I hover near the entrance, waiting for him to notice me.
He doesn’t seem to, his attention locked on the bike and whatever he’s doing. His back is to me, and since I don’t want to give the man a heart attack, I go to clear my throat and announce my presence, but before I can make a sound, he speaks.
“Are you just going to loiter in the doorway or are you going to tell me what you want?”
I blink. How the hell did he know I’m here? I wasn’t exactly the queen of stealth making it to the door, but I wasn’t loud either.
“Oh, I uh… do you have a minute?”
He pushes up from his squat, the ripple of his muscles visible through his clothes, and turns to me.
He’s so handsome. For a moment, I forget what I’m here for.
“I uh… I just wanted to apologize—about yesterday. I was out of line.”
Chris reaches for a rag and begins to wipe his hands on it.
“You know I was just trying to help, right? I wasn’t trying to interfere, or whatever else you seem to think I was doing.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, wincing. “I know. I just… I know how to handle people like him, Chris. I didn’t need you wading in to save my ass.”
His jaw goes slack and his expression becomes unreadable.
“In future, there’ll be no wading. I promise.”
He turns back to the bike, dismissing me.
What. The. Hell?
Of all the rude…
My anger flares. I took the time to get out of bed early on my day off, come over here and apologize, and this is his response.
I don’t care if I’m supposed to enter the workshop or not. I stride across the floor and round the other side of the bike. My hands going to my hips.
“I’m sorry if I upset you, but what the fudge, Chris? I came here to apologize and you’re not willing to be the bigger person and accept it?”
Throughout this entire rant, he just watches me while my cheeks grow warmer and warmer.
When I’m finished, he says, “Fudge?”
I blink at him. “What?”
“You said ‘what the fudge’.”
I did. “So?”
“Do you always say it?” He looks like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing.
“It’s force of habit. I can hardly be running around in front of patients and families cursing my head off, can I?”
His brow arches. “But ‘fudge’?”
My eyes roll. “This is not the important thing here, Chris.”
“Then what the fudge is?”
Is he… mocking me?
I let out a huff of breath. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even tried to apologize to you.”
As I come around the end of the bike, heading for the doors, he grabs my wrist. “Your apology is accepted.”
I nod a little tersely. “Well, thank you. And I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off at you like that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“I just… you shoved a relative. It wasn’t a smart move. What if he reported you?”
“To who?”
“The police for a start.”
He shrugs. “Then I’d tell the police how he was grabbing a nurse and yelling in her face.”
His flippant response annoys me a little. “Chris, this isn’t a joke.”
“I’m not joking,” he says. Then leans over the middle of the bike to say, “I don’t like violence against women. That man was in your face, yelling, and he had his hands on you. So, yeah, I’d tell the police exactly what that scumbag was doing. And honestly, April, I couldn’t give a shit if he did just get bad news. That doesn’t excuse what he was doing to you.”
He pulls back from the bike and scrubs a dirty hand over his jaw.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I have shit to do.”
I flash him a watery smile and take off before I make even more of a fool of myself, wondering how the fudge an apology ended with him even more angry at me than before.
6
Chris
“You don’t call, you don’t write… I’m starting to get a complex, man.”
I glance up from my beer as Jared “J-Dog” Michaels strides toward me, a grin plastered over his face. He hasn’t changed much since I last saw him, although his hair is a little longer and he’s sporting a day or two of growth on his chin. He’s not a Daytona local, but he has family in Fort Lauderdale, so one of us will take the three and a half hour drive any time he’s visiting, so we can catch up.
I stand and throw my arms around him, patting his back roughly. “It’s good to see you too, buddy.”
He takes the seat opposite me in the booth and flags down a waitress to get him a drink as well. Then he stares at me a minute.
“Are you doing okay, Staff Sergeant? You look tired.”
“I’m not in the Army anymore, bro. You don’t have to call me that.” During the blast, I was thrown back too. I landed on my knee and busted it good. The damage was severe, but it did get fixed—not good enough for the Army, though. I was forced to take early retirement and with it went any hope of moving from Staff Sergeant to Sergeant First Class—something I’d been working toward for a while. I couldn’t continue, though. My knee will go
from under me sometimes and that unpredictability is what forced me out of the Army before my time. J retired three years after me.
“You’ll always be Staff Sergeant to me. That shit doesn’t disappear because you’re retired.” He takes a sip of his drink. “How’s tricks?”
“Same old. Bike shop’s busier than ever.”
“I thought we could go visit with Luke while I’m in town.”
I knew he would, but that heavy feeling reclaims my chest again at the mention of our injured comrade. “Yeah, sure.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Same.”
“How’s Robyn?” I change the subject before he can probe too deeply there. “Have you made an honest woman of her yet?”
Robyn, his girlfriend since high school, has put up with him for years. She’s a good girl, sweet and with a big heart. I have no idea why he hasn’t wifed her yet.
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “We’re getting married next year and I wondered if you’d be a groomsman.”
A grin splits my face. “That’s great and absolutely. I’d be honored.”
And I would. I feel a little choked up at being asked, considering I see the guy once a year, but the bonds of brotherhood, forged in the military, run deep.
“I’ll tell you what it is, it’s fucking expensive. Three hundred bucks for flowers. I mean, what the hell? They’re just flowers, man.”
“Beats me. If I ever plan a wedding there will only be alcohol and food.”
“The only ingredients needed.”
I’m about to take a sip of my drink when a familiar sight catches my attention. April. She’s sitting in a booth toward the back of the bar, her hair pulled into a messy topknot that makes her look beautiful. She’s wearing a plaid shirt over a black, low-cut tee that shows the swell of her breasts.
She looks tired and resigned—not like April at all.
It’s then I notice she’s not alone. She’s sitting with a man. He looks a little older than her, but not old enough to be a father or grandfather. He’s leaning across the table, talking urgently at her while she listens, but the tightness in her frame tells me she’s not happy about being with him.