by Wendy Cole
I tried to wiggle loose, but his grip tightened and that dark, icy look fixed on me.
“I have to go,” I said, my words harsh.
He scanned my face, searching, reading. Whatever he found there seemed to focalize him. With one last furtive glance at the men now dominating the bar stools, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pressed me into his side.
We moved like smoke across the back of the bar and drifted out the exit without incident.
The moment the door shut behind us; I heaved a breath. The darkness of the back alley seemed to stretch on for miles. I turned towards the bridge, but the stranger’s hold tightened.
I looked up at him. “I have to go.”
My eyes darted back to the door; ears primed for any sound that may signal the start to my impending fate.
“They didn’t see us.” His voice was low but rough. “Were they what you’re hiding from?”
“I don’t know.” I broke away from him, and this time, he let me. My legs felt boneless, but I pressed a hand to the cool brick of the building and used it for support.
He kept a slow pace beside me. “Come with me.”
“No.” Shit! My hand caught on to something sharp. I lifted it up and stared at the blood inside my palm. It rolled down to my wrist then split apart to circle it.
Thanks, karma. You, fucking bitch.
The stranger peered over my shoulder then grabbed my wrist and pulled it closer. He reached into the back of his jeans, pulled out a worn bandana, and used it to wipe the blood away.
The gash was deeper than I’d expected. It split open to reveal the tissue beneath, and I gritted my teeth at the realization that it needed to be stitched. I didn’t have the means to do stitches, and I wasn’t about to step foot inside a hospital.
The stranger wrapped the cloth tight then tied it into place. “You didn’t even flinch.” He stared at me, his eyes digging, cutting, searching.
I curled my fingers around the bandage and pulled my hand back to my side.
“It didn’t hurt,” I lied. It’d hurt like a bitch, and it still did, but it wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to. It wasn’t as bad as half the cuts and bruises, the broken bones…
I shook my head. “I got to get back.”
I looked at him then wished I hadn’t.
“You need stitches.” He cupped my elbow, an action far too gentle for his rough exterior.
“Its fine.”
His jaw clenched. “I’ll do them. Just come with.”
“No.” I heaved a breath. “If you want to sew it up, fine, but you can bring it to the bridge.”
He stared at me for a long time, and I could tell he wanted to say something else. The bone along his jaw jumped as if the words were literally dancing in his mouth.
I met his hard look with one of my own.
“I’ll walk you there and come back,” he finally said.
He didn’t let go of my elbow, and I didn’t make him. When the wall ran out, I needed the support. That and being in the open made my nerves jump back to attention. My guard lifted into place, and this time, it just didn’t feel like enough. I was as vulnerable as a baby in a tiger’s cage. I had no defense. No chance.
I stepped closer into his side, accepting―just this once―the protection he had to offer.
He draped an arm over my shoulder, his eyes still fixed forward and mouth sealed. I let him pull me along, and I wrapped my arms tighter around his hips. If any of the men were with the club, they’d be less likely to look at a girl already held by a mountain. We looked like two lovers sneaking off to be alone, and that thought brought a small semblance of safety.
We made it through the brush and down the hill then walked in silence until we reached the bridge.
His thumb traced a small circle against my shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave.”
I met his gaze and saw a new emotion. Worry. For me? Jesus, I was in deep shit.
“I have nowhere else to go,” I said, my tone biting. “Whether or not you come back makes no damn difference to me.”
Despite my harsh tone, the softness never left his face. “Understood.”
I turned away and stumbled towards my spot. If it hadn’t been for my drunken legs and need for cover, I would have kept going, and ran until I reached the end of the world. My chest tightened the moment I saw those men and the feeling hadn’t left since.
But I preferred that all-too-familiar feeling to the one he’d just caused.
Butterflies. Fucking butterflies.
I damn near swooned, and I didn’t have time to do stupid shit like swooning. Swooning was for people who already had lives. Swooning was for the innocent. I was already dead, and a corpse couldn’t feel anything except regret.
I took a seat by the snoring old man and watched the massive shadow retreat into the distance.
He was a cliff’s edge, and I was dancing entirely too close.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I sat with my back to the wall and watched the hill he’d disappeared over through heavy eyes. Minutes turned to hours until I doubted he’d be back. That should have been a blessing, but the blood had soaked through the bandana over an hour before, and no amount of pressure seemed to be enough to stop it, not to mention, sleep wasn’t an option when I knew a strange man planned to come find me.
When he finally crested the hill and scuffled down the slope, my heart jolted against my rib cage. I hobbled to my feet, stepped just out from under the bridge, and slid back down with my back against the wall. The whole while, I tried to feign interest in something else other than him.
When I did look up, his eyes locked with mine as if they’d been waiting to do so. He held a metal container, the words First Aid printed in red across its surface. It rattled as it hit the ground by my feet, and he lowered himself cross-legged in front of me.
“I checked back in at the bar.” His voice was low and back to smooth. He opened the case then reached out and took my hand without asking. His lips pursed when his fingers made contact with the wet fabric, and he shook his head at the wound. “The men were on vacation.” He glanced back up at me. “Doctors and lawyers looking for freedom.”
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
He watched my reaction as if he was reading the pages of a book then held my hand out to the side and poured a heavy stream of alcohol over it.
I gritted my teeth. Motherfucker, that stung.
“You’re either very tough,” He paused to close the bottle and put it back then pulled out a pack of gauze and a threaded needle, “or you’re used to pain.”
He looked at me, probing, searching.
“It’s a mystery.”
“It is.” He poised the point at the top of the cut then met my gaze as if checking for permission.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like the needle will surprise me. I didn’t expect you to heal it with magic.”
His lip twitched; the slightest of movements on his otherwise stoic face. He pushed the needle in and laced it through to the other side.
I looked away, off into the distance. I focused on the lights still twinkling down Main Street and the occasional passing car above the hill.
“Will you come back to the bar?” he asked after a lengthy silence.
“Not a chance in hell.” I looked back at him. “It was stupid for me to go in there in the first place.”
He nodded, still focused on his task. His fingers moved with precision, too nimble given their thick, work-worn appearance.
I watched him do three more stitches as shock arrived to numb the sting. “I guess this is goodbye then, Captain Wilderness.”
He looked up at me. “The bar will be far less exciting without you in it.”
I snorted. “It didn’t look exciting before, and the only thing exciting about me is the danger I bring.”
His eyes sharpened. “And what danger is that, Tequila?”
I glared at him. “That is none o
f your business, and Tequila is not my name. Why do you keep calling me that?”
He was quiet for a moment, but the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.
“I like you when you drink tequila.” He leaned forward and cut those dark eyes up at me. “I get to see a little bit of what you hide.”
“Is that so?”
More flutters in my chest. They weren’t butterflies. Butterflies were too innocent―too sweet. No. My heart had obviously grown arms and legs, and that was the feeling of it beating away at my ribs, warning me, screaming at me to get the fuck up and walk far, far away.
He leaned back and finished the last stitch, then sat the needle back in the box, and looked at me.
“Yes.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a bottle.
It was my tequila.
“I thought you couldn’t take it to-go.”
He popped the top and took a drink then passed it over to me.
“That’s the thing about rules. You can always break them.” He tilted his head and watched as I took a much-needed pull from the bottle. “I’m thinking it tastes better to-go.”
I swallowed hard and handed it back to him. “Meaning?”
He took another drink then sat it down. His gaze drifted, unashamed and unhindered. It tracked a line down my frame, along every curve, and in that moment, I felt exposed in a much different way.
“You’re like a puzzle I’ve halfway put together,” he murmured, his voice deeper than before. His eyes met mine, and the heat in his gaze almost melted me. “I can’t get you out of my head, and I don’t want to. Trying to figure you out makes all the shit I drink to forget fade away.”
I stared at him, wishing he’d pass the bottle already. My throat felt dry. I needed a drink, a long one. My heart was running as if the cops were chasing it, and I was hyperaware of an ache forming in a much too sensitive area. He was a dangerous man. Very, very dangerous. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but all I wanted to do was have him, take him, unwrap the offending fabric covering those broad shoulders and see what I knew had to be a god beneath. It was the lowest thing on my list of good ideas, and the first on my list of bad ones.
Dark eyes. Perfect face. The man oozed sin. If he made one move, said one more thing, I’d lose. I’d take what he offered. I’d grasp the temporary escape and leap over the cliff into the abyss.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I pulled my booted foot back and kicked him as hard as possible in the knee.
“Shit!” He gripped hold of it with one hand. “What the hell was…” He scrambled back as I moved to repeat the action then stared at me with piercing eyes.
“I’m not the one,” I growled. “You take your bullshit somewhere else. I’ve had enough fucking men to know better.”
The anger left his eyes, and they once again went back to probing. “So, it’s a man. An ex?”
I glared at him. “Give me my tequila and go away.”
He crossed his legs back. Only, now, there was enough distance that I couldn’t reach him. One hand swung out and snatched the bottle from the ground. He took a long, pointed drink.
“This is my bottle now.”
“Fuck off!” I kicked again, but he moved too fast when I extended my reach.
His lip twitched. “Is this supposed to put me off? Because I kind of like it.”
“If you like this, you should wait until I punch you in the face. That should really get you going.”
He laughed. Fuck, if he didn’t laugh. His mouth opened wide―perfectly straight white teeth on full display―and the sound that left his chest was deep, masculine, and hands down the most appealing thing I’d ever heard. He shook his head.
“Fine.” He pulled himself to his feet and extended the bottle down to me.
I took it warily.
He grabbed the first aid kit. “I’ll bring some more tomorrow,” he said as if I’d welcome him. “I’ll wear knee pads next time.”
He shook his head and rumbled another laugh as he walked away.
Unwelcome warmth filled my chest, and I took another long drink to try and squash it.
“Fuck you,” I murmured to his retreating back, but I couldn’t help but feel like I’d already tipped over some precipice. I wasn’t falling…yet. But the branch I held couldn’t have been more than a twig, and the jagged rocks beneath were looking more and more tempting.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I never went to sleep. The tequila bottle lay empty and discarded in the bushes to my right, and I sat in the same spot I had the night before; at the base of the bridge, staring at the hill he’d disappeared over, and thinking.
He had every intention of coming back. He’d made that perfectly clear. This had gone from a blessing to some sort of fucked up courtship, and no matter how many ways I tried to spin it, the answer to my problem was obvious.
I needed to disappear and avoid it altogether. It wasn’t like I had anything tying me to my location. Hell, it didn’t even make sense to stay at the bridge. The shop was a long walk away, and I was sure the old man wouldn’t mind relocating if I found a different spot.
The problem was this one was by the bar which meant cops tended to turn a blind eye to it. The rest of the city was heavily patrolled. They couldn’t possibly force those rich suburban housewives to have to look at some random dude sleeping or sitting or simply existing on a bench near them. It might put a stain on their blissful existence. God forbid we should make them have to think about something real for once.
I heaved a sigh. I was being morbid, even for me. The whole situation had me ready to fight at the drop of a dime. I felt cornered, on edge. My anxiety seemed tight against the edges of my psyche, ready to burst, but I didn’t have time for it.
A pink stained sky meant I needed to move. I pushed myself to my feet with a groan and hobbled stiff-legged to where the old man lay snoring.
He looked so peaceful with his hands propped under his cheek and knees bent up to his chest. A perfectly ugly little angel. It was almost a shame to wake him. Almost. Not really. Not at all. It was the only good thing about this morning given his early riser mentality and shitty way of waking me. It only seemed right that I pay him the same courtesy.
I smacked him hard across the cheek.
He spluttered, fists flying before his eyes could even open. I barely managed to pull back before one got me, and when he realized what had happened, his gaze fell on me and narrowed.
“You hit me?”
I shrugged, lips curving. “I thought that’s how we did it. Like a homeless morning ritual. You’re the teacher, old man. I’m just following your lead.”
His chest rumbled as he ran a hand along his haggard face. “What do you want?”
“I want to move.”
He cut a look up at me. “Are you frozen or tied in some way? You seem able to get along just fine. Not sure how the hell waking me was supposed to help you.”
I snorted. “I mean from the bridge, oh wise one. I want you to come with me. We need a new spot.”
“Ain’t no new spot.”
“How do you know?
He looked ready to knock my feet out from under me. “You ask too many questions. I’m old, girl. Old and tired. This is the best place to be especially when the temperature drops. You may think those salamanders ain’t warming us, but just wait until there’s snow on the ground, and you’ll notice them.”
“Salamander?” I realized too late what he meant. I still couldn’t understand why the hell they called them that.
He shook his head. “The flaming can!” He waved a hand out, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “You mean to tell me you’ve been sitting next to that damn thing all this time, and you still don’t know what it’s called? See? That’s my point. We shouldn’t move. You young people are always so impulsive.” He went about packing his stuff together, still muttering about today’s youth and how I probably just wanted a new view.
“I can’t stay here, old man.”
<
br /> He turned, and something about my tone made his rough attitude soften.
“You shouldn’t want to stay here. This place is shit.” He kicked my pack over to me, hoisted his over his shoulder, then gave me a long look. “You should ask that guy that gave you a job if he has a spot you could stay in until you save some money. But not me, so don’t go getting any ideas about trying to drag me with you. Just you.”
I shook my head.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re young. Young people are supposed to get help. People are supposed to support y’all until you grow out of your stupid.”
I shot him a flat look and snatched my pack from the ground.
“I’m twenty-six years old,” I sneered at him, “and I won’t beg my new boss for a place to live.”
“Well, it’s either that or freeze to death.” He started walking away.
“Where are you going?”
Without turning, he waved an arm and called back, “The weathers turning, girl. That means Christmas spirit. I’m going to go offer myself as guilt relief and get a buck or two.”
I chewed my lip and fixed the straps of my pack over my shoulders. My hand burned like the devil had gotten hold of it, and no matter how much I wanted to disagree, I knew the old man was right. It was either here or…
They had a shower. Maybe they had a room somewhere too. There were couches in the break room. Hell, I’d take a closet space if that was all they could do. I could make a cot on the floor. It would be warm and safe. Judging by what I knew about Zeke already, he’d agree.
I took in the many sleeping faces and hollowed stares, the rising brick on either side, and the clip clop of cars driving overhead.
I didn’t want to leave the old man, but I couldn’t stay either. He didn’t need me anyway. I’d come back and visit and bring him some food. Then when I found a place of my own, I’d take him with me.
I trudged towards the shop, mind made up and spirits lifted.
