by Fields, MJ
The moment my eyes register what they’re seeing, my mind works defensively in a flash. Leo’s lying on Angela, his bedroom door wide open, his shirt on the floor, and his pants pulled down just enough to get his dick out. Angela is half dressed, her skirt pushed up around her waist and her blouse open over a black bra. It’s a sight I will never be able to erase, and I can’t even understand so much of it.
I’m in control enough to keep my mouth closed and my breath in check—as I glide my feet gently, but quickly, back down the stairs. I’m too rushed with adrenaline to be able to tell if I’m sick with panic or with what I’ve seen. I’m sure Angela gets lonely. I’ve never really thought about her life other than the time she spends taking care of Archie. Leo is with me most of the time, and when he’s not, he’s drunk—at least, I thought he was spending his time at a bar or here alone with a bottle.
Maybe this is the first time they’ve done this. I don’t think it is.
Angela is married to Archie, but he’s not really able to be a companion. He’s alive though—he’s very much alive. Can she leave him? And Leo…she chose Leo.
I mentally race through questions on repeat until I make it back to the door I came through and I run into Liv. My body vibrates with the new dose that fills my spine. Whatever her situation is with her family, she can’t add this on top of it. Not after today. She doesn’t need to process this tonight.
“Uh, I was…” I stop and suck in my lips, moving enough to the side to hide the half-eaten meal on the counter. It’s a clue that begs questions and Liv isn’t stupid. “Do you like steak?”
It’s the reason I came here to begin with—to ask her to join me. All I want is more time with her.
She reaches for the door to open it wide enough to step inside with me. I step outside instead, brushing her shoulder, coaxing her to turn her back on everything inside. I leave my fingertips on her bicep and I wonder if she can feel the volts pulsing through them. She glances at my hand briefly, and her eyes widen just a little.
“I guess. I mean, I like a lot of foods if you’re taking a survey, but…do you need something? I’m not sure if we have steak, but I know Leo bought chicken…”
“No, no…” I interrupt quickly, praying there aren’t any sounds that trail from upstairs to her ears right now. “I meant…would you like to share steak? With me? I…I’m grilling, and I got a big cut, and we both had a day, and…”
I stop rambling and let my mouth relax into a soft smile. I’m nervous, and it isn’t just because of what I’m trying to hide from her. It’s mostly that, but it’s also the simple fact Liv makes me nervous as hell.
“Eat with me.” I shrug and take a step back, gambling that she won’t go inside—that she’ll pick me. My nervous hands find the band in my shorts, and I hook my thumbs and smile crookedly, like a schoolboy.
Her eyes hang on mine while she takes a deep breath through her nose, her lips puckered just enough to curl the corners. So goddamned kissable right now. Her throat flexes with her swallow, and her head falls a little to the side.
“I could eat,” she says.
I nod toward the alley, my eyes lingering on the place where her hand still holds the door. My stomach thumps with nerves until she grabs the knob and pulls it closed behind her.
I lead the way toward the scent now smoking near my trailer. A tangled mess of thoughts—what I just saw and what I need to do to protect Liv and my own desire just to have her here—swirl in my head so loudly that I don’t hear her speak at first.
“Your stitches?”
I bend down to take the fork and flip the meat one more time.
“Oh, ummm…I’m sorry?” I can suddenly feel the wound more than I have all day.
“I was asking who did them for you.” I glance up into sad eyes. I bet she thinks Angela took over.
“I went to the ER. It was just easier,” I say, unfolding one of the chairs I leave propped against the back wall. “I’ll stand.”
Liv looks at me for a second before taking the seat. When she settles in, I duck inside for two plates and some silverware. Everything I own is mismatched and donated, so I find the best pieces I have clean and bring them out, handing her the nicest one. I cut into the meat to test it, then glance up at her, her cheeks warmed by the flame. I instantly wish we were camping somewhere far away from everything else.
“Rare good with you?” I ask.
“Bloody,” she smirks and I shake my head with a laugh.
“Well, I’m afraid it’s not still moving, but it’s pretty rare,” I respond.
I cut the beef in half and give her the best part.
“Thank you,” she hums, sliding the plate to balance perfectly on her knees before she begins sawing with her knife.
I’m drawn to every movement—the way her fingers hold the fork, the way her arm flexes with the knife, the slight part of her lips as she blows just a little before taking a bite. Her eyes flit up to me just as she hums, and I’m too late to look away.
“Sorry, I wanted to make sure you liked it.” What I mean, but don’t say, is I can’t stop being awed by her.
She smiles through her swallow, nodding and holding up a thumb.
“It’s really good. I was hungrier than I thought I was.” She doesn’t hesitate, cutting right in for another bite, talking with her mouth still full from the first. I watch it all. I can’t stop.
“Are you gonna eat?” she finally asks, her dimples deep from the attention.
“I am,” I say, smiling back and watching just a few seconds longer.
When our eyes meet, every single time they meet, there is this tumbling sensation that happens in my chest. It isn’t scary, and I worry a little that it’s going to go away, but it hasn’t. It’s there now. I don’t look away until the flutter stops. I don’t want to waste it.
I take three bites for every one she takes, and I’m done with my meal in minutes, my belly rumbling for more. I’ll make a protein shake later. I have time left before I have to make weight, but I’ve always started worrying about it before I need to. I work my body to exhaustion, then cut off its supply without warning. It turns me into a beast. I guess that’s the point.
“I guess I wasn’t very hungry,” she says, looking down at her lap with a plate still covered in steak. “You want mine? Or…maybe we can take it to Miles.”
“Shit!” I stumble in place for a few seconds, unsure of what needs to get done first. I forgot about his tree. That pact was serious; I can’t break my promise. I freeze for a beat and draw in a deep breath to center myself. When I look down at Liv, her brow is high and her eyes are wide with confusion.
“Miles is in the hospital, and I told him I’d check on his spot.”
I reach for her plate, taking it along with mine inside. I fumble around looking for something to wrap the steak in to save it for later, settling on the plastic bag from the grocery store. I move to my mini fridge, but Liv beats me to it, her hand holding the door closed.
“What do you mean Miles is in the hospital? Oh my god, is he okay?” There’s actual worry in her eyes. The look on her face hits my chest and weaves itself inside for me to remember later—for me never to forget.
“He’s okay,” I calm her. “He was dehydrated and someone brought him in. I saw him there when I got the stitches, and I convinced the nurse to look at his foot. It was my ploy to make him stay inside for just one night, but I knew he’d worry about his tree.”
“Why is that tree important to him?” She takes the steak from me as she talks.
“It’s his home.” Her eyes rest on mine, and they dim while she considers what I said. “There’s no way to really explain it, other than when your life is shit, sometimes you fill it with the first place that feels like home. It’s hard to give that up. It’s like a sense of comfort, I guess.”
Liv looks at the steak in her hand then glances to the side, her eyes roaming around my small sink piled high with a mix of dirty dishes. She takes in the space behind me, u
sed as a closet and storage for my gear, then the fold-up table to my left and the bench piled with my dirty laundry. My bed is bunked high above her, a warm space over the cab of the truck that hasn’t run once since I parked here a year ago.
Words aren’t necessary. It’s an increasingly common thing between us. Her eyes come back to mine after surveying my mark on this world—everything I owned shoved into a ten-by-seven space. It’s barely functional, and most would argue it isn’t. But in here, I am home. I am comfortable. I can imagine. Liv understands it all; I can tell just from one look.
“You go to the tree. I’ll bring him some steak.” The bag crinkles as she holds the meat up between us.
“No, I can do both. I don’t want you walking or being anywhere alone.” She touches my hand, lightly at first, and somehow her fingers find the right fit when our eyes meet again.
“I finally got paid; if you can believe it,” she says through a crooked smile. “I’ll take a cab.”
Every piece of me wants to kiss her again right now, to kiss her for real—like she deserves. Instead, I settle for grasping for more of her hand and squeezing it a little tighter when I find it.
I’ll think of this tonight while my back rests against my friend’s favorite tree. I think of it now, in the moment. I may never stop thinking about Olivia Valentine and how unbelievably different she is from the people who made her.
Nine
Liv
The last time I was in a hospital, I lost a baby. It’s amazing how little I’ve thought about that moment until right now—faced with a long walkway, flanked by buzzing lights attracting bugs, ambulance bays to the right, and an automatic sliding door in front of me ushering people in and out.
I’m sweating, and not just from the heat.
With my eyes closed, I tug my purse close to my body and grip the steak I’m sneaking in to Miles in my other hand. I take tiny steps, and I don’t open my eyes until I’m six or seven paces in. Sheer will is the only thing that moves me through the doors, and by the time I get inside, my eyes are tearing and I’m a little out of breath.
It’s busy here tonight, and I’m grateful that nobody has idle time to pay attention to me. I don’t need it. I don’t want it.
There was a nurse that took care of me months ago. She forced me to attend one counselling session. It’s the only reason I went, and the only thing I remember—said by the woman who led the group—was that I would have to mourn, eventually.
That day isn’t this one. I stop at a bulletin board littered with pamphlets and brochures about heart disease, bloodborne pathogens, and addiction; it distracts me for just long enough to get my breathing back into check. My eyes dry, I turn my attention to the information desk.
“I’m here to visit a patient.” I slip the wrapped steak into my purse, where I’ve also hidden a plate, and plastic utensils.
“Name?” The woman looks at me above the rim of her glasses as she pushes back the mouthpiece on her phone headset. I glance down and see the nearly dozen lines flashing on hold.
“Miles,” I say, suddenly realizing that’s all I know. Her face bunches, but before she can ask me for a last name, I wing it and hope I can spin a good lie. “He’s homeless, but he’s also a veteran. He talked to my little brother about the war yesterday while we were touring the state capital. Anyhow, he seemed really nice and we knew he was probably just there for the shade, and well…my brother wanted to get him a meal, so we filled a bag at the gas station and then tried to find him, and just as we finally spotted him—bam!”
I smack my hands together for emphasis, so invested in my manic adventure to do good with a baby brother I don’t have.
“I don’t think we have any hit-and-run victims.” Her eyes are on her computer screen, and I can see the lines of text scroll by in the reflection of her glasses.
“Oh…no, it wasn’t a hit-and-run. Not that kind of bam. He fell over from dehydration…”
The woman stares at me with narrowed eyes.
“That was the sound of him falling. Like…bam!” I do it again, just like before, and my heart is racing because I’m losing my way in my lie. I’m going to get caught.
“Uh huh,” she murmurs, not even parting her lips.
I grow desperate and my mind races for a way to keep her invested, to make her want to help, when her finger stops rolling the top of her computer mouse and she glances up at me again.
“Curtain four. He’s moving to a room soon, though, so you better head down there before…bam! I lose him.” She smirks at her joke, and I chuckle, because I can’t call her a bitch.
“Thank you,” I say, my hand squeezing the top of my purse closed tightly as I move down the hallway she gestures toward.
I count the curtains carefully, not wanting to startle a stranger, and I’m relieved to see Miles is sitting up, glasses pushed to the tip of his nose while he flips through an old magazine.
“You know there’s a lady up front who wears those same exact glasses.” He jumps a little, but lights up when our eyes meet.
“My princess, look at you. Memphis told you I was here, didn’t he?” He pulls the glasses from his face and rests them in his lap before reaching out his hand for me to take.
“He was going to come visit, but he’s keeping an eye on your tree.” I can actually see the relief paint his face as if he suddenly switches from black and white to color.
“I brought you something,” I say, peeking around the curtain to make sure we’re hidden enough. I pull the curtain just a little more to be safe, then work quickly, pulling out the plate and steak together.
“Good lord, you’re a magician. I don’t suppose you can pull brandy out of that bag of yours? A Guinness perhaps?” He chuckles as his eyes linger on me, then begins to cough as he makes short work of the wrapping around the meat.
He cuts a bite quickly and pops it in his mouth, a slow grin pushing up his cheeks with each movement of his jaw. His eyes slide up to meet mine.
“It’s still warm.”
It pleases me to see him love this simple indulgence.
“I hear the food in this joint ain’t so good,” I whisper, leaning into him. I make a gagging gesture with my finger in my mouth, and Miles shakes with a short laugh.
“The food here is pretty okay with me,” he says.
I guess it would be. I wonder when the last time was that Miles ate like this? I know Memphis brings him things, but it must be a far cry from sitting at a kitchen table and letting flavors linger on your tongue.
“You should stay with Memphis until you get better. I saw that foot of yours, and it’s not going to heal itself, you know.” He doesn’t react to my words at all, just like Memphis said. He cuts bite after bite, eating as if it were a race until his plate has no evidence that food was ever on it.
“Memphis said you were in the service?” I ask the question as he hands me the empty plate, and it gets no response, so I tuck the plate and utensils in the spare plastic bag I brought and sit down in the chair at his bedside.
“You see him fight yet? Our boy?” I look up with a lopsided grin and decide to let him change the subject. I have things I don’t like to talk about either. Usually, boxing is one of them.
“Only sparring, maybe a little in workouts.” I don’t even need to close my eyes to draw in the image of Memphis’s movements. He’s so smooth on his feet, his entire body dipping and swaying. He becomes an impossible target to predict.
“I’ve only seen the videos he shows me on his phone. He’s something I’ve never seen before.” He leans back, resting his head and folding his hands over his chest, looking up at the ceiling.
“You ever try it? Boxing?” I know that a lot of servicemen fight, some for sport and some to keep their sanity.
Miles laughs, a raspy cackle from deep in his chest. He sounds like he has pneumonia.
“I got my ass kicked a few times, but what he does? Where you actually have a fighting chance not to get your teeth knocked out? Ha, nah
. I was more of a runner.”
I smile and nod, piecing that together with a man who has three medals for bravery. The pictures don’t match.
Our eyes meet for a few seconds in the silence, and I can see the familiar shadow in them. His mask is better than mine—the way he tucks certain things in a corner and doesn’t let people see the truth. I’m fairly certain he’s more of a fighter than he’s letting on.
“I don’t know much about his upcoming fight,” I shrug, a tinge of guilt stabbing at me. It’s in Vegas, and my mom is excited about it, which means the purse is probably decent. She doesn’t usually get excited unless there are five digits on the table.
“He’s going to win.” I start to chuckle to myself, but when my gaze hits his, I stop, letting my lips fall into a closed smile. I nod and agree, because something about Miles’s confidence is infectious. It’s comforting, and it feels like truth.
“How’d you two meet?” My lips pucker at his next question, and I blush a little when he wiggles his eyebrow.
“We’re just friends,” I say, the stab of guilt reminding me it’s there with a dull ache this time.
“Okay, and I’m a twenty-year-old figure skater. Now that we’ve both made shit up, tell me a little bit about how you and the Champ became friends.”
He winks.
I shake my head in small movements and pull my purse between my feet on the floor to make room for my now-bobbing knee.
“My Uncle Leo trains him. It’s my family’s gym,” I shrug and instantly avoid eye contact.
My hand glides to my thigh and I try to temper the shaking in my leg. When I look at Miles, I catch his focus on my hand, his mouth drawn in a serious line. He glances up and I swallow in reaction.
“My wife…” He stops abruptly, his lips parted in a painful smile over gritted teeth.
“It’s okay,” I say, recognizing the expression of a man forcing himself to talk about something painful. “I don’t talk about my family much…if I can help it.”
