by Kate, Jiffy
The walls crumbled.
And for a brief moment, I let myself feel.
And it was scary.
It was alarming.
It was sudden and life-altering and I had to do something about it.
When Brandy approached me at the bar, my first response was to push her away. I had no desire to be with her. I haven’t in a long time, especially since Avery came along. But then I had a thought, and on a spur-of-the-moment decision, I decided to use her, just like she’d been using me all these years.
Never planning on letting it go further than a grope session, I waited, biding my time until Avery came to work. When I saw her and her eyes locked onto mine, I got more than I bargained for.
I expected to find disappointment and maybe a little rejection, but the deep hurt that showed like a beacon in a storm cut me to the bone.
She looked like I had literally ripped her heart out of her chest and stomped on it. I couldn’t stick around to watch it. I’m too much of a coward for that. I might talk big and act like a dick, but deep down I’m not made for that kind of pain. I never wanted to hurt her. Just the opposite. I wanted to turn her away, make her run from me, because I have nothing for her. Everything left inside of me is broken and damaged, nothing someone as bright and alive as Avery deserves.
Nursing a room-temperature beer, I stare down Paulie, who looks like he could pull out my teeth with a set of pliers and shove them up my ass. All the while, my chest aches with a fresh pain, new from anything else I’ve felt in a long, long time.
“Just say what you want to say,” I finally mutter, wanting him to get whatever’s eating at him off his chest.
He just grunts his response and brings his own bottle of beer to his lips. When he sets it back down on the table, he shakes his head. “I didn’t think you were capable of what I saw tonight.”
“What’s that?” I ask, playing dumb, forcing him to say it. If he wants to bring it up, we’re not tiptoeing in the tulips. We’ll talk about it, like men. Paulie’s not usually one to broach personal topics, so the fact that he’s mentioning it at all is surprising to me.
“That girl...” he pauses, rubbing a hand down his face and scratching at the day old scruff on his jaw. “Avery,” he continues, “she likes you.” His words are even and matter-of-fact, just like him.
“I’m not a professional on relationships, obviously,” he huffs and shakes his head again. “But I’m not stupid and I’ve watched people my whole life. I know most think I’m just a bum turned bartender, but I’ve been around the block a time or two, feels like I’ve lived a few lives, if I’m being honest.” When he pauses again, his eyes focus hard on the scratched wood of the table. “She’s something special and if I’m not mistaken, you feel a little something for her too.”
I bristle at that and twist my neck to the side, avoiding his gaze. When I don’t reply or deny, he continues.
“I see it. The way you look out for her, watch her every movement. I’ve never seen you respond to a woman like that. And I think we can both agree, she’s a woman.” His knowing eyes go wide in acknowledgement and let out a deep sigh, biting down on my lip to keep from saying something I’ll regret later.
“Why’d you do it?” His question is low and laced with disappointment.
“She needs to know what she’s dealing with,” I reply simply and honestly. “I’m not what she thinks I am. She shouldn’t look at me like she does.”
“How’s that?” Paulie presses, elbows placed firmly on the table.
“Like I’m a good person...like she wants to know everything about me...like I’m some kind of hero. She makes me feel...” I growl and run a hand roughly through my hair.
“What?” he prods, forcing me to voice things I’d rather keep inside.
“Like I want something I shouldn't.”
We sit there in silence for what feels like forever. Paulie eventually stands from his chair and kicks it in with his boot, making me look up at him, wondering if this conversation is officially over, but then he stops.
“If you want to die an old, miserable person, that’s on you. But I’d suggest you take a second chance when you see it, because they don’t come around as often as you think.”
“I’m not ready.”
Paulie nods, picking at the label on the now empty beer bottle. “Then don’t be a dick. Tell her you’re sorry and be honest with her, put her out of her misery. Because a girl like Avery won’t give up until it’s too late and she’s been hurt. I think we both know that about her.”
We do. Paulie and I both saw what she looked like when she came here. She was bruised and battered. She probably should’ve given up on that motherfucker long before she did.
I’ve thought more than once about taking a trip to Houston and hunting Brant down, making him sorry he ever laid a hand on her. The punch I got in while he was in my bar wasn’t enough. He needs to know that if he ever even looks at her again, I’m going to...
What?
What am I going to do?
As of this evening, I was trying to hurt her bad enough that she’d just leave. When Paulie told me she sucked it up and went about business as usual, I have to admit, I was shocked. I expected her to run, but she didn’t.
She’s strong.
Stubborn.
Tenacious as fuck.
And now that I know my little ploy didn’t work, what now?
“Who walked her home tonight?” I ask, my mind finally feeling clear enough to think about something besides being a dick.
“Jeremy,” Paulie answers, walking over and tossing his bottle in the trash.
“What the fuck, Paulie?” I ask, standing up and pushing my chair back with more force than necessary.
His hands go up in surrender. “Hey, you were nowhere to be found and I had a lot of shit to get done. Besides Sarah needed me...so, it was the kid or she walked home alone, and we both know that’s not happening.”
“Fuck,” I groan, raking a hand through my hair again. “I don’t trust him, Paulie.”
He lets out a sigh and leans against the bar. “Not saying I trust him either, but he’s got a boner for Avery. I doubt he’ll let anything happen to her.”
My frustration rises with the bile in the back of my throat. “That’s what I’m fucking worried about.”
“So, let me get this straight, you don’t want her, but you don’t want anyone else having her. Is that right?”
“It’s not like that,” I mutter, kicking the chair back into its spot.
Paulie lets out a chuckle. “Okay.”
“What the fuck?” This time the question is directed more to myself than Paulie, but he just shakes his head and walks to the back, assuming he’s taking his leave for the night...morning, what the fuck ever.
When I hear the back door slam, I flip off the lights and walk to the office. Grabbing my jacket and my keys, I follow Paulie, but he’s already made his way out of the alley. So, I unlock the shed and back my bike out.
I should drive home seeing it’s nearly three in the morning, but I can’t. Instead, I drive over to where Avery is staying. When I get to the familiar house, I drive slowly, noticing that all the lights are off. The streets are free of people and I have to hope that she’s in there safely.
The thought crosses my mind to call Charity House and see if Jeremy made it back there yet, but I don’t.
I do pause for a second, my eyes going to the spot where Avery was standing last night when she kissed me. I let myself feel for a moment, remembering the warmth and electricity that coursed through my body and wonder what the hell I’m doing.
What did I do?
Not the kiss. That I don’t regret. But the bullshit with Brandy. Why would I do that? Why would I intentionally hurt someone as good as Avery?
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I roll the bike down the road a little, away from the house, before starting it up and driving off. The cool breeze helps to clear my mind and leads me home.
My quiet, too big house.
Alone, which I normally relish in, enjoying the solitude, but not tonight. Tonight for the first time in a long time, instead of loneliness feeling like an old friend, it’s almost too much to bear.
Chapter 15
Avery
When I walk into the bar, Paulie raises an expectant eyebrow and tilts his head toward the back of the bar, answering a question I hadn’t yet asked. Since no one else is at the bar yet, I take it as a sign and walk with a purposeful gait in the direction of Shaw’s office.
“Hey,” I say, summoning the bravery I seem to have misplaced the second I stepped into the doorway of his office.
Shaw’s head snaps up from his desk, where he’s working, and my stomach drops. His eyes are sharp, yet reserved. I can tell whatever walls came down two nights ago have been fully restored, and something about the returned rigidness in his features spurs me on.
“Did you need something?” he mutters as his eyes scan my body, making me feel vulnerable under their scrutiny.
Clearing my throat, I deliver the words I came to say before I lose my nerve. “I just want you to know I know what you’re doing. The whole thing with the bimbo in the corner. I know,” I pause and swallow, my voice sounding foreign as it comes out of my mouth. When all Shaw does is stare at me, I continue. “You’re an asshole. I get it, but I need you to know that I don’t play games. So, the next time you have a message for me, just tell me, with words.”
A shadow passes Shaw’s features and I swallow, wanting to say more, but knowing I’ll hate myself for showing my vulnerability. The last thing I want him to know is how much that hurt me.
“I didn’t sleep with her,” he grits out. There’s a tightness in his face and his lips twitch with what I can only assume is guilt or anger, maybe a mixture of both.
“That doesn’t make you any less of an asshole.”
I turn and walk away, and I keep walking until I’m pushing open the backdoor of the bar. Once it slams behind me, I brace my hands on my knees and take deep, cleansing breaths through my nose, willing myself to not pass out or throw up. Normally, I’m not one for confrontation, but I also refuse to let anyone else treat me like shit. My mind wavers between offering myself a high-five and panicking.
What the hell did I just do?
I told Shaw off.
That’s what I did.
And he deserved it.
Yeah, no regrets.
Tentatively, I turn toward the door, expecting it to burst open at any moment and for Shaw to come storming out to tell me I’m fired. After a few minutes, and still no Shaw, I let out a gush of air and place my hands on my head, like I just ran a marathon and I need to catch my breath.
Looking around the alley—up the stairs that lead to Shaw’s apartment and then down the alley toward the street—I decide there’s no way I can walk back into the bar right now. I need a little time before I have to face him. Besides, my shift doesn’t start for another hour. I came in early for the specific purpose of telling Shaw he’s an asshole, but I had expected it to take more time than it did.
Now that it’s done, my schedule is pretty free for the next fifty-five minutes.
When the backdoor of the cooking school opens, I flinch, spinning around like I’ve been caught stealing. With my hand over my heart, I let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, my God. Sorry, you scared the shit out of me.”
Sarah chuckles and places a hand on her hip. “What are you doing back here?”
“Uh, just...taking out the trash.” My statement comes out more like a question and I shoot my eyes over my shoulder to see that the dumpster is empty. Blushing profusely at the lie I just told, I turn back to Sarah and give her an apologetic smile. “Or avoiding my boss?”
“Get in here,” she demands softly, opening the door wider for me to step around her. “I need a taste tester and since Shaw is in such a splendid mood, you’ll work much better.”
I feel like Sarah senses what’s going on between the two of us. Her knowing gaze equally sets me at ease and makes me feel exposed. But I like Sarah and she’s never been anything but nice to me, so I follow her into her kitchen and take a seat at the counter, waiting for whatever delicious masterpiece she’s going to put in front of me.
Within a few days, everything goes back to normal, pre-kiss and Shaw’s public display of affection. He’s back to being his typical grouchy self, but there haven’t been any signs of the bimbo. Paulie seems to be holding some kind of grudge against the grump, but I mind my p’s and q’s and stay out of that. They can handle their own shit. Sarah takes it upon herself to smooth the waters by offering donuts and free food on a daily basis, which seems to put everyone in a bit of a better mood.
She seems to be a professional peacekeeper.
Over our impromptu dinner a few days ago, she shared stories of Shaw and their other three brothers. Their mother passed away a few years ago and their father a year before that, which makes her the matriarch of the family and a job she takes seriously. When she mentioned their passing, her eyes turned sad and solemn, like I expected, but there was something else she wanted to say, but didn’t.
She did say that growing up in their Irish Catholic home was an adventure to say the least. She talked about Shaw being the life of the party, always pulling pranks and getting in trouble. Her stories had me reeling.
Shaw freezing all of his older brothers’ underwear.
Shaw dressing up like a girl and crashing one of his brother’s dates by claiming the girl was a trifling whore.
I laughed.
He was funny.
Who knew?
The Shaw she spoke of was fun-loving, full of antics and life.
What happened to change him?
What makes someone do a one-eighty like that?
I believe her though, because when the two of them are together, bits of that Shaw come to the surface. He laughs with her and smiles at her. The expression opening up a part of my heart I didn’t know existed. It makes me stupid because it makes me want to forgive his shortcomings and disregard his behavior. It makes me want to force him to show me the real Shaw—the one Sarah talks about.
As I’m gearing up to head into work, my phone rings and I answer it.
“Hello.”
“Avery.” My mama’s concerned voice comes over the phone.
“Hey, Mama,” I greet, looking around my small room for my hoodie.
“It’s raining today,” she says, making me smile and shake my head. “Be sure you take an umbrella and maybe some dry shoes. You know how uncomfortable it can be to work in wet socks and shoes. Is there a chance you could catch a ride? Maybe call a taxi? You don’t want to get pneumonia.”
I roll my eyes at her efforts to mother me even from hundreds of miles away. “I’ll be fine, Mama. It’s just a little water. I’ve got a hoodie and an umbrella.”
“I just worry about you,” she sighs. “Did you hear about that murder? Do you live near—”
“Mama,” I say, cutting her off. She’s been doing this more and more lately, worrying herself crazy and watching New Orleans news more than her own. “What did I tell you about watching those news stories online. There are murders and abductions everywhere. And I’m careful, you know that. I watch my surroundings and I never walk home at night by myself.” I continue my search of my hoodie, finally finding it in the bottom of the suitcase in the closet.
“I know, I know. I just worry.”
“I know, but you don’t have to. I’m fine and I’m gonna be fine.”
“Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?” she asks for the umpteenth time. “It’s less than two weeks away and I need to know what to tell your grandparents. They keep asking.”
Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I let out a deep breath. “I don’t know, Mama. I’m still looking for a place, but I think I’m going to room with my friend CeCe. I have to be out of here in a week, so if I have everything situated by then, I’ll see about buying a plane ticket home..
.or maybe a bus ticket.”
It’s an expense I really can’t afford right now, since I’m still saving up, but I know it’s important for me to go home for the holidays.
“Okay, baby.”
“I’ve gotta go. I need to leave myself plenty of time to get to work,” I tell her, standing back up and walking toward the door.
Once I end the call, I stuff my phone in my pocket and pull the hoodie over my head. Putting my backpack on, I grab my umbrella and head outside, pausing for a minute when I get to the sidewalk. It’s not just raining, it’s a freaking downpour. The weather man said this is the remnants of a late season tropical storm and I believe him. The wind is blowing hard enough that the rain is coming in sideways.
So much for an umbrella.
Just when I’m getting ready to turn around and get a dry change of clothes for when I get to work, because I’m obviously going to need them, I hear someone call my name.
Turning around, I look toward the sidewalk and see a large Jeep parked at the curb. It’s black and menacing looking, with huge tires. I pause and look closer, trying to see who’s inside before running out into the deluge.
“Avery!”
This time, I recognize the voice, and then I see him.
Shaw is in the driver’s seat of the mammoth vehicle and he has the window rolled down just enough for me to hear him call my name again. Without another thought, I run out into the elements and just as I get to the Jeep, the door opens and Shaw offers me a hand.
Once inside, I take a second to catch my breath then glance over to the last person I expected to see at this moment. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies, eyes scanning me like they’ve been known to do.
“What—” I start at the same time he begins to talk.
“I thought you’d—”
We both pause in an effort to let the other speak, when I huff a light laugh and brush a piece of hair away from my face, I don’t miss the way he watches me do it. Something in his dark gaze makes my heart beat pick up the pace. Maybe it’s being in this confined space or maybe it’s remembering the last time we were this close, in this exact spot.
