CONVICT

by Callahan, Kelli

  Inhaling deeply, I lean forward to press my lips lightly against this cheek. Just a quick caress of soft skin. Leaning closer, his eyes open into mine, steel silver. They widened in surprise and he jumps back.

  “Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you,” I say, feeling self-conscious and unsure.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, looking around. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah, everything's fine,” I say, feeling foolish. What the hell was I thinking? Leaning in and kissing a sleeping man? As if this were some kind of fairy tale. “Sorry, I was checking on you. I knew you had a rough night last night, and you know, stab wound near the heart. You could have died,” I say. It's a lie, I know. But I think that it's believable enough based on the events of yesterday. He frowns, looking at his chest as if he's forgotten that he had been injured.

  “No, I'm fine. Thanks. What time is it?” he asks. Looking around the sun-drenched living room.

  “I'm actually not sure since there isn’t any power,” I say. I feel foolish for not having checked for an analog clock.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot,” he says, sitting up and shivering. “The fire went out during the night. Aren't you cold?” he asks, looking at me and smiling as he realizes that I'm wearing his sweats.

  “No, I'm not too cold. I think the fire went out recently. My room was pretty warm,” I say, looking back to the master bedroom. “You really didn't have to sleep out here,” I say, gesturing to the sofa.

  “It's fine. It's pretty comfortable,” he says, sitting up slowly and stretching his arms above his head. My heart skips a beat as the lean muscles flex. I wonder what it would be like to have them against me when he's not trying to shield me from an enemy.

  “Did you sleep okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I slept okay. I'm kind of stiff, but I think it has more to do with Raul than it has with the mattress.” He cringes, adjusting his shoulder.

  “I'm pretty impressed that you survived as long as you did.”

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling at him, feeling a little proud of myself.

  “It takes a lot of guts to go through what you did. And then live to tell the tale.” He raises his hand and rubs his tired eyes. My heart melts for a moment. He seems so much younger. I desperately want to run my fingers through his shaggy hair.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, looking back at me.

  “I can't remember the last time I ate. I don't feel hungry, but I should probably eat though.” He rises from the sofa.

  “I'll make us some breakfast.”

  “How do we cook without power?”

  Turning and smiling, he gestures to the fireplace.

  “We'll get that going again, and I'll put a cast iron pan on there. It should do the trick,” he explains, disappearing into the kitchen and making a ridiculous amount of noise grabbing pans, bacon, and a camping style coffee pot. While he is preparing, I smile, grabbing the blanket that he left on the sofa and wrapping it around me as I follow him back to the fireplace.

  “I never know what life will be like for me. So when I built this place,” he looks around, “I needed to make sure that it could sustain me for a few weeks until things relaxed out there.” He gestures to the outside world.

  “That makes sense. I smile and nod. What all do you have here?”

  “Oh, you know, non-perishables, boxed goods, that kind of thing. There's also a well in the back and the generator, which I'm going to have to look at later. Because it's not working for some stupid reason.” He frowns, and I want to reach forwards and trace the line between his brows to relax it there. But I think that if I did, it would just cause more lines to form. I feel like there's a mutual attraction between us and neither of us is sure what to do with it.

  Scooting closer to him under the pretense of getting closer to the fire, I watch as he prepares the kindling once more. I admire his technique. My dad was all about camping, fishing, hiking, basically anything outdoors, and while I've seen him do this hundreds of times, his never turned out this pretty. Perhaps it is the artist in Noah, but he seems to understand symmetry better. My dads’ kindling piles often collapsed on themselves, and he would use lighter fluid to ensure that they burned properly. I don't think Noah needs that, though. He seems to have a good handle on things.

  “So,” I say, looking from the fire and back to him. “What's our plan now?” Staring for a moment in silence at the fire, he looks up at me.

  “As you probably realized by now. It wasn't a random robbery; you weren't in the wrong place at the wrong time. You were targeted, and he will not stop coming after you until your father suffers.

  “Why would he want to do that?”

  “Well, you know how I keep saying that your dad's a jerk, and I don't like him?”

  He tosses me a casual look and I have to laugh.

  “Well, I'm not the only person who feels that way. Your dad has made a lot of enemies. Most recently, and most notably Raul. And Raul blames him for losing his family when he was in prison. He got out and had no respect from the other members of our society,” he explains after a pause, smiling to himself. “And his girlfriend and son are gone now too. No one knows where they are, but most of them can agree that they ran off and went into hiding.”

  “He had a girlfriend and a child. I can't imagine a man like him being in a relationship. But I can tell you it probably wasn't a healthy relationship.”

  He shrugs and places the cast-iron skillet on the fire to heat.

  “So he blames your dad for losing everything. And now he wants to take everything away from your dad.”

  “Wow,” I say, quietly comprehending the information. “That's a lot to take in. I never actually did anything. He just wants to hurt my dad by killing me.”

  “Yes,” Noah says carefully. I wonder if there is more that he isn't telling me.

  “So then here’s what we are going to do. We are going to lie low here for a couple of days until we can figure out a plan. We need him taken care of. We also need to keep you safe.”

  Nodding to myself, I turn my eyes away from him and back to the fire. I never would have been able to do either of those things on my own. Noah hands me a mug of coffee.

  “What's wrong,” he asks, “you don't like coffee?”

  “No, I do, but I want to ask you a question about something I saw last night.”

  “You can ask me anything,” he says, with a kind smile.

  “Why do you have so many scars?” His body stiffens. I wonder if this is the one question he won't answer.

  “You are lucky to have two parents who love you very much,” Noah begins and reaches forward to flip the bacon. “I wasn't as lucky in the parent department.”

  My heart aches for him as I stare in disbelief.

  “Are you telling me that your family did that to you?” I ask, gesturing towards his body. Though I don't see the scars now under his long sleeve shirt, I know they lay there as painful reminders of times long past, a good deal of them.

  “Yeah,” he nods, his eyes still on the flames.

  “I know this is personal. You can totally tell me to shut up and mind my own business if you need to.”

  He looks back at me and smirks.

  “But the scars on your back, the long slashing ones look kinda like this,” I raise my forearm, reminding him of the long cuts from Raul's knife. “What are yours from?” I wonder, and I feel my stomach flip-flopping. I'm afraid to know the answer, but I feel like I need to. I want to know more about the man in front of me. He's so much more than my father said he was when I was in high school. He turns back to the bacon before answering.

  “I got into a fight and got in trouble at school. The school dragged my parents to the principal's office and said I was a troubled kid, and I was,” he says, looking back at me. “But what the school didn't realize is that all my problems started at home. My dad was angry. When we got back, he shoved me hard, and I fell out of the second-story window.

 
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, raising my bandaged hand up to my mouth. “That's horrible.” He doesn’t say anything, only nods.

  “What happened when I fell? Well, I was cut up pretty bad as you can imagine, I went through a window. I also broke a couple of ribs on impact. My parents told the doctor I was goofing around with friends, and we were wrestling, and that's how I got hurt. And no one bothered to check the story. It was a different time, Charlie,” he whispers not looking at me. “The world was different then. Also, it was a small town. People looked the other way. Especially when certain people have a reputation for violence. No one wanted to get on my dad's bad side.”

  My stomach churns and my knees tremble as I imagine him as a young boy landing on the ground because of his father. Handing me a plate of bacon, we sit and eat in silence. I don't know what to say now. I know I've asked a personal question, and I hope he isn't offended.

  “What about you?” he says, and I look up from the bacon. “Do you have any scars now?”

  I raise my arm and show him a single line on my forearm that is mostly covered by the bandages he applied after Raul's attack.

  “When I was twelve I broke it.” I shrug. “It's probably my biggest scar. It's only about two inches, but they had to do surgery to fix it, and I wore a cast the rest of the summer.”

  “I remember,” he says with a nod. “I was there the day it happened.” I stare for a moment at him trying to piece together the memory, and suddenly it comes back in a rush.

  “Yeah, you were,” I say, frowning a little as the blurry images clear in my head. “I was riding a bicycle with Lucy and Abbie and I fell. I don't remember how, but I fell off and landed on my arm. One of them ran for help, and you came back,” I say slowly. His eyes are gentle on mine as we live in the memory. “You picked me up, and you carried me to the truck. I could walk, but you insisted on carrying me.”

  “Well, you were crying,” he says with a smile. That rare smile that makes my heart stutter.

  “You drove me to the clinic, and I cried on your shoulder, the whole way there. And you sat with me until my parents arrived.” Noah nods his head. “You were so kind.”

  Saying nothing, he looks down and takes a sip of his coffee.

  “I don't know if I ever thanked you for that.”

  “Maybe not,” he says with a shrug. “But you were a good kid. And I think you kept out of trouble for the most part.” He throws me a quick grin.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I smile, taking a sip of my coffee. There's so much history between us. Knowing that makes me smile more.

  Chapter Ten

  Noah

  God, it is fucking cold. I am standing outside in the middle of the snow, fiddling with a generator at six o'clock at night. And it’s already dark. Wyoming; with its early winters and early sunsets. My fingers are numb from the cold, and I feel my teeth chattering around the flashlight that sits in my mouth.

  Come on, you stupid thing, turn on, I muttered to myself as I continue fiddling with it.

  “Hey, are you okay,” her voice calls from behind me, pulling me from my angry thoughts.

  “Yeah, I'm okay. It's just a pain in the butt,” I yell back after pulling the flashlight out of my mouth. I make a mental note to correct my language. I don't think she minds. She's too polite to say so if she does. But still, I try to keep a civil tongue around her. She has this innocence about her. I feel like I'm swearing in front of a child.

  This damn thing cost me an arm and a leg, the least it could do is work when I need it to. Why have a generator in the winter if it won't run the electricity in the house?

  “What's wrong with it?” she asks coming closer and wrapping herself tightly in one of my winter coats.

  “Oh, it looks like one of the wires came loose. It shouldn't be difficult to fix, but I can't get a clear view of it,” I say, mumbling around the flashlight in my mouth.

  “Here, let me hold this for you,” she smiles, reaching for the flashlight and taking it from between my teeth.

  “Are you sure? It's really cold out here.”

  “Yeah. No, it's okay.” She smiles at me. I can't help but smile back.

  “All right, just hold it right here by my hands so I can see what I'm doing, please,” I instruct, pulling my eyes away from her.

  I'm focusing on the job-at-hand. My numb fingers don't want to move properly. I grumble to myself, swearing internally. “Almost got it,” I whisper, reaching my fingers back further into the machine. Then, I shout in triumph.

  “Got it.”

  “Oh good,” she grins. “Yay for electricity.” I smile back at her. I can't help but be in a good mood when she's around. I love her enthusiasm for life, I could get used to having her around. Closing the machine, I close my eyes. As it kicks on, I hear the hum of electricity move. The lights flicker on in the house behind us.

  “You did it,” she exclaims. She's standing right behind me, so close that it feels like the generator is electrifying the air between us, which has my heart beating faster. Once again, I feel this overwhelming urge to reach for her and pull her close.

  “Okay,” I say, tucking my hands back into my pockets before they move on their own accord. “Let's go back inside now. I don't want you to catch your death before Raul has a chance to give it to you.” She laughs, shaking her head while walking in stride next to me. I love the sound of her laugh. It eases every situation that I'm in. All I know is that the more I'm with her, the more I never want her to leave.

  Walking side by side, back toward the cabin, she shakes beside me. She gets cold so easily. I wonder why she never complains.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, as we cross under the porch and walk into the cabin. Her teeth are chattering as she nods yes.

  “Really, Charlie, it's okay to complain sometimes.”

  I pull her close and rub my hands up and down her arms.

  “It's gonna be okay,” I shush her and press her body against mine. She presses her face against my neck, and I shudder at the pressure of her cold nose.

  “Christ, Charlie, I didn't know you were this cold. If I had, I wouldn't have asked you to help.”

  “You didn't ask me to help,” she corrects, and I feel her smile against my neck. “I just volunteered.”

  “Oh, I guess that's true,” I laugh, shaking my head while rubbing my hands up and down her back. “It's alright.”

  “I know it'll be okay.”

  “How do you know?” I smile.

  “Because you're here,” she says. I looked down into those soft green eyes.

  “What did you say?” I ask, my breath catching in my chest.

  “Everything's better when you're here,” she whispers, her eyes on mine. “You make everything better. I never have to worry. I know that I'm safe with you. You've always been there for me. I've known you my entire life. I'm sorry that I haven't tried harder. I let my dad's opinion take over my own. But when I look back and really think about everything, I see that you've always been there in so many ways.”

  “I haven't always been there,” I say, looking away from her now. “And I am filled with shame at the memory of my incarceration, and how I left my children alone. You were there for a lot of things.”

  “You've made mistakes Noah, but that's not who you are. I think you know that,” she says with a small smile. I feel her arms slide around my waist. My body stiffens at the proximity.

  “Thank you,” I say, not sure what to do and unable to tear my focus away from her slim body. “I think you're incredible,” I admit, after a pause. “I don't know if I've ever told you, but you are the nicest person I've ever known. You have a great heart, and I appreciate what kind of friend you've been to my girls over the years.” She smiles at me, that lush mouth curving up. I find myself being pulled closer towards it, like gravity. It happens before I can even think about it.

  My hands reach forward, cupping under her chin, pulling her closer. As I fix my mouth hard on hers, her body melts against mine and fits perfec
tly, as if we were designed for this moment. Sliding my hands around her neck and cupping the back of her head, I let myself sink in as the taste of her fills my mind and my body. Her lips press gently against mine, and I feel the spark between us ignite. My hands grip tightly at the back of her hair, urging her on, and every nerve within me comes alive. She's so lovely. It's the only thought I have before I lose myself entirely, pulling her close. As we walk back towards the living room, we collapse onto the sofa. Her body is soft in my hands as they slide up and down her, relishing every curve of her. Lowering my mouth to her neck, I nibble lightly.

  “Noah,” she whispers. And I feel myself ache for her. Her long legs slide around my waist, teasing at the hem of my shirt and sliding it up as her hands roam freely across my back. I grab hold of her hand and hold it above her head. She winces in pain.

  “Oh God, fuck, I'm sorry,” I say while sitting up quickly and looking down at her hand. “I'm so sorry, I forgot about it. God, let me go get you ice.” Jumping up from the sofa, I start running to the kitchen, frantically searching for a packet of ice.

  How can I be so stupid?

  I need to be more careful with her in so many ways, especially now with this. How could I forget what she's just gone through? I should apologize, I think while walking back to her. I crouch next to the sofa and place the ice pack in her hand.

  “I'm really sorry, Charlie. I got carried away and I completely forgot. How's the rest of you?” I ask, reaching for her forearm to make sure there isn't any blood. She doesn't appear to be in any more pain.

  “Don't apologize.” She smiles. “I got a little carried away too and I'm not sorry for it, so you shouldn't be either.” She sits up, holding the ice pack in her hand then leans forward, and kisses me lightly on the mouth. I might be looking at the most perfect human being that has ever walked the planet.

  “You’re so nice, Charlie,” I say, reaching up and caressing her cheek. “Don't ever change.”

  “Okay,” she laughs, then tucks her legs in so I can sit next to her on the sofa.

  “That was some kiss,” she says, looking down at her hand again.