“Yes, Mr. Green. Thank you.” I heard the smile in his voice. Jacob was young, barely out of high school and was really shy. He was scared shitless of authority.
“Stop calling me Mr. Green.” I hated it. It made me feel old. I was only twenty-seven.
“You got it, Mr. Gree—Uh, Mr. Logan. No problem.”
My fingers ached from how hard I was pinching the bridge of my nose. “Jacob, go paint the walls.”
“Yes, Mr. Green.” The kid inhaled a sharp breath before finally hanging up and stopping himself from saying anything else.
“Jacob Patterson?” Godrick walked into the living room wearing one of those baby harness things around his chest and then handed me a beer.
It was a sight I would never get used to. Godrick laid his hand on the back of his son’s head to support it as he sat down next to me. The man was so different as a father. At work, he seemed so untouchable and badass, but at home, once he walked through the door, the man in a suit melted away.
“Yeah, he is a nervous wreck whenever he talks to someone who is in a position higher than him.”
“He means well. He just needs some direction. It was why I hired him. Someone needed to give him a chance. He does great work. I could care less if he stutters when I talk to him.”
My eyes drifted to the door, and the gears in my head turned to try and figure out a solution with Maria. I took a swallow of beer, coating my dry throat as my stomach tossed and turned, wondering if the only solution meant I couldn’t be her friend anymore. Heck, maybe we were never friends.
And the truth of that was too hard to come to terms with, so I pushed it out of my mind. I’d rather have her in my life than not at all. I wasn’t meant to love her in any way but platonic, but I knew I was meant to be in love with someone.
I just wish whoever it was would come find me already. It felt like my entire body ached from needing someone to love.
Chapter Two
Abigail
I was one of those people that other people liked to avoid on the street. I had a sign that said, ‘Need 10 dollars for Shower and Food’. Luckily, after the accident, I still remembered how to read some words and when it came to writing, I was a bit slower at it, and some words took longer than others, but that was what happened when you got bashed in the head.
Everything was new. The world was new.
And the past year had been the hardest year of my life. The only thing I took from it was the world was a lot crueler than it was kind. People didn’t want to help people like me. They believed that I should help myself, and they weren’t wrong, but I knew nothing about my twenty years of life. I had no memories. The only thing I had to go on was this last year and what people told me.
I didn’t even know my name when I woke up from surgery. It was Abigail. Whoever named me that needed their head examined. I only knew my last name because I saw it on the chart.
Adams.
People’s names were their identity. Their names defined them. The names matched the face of the person it titled.
I was only familiar with my face this past year.
Who was I? I couldn’t place one memory with that name, so what was the point of it? What was the point of anything? It was the same thing, different day. At least today, I was in clean clothes that I washed in a sink and blow-dried under a hand dryer.
I wore one of the few things I had. I had the same outfit the day I was admitted into the hospital. A nightgown. It was clean, and they had washed the blood out of it for me. I had a pair of shorts and a simple t-shirt. I did my best to stay clean because people didn’t like dirty people; that I noticed too.
Right now, I hadn’t showered in a few days, and people curled their noses at me. Tears burned my eyes from the frustration of this life. I wanted more for myself, but I had no idea how to get it. How did someone get a job when they couldn’t remember anything?
When I was released from the hospital, they wanted to take me back home, but that feeling, the haunting grip on my stomach that screamed at me not to go there, took over, and I ran far away. I didn’t want to go home.
And I’ve survived on the streets for the last year, but it was hard. Some days I wondered if I should face my fears and go home, but I couldn’t remember the address.
“Hey.”
I pressed against the red brick wall behind me when I saw the person whose face matched the voice. He held out a bottle of water and a muffin. He was handsome. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, the kind of guy I thought I would be interested in. I didn’t know. I hadn’t felt attraction to anyone in the last year. I guess I wouldn’t, considering running was all I knew.
“Here,” he slipped a twenty in my old green beans can that I had taken everywhere with me. “It isn’t much, but I hope it helps.” He placed the bottle of water and muffin on my blanket and stared at me, blonde brows thick and pinched together. “What’s your name?” he asked.
I shook my head and kept my mouth shut. Speaking was still hard. Some words, like writing, came out easier than others, so I did the next best thing. I stopped speaking altogether. It wasn’t good. I needed to practice, but I had no one but myself to practice with, and I didn’t want anyone to think I was crazy.
Because I had witnessed homeless people talking to themselves, and it did look crazy. I knew that.
“Right, I understand. Well, my name is Haden. Haden Brown.” He handed over his card, and he pointed to the numbers on it. “I’d like to help you out.” He took a step forward, and a flash of something in my mind made me stumble. A memory?
I never had memories.
It was a man charging at me, but it was too dark to see any details. Fear. So much fear. I scurried away from Haden when the fear became too much…when it felt too real.
Something bad…
“Okay, I’m sorry. I just hate to see people struggling. Call if you need anything, okay?” The big man turned around and left, his blonde hair in a messy bun on top of his head. As he walked, he looked back at me, and I didn’t know if I needed to fear for my life. What if he was a sex trafficker or something? I had seen plenty of homeless women turn to prostitution, get hooked on drugs, and never be seen again. Countless women and children get taken off the streets, thrown in vans, kicking and screaming, and just like that, they never existed.
Realizing I had twenty-five dollars, I rolled up my blanket, stuffed it in my worn backpack I collected from a dumpster over the last year, and then slipped the clip through the hole I had in the corner of the cardboard and snapped it to my backpack so I didn’t have to carry it.
While walking around so much, I end up scoping out places. I had a favorite spot right next to the water. It was peaceful to wake up to, but the bugs were a bitch. Yesterday, while I was on my way to another corner to ask for change, I noticed a subdivision with half-built homes, which usually meant a temporary place to stay for people like me. I checked one out, found out it had cold and hot water already, and smiled. I could shower there without truckers staring at me with sex in their eyes and erections in their pants.
It scared me to be a young woman on the street. It was only a matter of time before sex would happen, whether I liked it or not.
Instead of going to my usual gas station, a small mom and pop shop on the corner that had homemade pretzels, I walked to the grocery store. It wasn’t every day I had so much money, and I was going to get a good meal, a drink, shampoo, and body wash. If I had enough leftover, I’d buy a hairbrush. It had been way too long since I had combed through my massive mane.
The parking lot was nice; nicer than the areas I was used to going to. The lawn was green and trimmed interrupted by new black pavement, the people coming in and out looked like they stepped out of a magazine. It smelled better over here, fresh and warm from the sun, and people stared at me.
I was out of place with my dirty clothes and skin. I kept my head down. I had money. That was all that mattered. A woman holding the hand of her young daughter pulled her close, mutter
ing into her ear.
Another memory.
Snow. A woman talking to a man in uniform.
And just like that, it was gone. I didn’t even know if it was real, or just my imagination playing tricks on me.
Keeping my eyes averted on the ground as I entered the grocery store, the automatic doors welcomed me, blasting my entire body with cold air conditioning. The relief felt so good. My sweat dried instantly, and the coolness hugged my skin. The security guard, round in the stomach with a white beard, eyed me. I looked like I’d bring trouble. I raised the cash in my hand and gave him a smile, hopefully reassuring him that I wasn’t a thief.
His eyes softened and the wrinkles faded. His hackles were no longer raised.
Pity.
I wanted none of that. I turned right, passing beautiful colorful plants. I forgot what they were called. They smelled wild, some with orange and pink leaves, but they weren’t called leaves, it started with a P, I just couldn’t remember the word. I brought one to my nose, closed my eyes, and inhaled. This smelt sweet, like sugar, and I glanced at the price seeing how much one cost. Two dollars.
Maybe I’d come back for it.
Making my way through the fruit section, I grabbed an apple, and then I went to the premade sandwich section. A big sub with all the fixings on it was seven dollars. It had ham, turkey, lettuce, tomato, a packet of mayonnaise and mustard. My stomach rumbled, and my mouth watered. Now that I thought of it, the last time I ate was yesterday morning. I tucked it under my arm and walked through the next section. It was cold in here. I shivered as I strolled by the frozen meats and saw bacon. I heard a lot of people talk about bacon, and it did smell good. I’d walk by breakfast carts in the early morning hours while workers got their breakfasts, and the one thing I smelt the most was the bacon cooking.
I wished I could try it to see if I liked it.
Next, I went through the chip aisle and felt immediately overwhelmed. So many choices. I had no idea what I liked. It had been so long since I had chips. What if I bought them and hated them? It was money down the drain. I couldn’t afford to waste money. I stepped back and ran into a cart. I held out my hands as I turned around and mouthed ‘sorry’ before running to another aisle. I grabbed a traveled size bottle of shampoo and conditioner, something called dry shampoo that seemed pretty interesting, and deodorant. I still had a toothbrush and toothpaste.
I remembered my hygiene. Thankfully. What a nightmare that would be.
Music burst through the speakers in the ceiling, a slow tune that was enough to put me to sleep as I stood in the check out line. I felt everyone’s glares— their judgement—and tears welled in my eyes.
“Hi, how are you?” the cashier asked as she scanned the items. I watched the total on the screen add up and reached into the refrigerator to my right and grabbed a water. With every beep, the dollar amount climbed, and my pulse raised when it hit twenty dollars.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-three fifty.
When did things become so expensive?
“That’s going to be twenty-four-seventy-five.”
I swallowed. A part of me didn’t want to hand over the full twenty-five dollars I had. I had to though, if I didn’t want to be hungry for the night. With reservation, I stretched out my arm and handed her the money, placing it in her palm.
“This looks good,” she said, giving me a kind smile. “I hope you enjoy it.”
I tilted my lips to the side and gave her small, wary grin in return. I wasn’t too sure what to make of her kindness, but I had to show that I appreciated it.
“Be careful. It’s supposed to be cold tonight,” she advised.
My eyes drifted to her name tag. Cath-er-ine. Catherine. I hated that I had to sound things out in my head. I felt so stupid. Whatever happened to me, I’d forever be resentful.
She had soft brown hair, light blue eyes, wrinkles in her cheeks. She looked like a mom. I didn’t know what it was, but something about her glowed with wanting to take care of people. “Thank you,” I said slowly.
“May God bless you, sweetheart.” She placed my items in black reusable bags and handed them over.
I didn’t buy the bags. They are too expensive. I rubbed my hand down them and shook my head, trying to convey that there had been some mistake. She tried handing me the bags again, and this time, she slipped them around my wrist, giving the top of my hand a soft pat. Her hands were cold but soft. Her gold wedding ring shined in the grocery store light, a square diamond sitting in the middle. She brushed her wavy hair off her shoulder and handed me my receipt.
“A gift from me. I know you could use the bags. Take care, sweetie.”
Kindness.
It was one of the few things that brought warmth to my heart these days. I blinked away the tears, took the bags, and walked out the doors and into the heat. At least I had a place to stay tonight, even if I wasn’t supposed to be there.
Risk was the only thing keeping me alive these days.
And without risk, there could be no reward or promise things would get better.
I heard that somewhere. I didn’t know who or where, but it sounded true, so I was going to live by it.
Taking a left, I started the hike toward the house, my old shoes dragging along the sidewalk. Hopefully, this journey didn’t last much longer. One day I’d get my life together, and it wouldn’t be based on the sole purpose of surviving but to actually live.
I was excited for that day. I had to keep thinking of it because if I lost that, then the reason to live would be gone. And all of this would have been for nothing.
Chapter Three
Logan
The sun sat low in the sky, lowering over the edge of the earth I could no longer see. My truck was a few driveways down from the house my crew and I were working on. I sent everyone home a little early and decided to stake out the place to see if we really had a squatter or not. I wouldn’t just kick them out, that wasn’t my style. I’d offer to pay for a few nights in a hotel for them, get them food, maybe some new clothes, and send them on their way.
Kicking someone who needed a roof over their head out on the street was wrong. I wanted to always try and be a good person. Now, did that mean that I was always good? No. I had times where I knew I was an asshole, that I was up to no good, and my intentions weren’t always the greatest. I was fucking human. I made mistakes.
Like wanting Maria when I knew damn well wanting her and needing her are two completely different things. It was why taking a step back from her was so easy because I knew wanting her wasn’t enough for me.
I needed to need her.
And I didn’t.
I watched out my windshield, waiting to see the intruder, but night was falling quickly, and not a soul was in sight. I had the perfect view of the half−finished house. The driveway was still red dirt, and there wasn’t a mailbox yet. The frame of the house was built, so the new roof just went on. It was one of the smaller homes in this subdivision, and it was already up for sale. No one knew this, but I had my eye on it while I was building the damn thing. I noticed myself personalizing it and wanting to make it my own.
And that was when it hit me; I needed to move out of my sister’s house with her husband and son. I wasn’t needed there anymore, and it was time for me to move on with my life. I had issues letting go, I wasn’t blind to it, but it was fucking hard. How did I cut the strings off from someone I took care of most of her life?
There wasn’t a book or ‘How To’ pamphlet. I just had to do it.
So why not buy a little two-bedroom, two-bathroom house? There was no harm in that. It was well in my budget, the community was nice, the school district was great, and it wasn’t that far from Lucy. It was perfect.
Houses went quickly in this new area, so I had to act fast. I typed out an email on my phone to Godrick and told him what I wanted to do. My finger hovered over the send button as I debated. If I sent it, he would know that I was thinking about moving, which meant he was going
to tell Lucy, and I hadn’t even told her yet.
Fuck it. Better him than me.
I pressed send, and right as I lifted my eyes back to the windshield, I saw a small figure walking across the grass. I just had that grass sod installed today, and of course, someone just trampled all over it.
My hand clenched the door handle until my knuckles, somehow managed, to turn a lighter shade of white than my already pale skin. I didn’t know why something as simple as someone walking over freshly laid grass really ticked me off. I had no idea it was a pet peeve, but there I was, ready to commit murder for something as trivial as grass.
Fuck me. I needed to get out more.
I decided to give the imposter a few minutes to get settled and comfortable. I didn’t want to mess up someone’s routine, and the mental state of the person in my house right now could be anything and everything but stable. Using caution, yet remaining kind and caring were key here.
“Fucking hell, Logan. You sound like a self−help CD people listen to on their ride to work,” I shook my head at my own ridiculous statement and rubbed my hands over my face to get my head on straight. Sleep. I needed sleep.
And to get laid.
Fuck, it had been so long since I had been with a woman that a soft breeze could blow by and make me hard.
“Now is not the time for that, Logan. Deep breaths, get your mind off what isn’t important, and concentrate on what is.”
There I go again.
Fifteen minutes had passed when I stole a glance at the clock on the dashboard. That was plenty of time for someone to get settled. The plastic bag beside me crinkled as I grabbed it. I pulled the handle of my truck door and jumped down. My feet hit the pavement, and as much as I wanted to slam the door, I didn’t want to give my location away or have the person in my house run away and get skittish, so I lightly shut it with a soft click.
Double checking the bag in my hand, I made sure the Coke and leftover steak I made for myself last night were still in there. Where it could have gone, I didn’t know. Maybe it would have spilled out of the bag, grew legs, and disappeared, but I just wanted to make sure. It was a crazy thought, but no matter how annoyed I was at the stranger in my home; I still cared for their well−being.
Always The Hero (Plot Twist, I'm Pregnant Book 2) Page 2