A Good Man

by Rosanna Leo

  Seeing Emily did. When she parked her car in front of the house and waved at him, Michael realized what a dipshit he’d been. At this rate, he’d drive her away.

  He needed to get his act together.

  He met her at the car. “How was your break?”

  “Fine, thanks. I did what I needed to do.”

  “Good.” He considered reaching for her hand and stroking her soft skin, but worried the gesture might not be appreciated. “Em, I’ve been an idiot. I want to apologize.”

  “There’s no need, but I think maybe I should apologize.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I pushed you to talk to Lacey when you clearly didn’t want to. I won’t do it again, Michael. I have your back.”

  “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

  “Of course you do.” She reached for his hand instead.

  Immediately, his pain began to lessen. “Are you sure you’re not some kind of magician?”

  “What does that mean?”

  He closed the distance between them and breathed in her scent. “You take my pain away.”

  “Oh, Michael.” Emily smoothed her hand over his forehead and down to his cheek. “I don’t want you to feel pain.”

  “And I don’t want to cause any for you. I guess that makes us quite a pair.”

  “I guess it does.”

  Michael tangled his fingers in her hair and brought his mouth to hers. Her plump lips welcomed him, making him want to drink deep. Her sighs quieted the uproar in his soul. He’d never known such peace as when he touched this woman. He wanted to be a good man for her, to be her champion, her star. He needed to be the guy who had all the dots connected, the one with all the answers to her questions.

  How could he be that person when he couldn’t even answer his own questions? For months, he’d had himself convinced his life was moving on, that he’d managed his trials. With each passing day, he was becoming painfully aware that he hadn’t managed much at all. He’d been living in a vacuum. The closer he got to the anniversary of the shooting, the more he began to wonder if he had anything to offer a woman like Emily. She deserved happiness, not fear and unease.

  And yet he couldn’t stop kissing her. Michael thrust his tongue into her mouth, eager to put his stamp on her. He couldn’t lose her—that much he knew. If he had to use every weapon in his physical arsenal to keep her, he would. He wanted her to dream of him at night. He needed to put a love-struck look on her face. He was bound and determined to claim her heart and soul.

  “Whew.” Emily’s chest rose and fell when they finally fell apart. “That was some kiss.”

  “There’s more where that came from.”

  “I won’t say no.”

  A car door slammed across the street and a man called out. “Hey!”

  Michael looked up, only to see Trent marching toward them. The image of the brick emblazoned with the word Whore flashed before him. As his pulse raced, he set Emily aside and clenched his fists. He turned toward Trent. “Have you come back for more, you piece of shit?”

  “Michael,” cautioned Emily. “Don’t.”

  “He’s going to pay for what he did to you.”

  Trent poked Michael in the chest several times. “I don’t appreciate you sending the cops my way. They walked into the restaurant at our busiest time of day. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was for me to have to respond to ridiculous accusations of vandalism?”

  “Take your hand off me.”

  “I’ll put my hand wherever I want, Zorn. That seems to be the only thing you understand.” He shoved Michael.

  “Trent,” cried Emily. “Stop it!”

  “I can’t believe you think I threw a brick through your window, Emily. After all our time together, do you really think I’d try to terrorize you?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Why would anyone else do it?”

  “I know we’ve had our problems, but I still care about you. I’d never scare you like that. Frankly, I’m disappointed.”

  “You’re disappointed?” Michael shouted. “How the hell do you think Em felt, seeing the word ‘whore’ written on that brick?”

  Trent paled. “Whore?” He reached for Emily’s hand. “I would never say that to you.”

  Michael tore his hand from Emily. “You don’t get to touch her anymore, do you hear me?”

  The door to the house opened. Eli and Nick and a couple of crew members ran out.

  Michael turned back to Trent. “You might have everyone else fooled, but you don’t fool me. I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

  “Zorn, you need your brain examined.”

  “Get the fuck out of here before I take your head off.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Trent’s lip curled. “Make me.”

  ‘Please, Henry,’ Jane begged. ‘You need to leave.’

  ‘Make me.’

  Red-hot memories flooded into Michael’s field of vision. He stopped breathing. He stopped thinking. He hurtled through a tunnel and the only sound at the end was children screaming. Everything changed in that moment. He smelled the macaroni and cheese Jane had fed the kids for lunch. He spotted half-filled cups of apple juice on the kitchen counter next to the dishwasher. A couple of crayons had rolled on the floor toward the back stairs. Burnt orange. Canary yellow.

  A shot rang out, piercing his ears, but he kept moving.

  Michael looked for Emily, but couldn’t see her anymore. Her face had faded, only to be replaced by Jane’s look of shock and horror. Eli and Nick were no longer at his side, urging him to be calm. And Trent’s smug grin transformed into Henry Ashton’s blank stare of madness.

  He had to stop Henry before he hurt anyone else.

  Michael had to be quick. Henry was armed, gawking at one of the little boys from the daycare. The man raised his weapon.

  Every rage-filled blood vessel inside Michael pumped and cried out for revenge. He hurled himself at his foe, knocking him to the floor. He hit him and hit him and hit him.

  Strong hands pulled him back. He grappled. Henry was still moving. He needed to knock him out.

  “No,” he cried. “He has a gun. Can’t you see? He killed her.”

  “Michael. Michael!” Someone’s hand made sharp contact with his face. “It’s me, Eli. Snap out of it.”

  “Eli?” He looked around. “Nick? What are you guys doing here? It’s not safe.”

  He heard a feminine sob. How was that possible? Jane was dead. He turned toward the noise.

  Emily crouched at Henry’s side, wiping the blood from his nose with a tissue.

  “Em? Stay away from him! He’ll hurt you. He has a gun.”

  “You’re insane,” shouted Henry. “You need to be locked up.”

  Michael stared. Why did Henry sound so much like Trent?

  He blinked hard several times. The heat of the memory faded into stark, cold awareness.

  Trent. Oh, fuck.

  The man lay back on the grass, propped up on his elbows. He rubbed his jaw, but the gesture merely smeared the blood streaming from his nose. It had already seeped into his collar. He looked ghastly, like the victim in a slasher movie.

  Emily stared at Michael, her eyes wide. Her shoulders trembled and she turned her head.

  Michael tried to go to her, but his brothers pulled him away.

  “Not right now,” cautioned Eli. “You need to take a few minutes first.”

  “Let me go.”

  “No, Michael.” Eli’s voice was stern, sterner than Michael had ever heard it. “You’re not going anywhere near Em in this state.” He and Nick dragged him into the house.

  “Em! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  The last Michael saw of her before the door closed was her covering her face with her hands as she began to weep.

  As they entered the house, Lacey ended a call on her cell phone. “Oh, my God. What was all the racket about? I could barely hear the police on the phone.” She glanced at Michael. “You look like shit.”

&nb
sp; He didn’t respond. He had no words.

  Eli made Michael sit on a stool. “What did the police want?”

  Lacey reddened. “They, um, called to update us on the vandalism situation. It seems Jacob paid them a visit this morning.”

  “Jacob?” asked Nick. “Our intern?”

  “Yeah. He confessed to throwing the brick through the window.”

  “What?” Michael found his voice the same time his heart dropped into his shoes. “Why?”

  “I had a thing with him. He was getting too intense, so I called it off. He didn’t take it well.” Her voice dropped in pitch. “The note on the brick was meant for me. He lashed out. He told the police he didn’t want Emily to be upset. He just wanted to inconvenience me and stall the renovation. I guess his conscience got to him.”

  They all turned toward Michael, but he couldn’t look at them. He’d beaten the pulp out of Trent, certain he’d thrown the brick. If his brothers hadn’t dragged him off, he’d probably still be pummeling him.

  Trent would probably press charges. His name would be splashed all over the news. The sorrow in Emily’s eyes had unmanned him. He’d begun to hope for a life with her, a happy future, but she wouldn’t want anything to do with him now.

  He was insane. Emily would be afraid of him, and rightly so. She would hate him.

  No one could hate him more than he hated himself.

  Michael hung his head in his hands and didn’t move for a very long time.

  Chapter Twenty

  Michael, are you there?

  Michael stared at the fourth text from Emily that morning. Like all the others, he ignored it. He hadn’t gone into work today. Why bother? He’d only make people feel uncomfortable.

  I’m worried about you. Eli called and told me about Jacob’s confession. I’d like to talk to you.

  He read the message twice and hit Delete. Michael sat on his couch and turned on the TV. A movie about soldiers in conflict appeared on the screen. He quickly changed the channel.

  A few minutes later, another text appeared. Emily again.

  Please talk to me. I’m not angry. I’m not upset. I just want to know you’re okay.

  That duck from the insurance commercials quacked at him. Normally Michael would have laughed. He loved that duck. Just not today.

  Tomorrow was the shooting anniversary. His life was in shambles. His relationship with Emily was probably ruined and he might just have lost his job. To say nothing of the impending lawsuit from Trent. Not that any lawyers had been beating down his door, but he wouldn’t put it past Trent to sue him.

  As if reading his mind, Emily texted again.

  I’ve spoken to Trent. I made him understand what you’re going through. There are no hard feelings, I swear. He knows he goaded you into a fight anyway.

  At least that was one less thing to worry about. Eli and Nick told me they came to your house but you wouldn’t let them in, came Emily’s next message.

  Damn straight. He only needed one more thing to make his day perfect, his brothers breathing down his neck.

  You’re scaring me. Please. Just one word. Show me you’re alive.

  Ah, hell. Now he’d terrified her. He clicked the screen.

  I’m alive, Em. I just don’t want to talk.

  Can I come see you?

  I’d rather you didn’t. Not right now. I’m feeling sorry for myself. I don’t want you to see me like this.

  She paused.

  Okay. Can I text you later?

  Sure, maybe a little later.

  Okay. You’re not alone, Michael.

  He didn’t text back. He might be surrounded by friends and family but he’d never felt more alone.

  * * * *

  On the anniversary of the daycare shooting, Michael awoke at dawn. Not because he wanted to, but because his body took perverse pleasure in making him suffer through as much of the milestone as possible. Considering it was a Saturday, and a day off from work, it sucked even more. If he’d been able to go in to work, like a normal person, he might have found some distractions. He contemplated the idea of working at the house on his own, but it only held his attention for a few seconds.

  He dragged himself out of bed and avoided the mirror over his dresser as he trudged out of the bedroom. He didn’t want to look at his face. He knew he looked like walking roadkill. After all, he’d had an air of dead rodent about him for some time.

  When he did finally muster the courage to look himself in the eye, Jane Ashton’s pale face appeared instead.

  Happy anniversary, Michael! I’ve got a great day planned for us. I figured we could start with some moping, followed by a nap and a nightmare or two, and maybe later we’ll relive the whole ordeal a few times. How does that sound?

  “Go away.”

  That’s not very sporting of you. After all, I died because you failed to save me. The least you could do is help me celebrate my death-iversary.

  “Trent was right. I do need my head examined.” As he stared at his reflection, Jane took pity on him and began to slowly fade away. It hardly mattered. She’d be back. She’d been his constant companion for some time and she always returned.

  He headed into the bathroom, took a leak and washed his hands. Upon contemplating his reflection in another mirror, he realized he preferred Jane’s face to his own. All he saw was overgrown stubble, hollows in his face and a year’s worth of worry under his eyes.

  If only the groupies on Twitter could see him now. He’d seen mug shots that looked more flattering.

  He glanced at the shower where he and Emily had made love. It had only been days ago, but every moment without her had dragged. A year might have passed.

  She’d been true to her word, texting him again late last night. She’d checked on him and he’d responded, not wanting her to go to bed upset. His text was likely little comfort. He’d hurt her and he sure as hell had hurt Trent. What had he been thinking, pouncing on the man in the front yard like that?

  He’d thought he’d been defending Emily, but he’d gotten it all wrong. He seemed to be getting a lot wrong these days. His relationship with his brothers was suffering. They’d grown frustrated because he wouldn’t allow them to help him. God only knew his co-workers must think he was a basket case. The chief of police might want to give him a certificate, but the people who mattered probably thought he was certifiable.

  His mind was such a jumble of dark thoughts and bad memories and he didn’t want Emily to accept that burden. It might prove too much. He’d be transferring his hurt onto her and he’d sworn to never hurt her. Maybe he’d never said the words, but he carried them deep inside. After seeing how Trent treated her, he had already promised he’d be the one to take Emily’s cares away, not add to them. He wanted to be her salvation, in the same way she banished his pain.

  Of course, he might like to think she took his pangs away, but they never really left completely.

  One fucking year.

  Why couldn’t he forget?

  Michael showered and dressed. He considered eating breakfast but wasn’t hungry. Turning on the TV held his attention, but not for long. Nothing seemed to help for long. He turned it right off again, in case any news channels decided to revisit Jane’s death. Without anything else to do, he dropped onto his couch and tried to sleep.

  A ringing sound woke him up. Blinking, he sat up and looked at his watch. Nine a.m. Why would he have set his alarm for this time of day? He closed his eyes again.

  Once again, he was accosted by the same ringing bell. Was it the phone? Goddamn telemarketers, intruding on a man first thing on a Saturday morning.

  It took him a moment to realize it was the doorbell and not some sort of vile telemarketer conspiracy. Surprised, Michael forced himself off the couch and headed to the door, wrenching it open.

  Emily stood on his front step, wearing shorts and a pale pink T-shirt. She was fresh and perky and pretty. It was as if the sun had plummeted to earth, taking the shape of a gorgeous woman with a br
eathtaking smile.

  “Good morning, Michael.”

  “Em. What are you doing here?”

  “That’s not a very polite question.” She barreled into the house past him. “Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Um, come in?”

  Once inside, she put her hands on her hips and breathed in. Her nose wrinkled. “It’s stale in here.”

  “I haven’t opened any windows yet.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid this sort of staleness needs more than an open window, but we can start with that. It’s a beautiful day outside.” She walked toward the nearest window, the front-facing one in his living room, and opened it. “How about we let in some sunshine? There’s a nice breeze.”

  “Why are you here, Em?”

  “When you say it like that, it sounds as if you don’t want to see me.” She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying. Once she was within inches, she nibbled on one corner of her bottom lip. “I hope you weren’t planning on avoiding me for the rest of your life, because that would make me sad.”

  If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was playing the seductress. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the mood. Besides, she deserved better. “I’m not trying to avoid you. I’m just…I don’t know.”

  “Tired?”

  “Yeah. I’m tired.” Tired of putting on a happy face for the camera. Tired of pretending his head didn’t hurt and bone tired of acting as if everything was right in his world when it clearly wasn’t.

  “I’m sure you are.” Emily reached for his hand, her eyes crinkling with empathy. “I know today is going to be rough.”

  He nodded.

  “Right.” She inhaled and exhaled. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I need you to tell me your preference for tackling the day. If you’d like, I could take you out from morning until night and keep you so active you don’t have a chance to think. The other option is staying here, in case you’d rather hang out in front of the TV and wait for the day to go by. Either choice is fine by me, but if you decide on option number two, I’d like to stay with you. We don’t have to talk. You don’t even have to look at me. But if you needed me, I’d be here. So what would you prefer, curtain number one or curtain number two? Oh, and I should warn you, behind curtain number two you’ll also find a donkey.” She giggled. “That’s from that old game show. What was it called again? Oh well, never mind.”