by Abby Brooks
"Just keep me company while I work." He pulls two glasses out of a cupboard and pours our drinks, handing me mine and watching as I take a tentative sip.
"Wow," I say. "I don't even like whiskey, but this is actually good."
"If you didn't like whiskey, why on Earth did you agree to having Jack and Gingers tonight in the first place?"
"Because." I shrug as I run my finger along the edge of my glass. "I didn't want to be a pain. If that's the drink you want, that's the drink you should have."
"That's not the way it works with me, Michelle." His voice is both stern and gentle. "You don't have to sacrifice your needs and wants in favor of mine. In fact, I like it better when you're the one getting what she wants instead of the other way around."
The conversation makes me uncomfortable. It's not that big of a deal. I feel better when the people around me are happy. "Well, it worked out for the best because this is delicious." I take another drink just to prove my point.
David goes to work chopping up the veggies for a salad, humming as he does. "Can I ask you a question?" He wipes his hands on a dish towel sticking out of his front pocket.
I smile and lean my elbows on the counter. "Shoot."
He opens his mouth only to close it again, blowing a long breath of air out his nose and furrowing his brow. I sit up a little straighter, steeling myself against whatever he's about to ask.
"Is money tight for you?" David's gaze holds mine captive.
A million excuses try to rush past my lips but I swallow them down and find myself nodding. "Yeah," I say, appalled by the tears pricking at my eyes.
David moves quickly, closing the space between us and wrapping me in his arms. "Is it bad?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. "It's not good."
"Tell me."
And for some reason, despite all the reasons I've chosen not to tell Lexi and Bailey about my struggles, I tell David everything. "My ex ran up a lot of debt. And when I left him, I took it all on."
"Your lawyers didn't separate it out?"
"I couldn't afford a lawyer. And I wanted him gone sooner rather than later, so I offered to shoulder the burden myself. I didn't know we had fallen behind on a lot of our bills, and to make matters worse, he changed all the passwords on all of the accounts when he left and I had the hardest time getting things straightened out. The studio isn't doing very well and most weeks, Mom doesn't have enough money to give me my whole paycheck." I take a drink to quell the tears constricting my throat. "The day we met? At the shelter? I was just coming back from the sanitary engineering department because they had turned off my water." I hang my head, humiliation settling hard and heavy on my shoulders.
David lifts my chin and searches me face. "There's no shame in any of that. Divorce is hard. I had my own struggles after mine."
I hold onto that little nugget of information. "But I am ashamed," I say, giving voice to the things that keep me awake at night. "I don't want Claire to grow up thinking this is just the way life is. I want her to have the things she needs and deserves. Like, you know, running water." I swipe at the tears trickling down my face.
"Is that why you use that silly flip phone? I thought you were just being cool. You know, making some kind of ironic statement or something."
I laugh through my tears and shake my head. "No. My cell phone is not a fashion statement. I only have that thing because my stepdad bought it for me when Russell left. He couldn't stand the thought of me and Claire being stranded somewhere with no way to get a hold of anyone."
"Sounds like my kind of man." David runs his hands up my arms. "Stay here, okay? I'll be right back." He presses a kiss into my forehead and heads out of the kitchen. I use a paper towel to dab at my eyes.
Come on now, I think. Don't be that woman. Don't show up in this man's life and drop a big pile of problems at his feet. He deserves better than that. You deserve better than that.
I work up an apology and take a drink of my Jack and Ginger—it really is very good—to steel myself before David walks back in the room.
"I'm so sorry," I begin, proud of how strong my voice sounds.
"You have no reason to be sorry," he says. "I'm glad that you shared that with me. I want to know these things so I can help. Because believe me, I understand." He holds out an unsealed envelope. "And I really can help."
Confused, I take the envelope and peer inside. The tears I thought I had managed to banish come back with a vengeance when I see a large stack of money in the envelope.
"It looks like more than it is," David says. "It's mostly twenty dollar bills. But there's four hundred in there. Will that be enough?"
"Four hundred?" I squeak. I'm lucky to have ten dollars in my account at any given time. Four hundred might as well be a fortune.
"Do you need more?" David moves as if to leave the room.
"No, no, no. This is more than enough." Tears stream freely from my eyes. "In fact, it's too much. I can't take this," I say, handing him back the money.
"You can and you will." David presses the envelope towards me. "I want to help, Michelle. This is the least I can do."
Pride and logic go to war in my head. I can't take this money from him. I'm not that kind of woman. I stand on my own two feet, suffer the consequences of my bad decisions alone because that's the right thing to do. Taking money from some guy I'm sleeping with? That might as well be prostitution.
But even as I have the thought, I realize that David isn't just some guy I'm sleeping with. There's the possibility of so much more between us. And that, combined with the emotional truth of the evening, combined with the fact that I'm holding four hundred dollars cash in my hand, and the knowledge that I'm not the only one suffering my consequences—Claire is too—they all work together to overwhelm me. I close my eyes and focus on breathing, unable to do much more than exist.
"Michelle." David's fingers brush my cheeks. "Look at me."
I open my eyes and find his gentle gaze locked on mine, so much tenderness and affection in his stare that it drowns me. How can I breathe with the ugly truth of my life exposed?
"It would make me happy to know you're comfortable. I can't stand the thought of you or Claire having to go without something you need. Please take the money. I'll have more for you next month, if you need it."
Another round of protestations work their way up, only for David to squash them right back down again. Before I know it, the envelope is sitting politely in my purse and I'm breathing a little easier, feeling even closer to David than I did before I came here, even though my mind is going with worry. What if I can’t pay him back? What if he sees me less as an equal and more as someone he has to take care of? What if this moment of kindness becomes a point of bitterness between us?
While we eat dinner, I fight the worry by mentally going through my budget, finding all the ways the extra money will give me and Claire some breathing room. I’ll see if I can pick up some side jobs and make enough money to pay him back. My smile comes easier and easier as we spend the next couple hours together, and by the time I kiss David goodbye, I'm feeling better than I have for as long as I can remember.
DAVID
Colton takes a long drink of his Jack and Ginger before sitting back in his chair and appraising the cards in his hand. He bobs his head as he rubs his chin, which just happens to be his tell. He does it every time he's about to bluff his way through a hand. I lost a small fortune to him in poker games before I figured it out.
"I'd give you a hard time about liking girly mixed drinks, but that's not bad at all.” He gestures towards the glass. “It’s not going to replace my shot glass, but I won’t judge you for drinking it either. Much.” He turns his ball cap around backwards.
Shit. That's his other tell. The one that means he's got a good hand. The sly bastard must have figured out that I figured it out. Looks like I'm about to get my ass handed to me if I don't up my game right here and now. My phone buzzes and I put my cards face down on the table and swipe it u
p.
"Fuck, man." Colton rubs a hand over his mouth. "Can you go ten minutes without checking that thing?"
I hold up my hand as I read the text, standing quickly enough for the chair to rake back against the tile floor before I even finish deciphering Michelle's hurried words.
Colton gathers his cards into one hand. "What's wrong?"
"It's Michelle. Someone broke into her house."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Is she okay?" He stands, flipping his hat back around.
"She's shaken up." I tap out a text to her, letting her know I'll be there as soon as I can. My full attention is on my phone, counting the spaces between heart beats as I wait for a response.
"Please tell me she called the cops."
I wait for her answer to the exact same question I just sent her and nod as it comes in. "Yep. Cops have been called." I run a hand through my hair, and search the card-littered table for my keys. "Listen..." I begin.
"Get your ass over there." Colton crosses his arms over his chest. "I don’t know why you’re still standing around with your thumb up your butt."
I nod and grab my keys, surprised when Colton follows me towards the door.
"I'm coming with you, of course," he says. "If this girl means something to you, she means something to me, and no one messes with my people."
Either the cops managed to get here and leave already, or they're doing a piss poor job of protecting and serving because Michelle’s driveway is empty when we fly around the corner to her street. She hurries outside when the truck doors thump closed, Claire hot on her heels. I cover the ground between us in a few long strides and wrap her in my arms.
"Thank you for coming," she murmurs into my chest.
"Are you okay?" I run a hand through her hair, pressing her even closer. "Was anything taken?"
“When we got home, the door was wide open," says Claire, her gaze locked on Colton, her eyes wary. "And broken."
Colton takes his hat off and shoves it in his back pocket. "I'm going to look around the place." He meets my eyes, nods once, and then heads towards the backyard.
"As far as I can tell, nothing was taken." Michelle steps out of my arms and wraps an arm around Claire’s shoulders, tucking her in close. "But the door is broken. Looks like it was kicked in." She runs a trembling hand up into her hair. "I thought that was only something that happened on TV."
If her door is that flimsy, there is no way I am going to be okay knowing she and Claire are alone in this house until she has a new one. A good one. One that would break an asshole’s foot instead of letting him in.
"Show me what happened." I keep my voice calm. The last thing my girls need is for me to get loud and angry. They’re shaken up as it is. The door is more than broken. It’s shattered, the cheap wood splintered and dented at the point of impact, the door knob and lock mechanism twisted and useless. The only way it’s getting fixed is to replace it completely and I’ll make sure she has a door worthy of Fort Knox.
Michelle leads me around the place and the destruction is absolute. Shit is thrown around in each and every room. Drawers are pulled out and the contents scattered across the floor. The couch cushions are topsy-turvy. Her dresser is on its side, her panties strewn across the bed. My stomach turns. Yeah. No way in hell she's staying here. Not by herself.
"I can't shake the feeling that I know who did this." Michelle looks down at Claire who hasn't left her side. The look in her eyes, the taut line of her lips, it isn't a huge stretch for me to realize she's talking about her ex-husband.
There's a light knock on the front door. "You guys in here?" Colton calls down the hallway. "You good if I come in?"
I look to Michelle who nods her assent. "Come on in," she says as she leads us out of the bedroom.
Colton steps through the door, his brow creased, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. "Do you smoke?" he asks Michelle.
She shakes her head. "Not once, not ever."
Claire looks up at her mom. "Daddy used to smoke, didn't he?" She tilts her head to one side. "He used to smell so icky."
Colton hits me with a look that I can't ignore, glancing at Claire as if to say he doesn't want to have this conversation with her standing right there. Michelle notices.
"Hey, Bear? Why don't you grab a book and go read in your room. The adults need to have a conversation outside before the police come."
The little girl nods and heads down the hallway, stepping carefully over the books strewn across the floor. Michelle and I follow Colton around back. He leads us to a window on the far corner of the house, right next to an overgrown pine bush.
"That looks like one hell of a fire hazard." Colton points to a pile of cigarette butts lying in the dry needles.
Michelle's hands cover her mouth. "That's my window." She chokes on her words. "Why would someone be smoking underneath my window?"
Bile rises in my stomach. Wheels crunch in the driveway, capturing our attention before I have a chance to say what's on my mind. There’s nothing but ugly, murderous rage in my head right now. Some asshole has been parked outside her window, smoking cigarettes? I don't know what else he's doing, but I have a few ideas and all of them tighten my hands into fists. Michelle and Claire will not be spending one more night here.
We walk around to the front of the house to meet the policemen getting out of their car. Michelle answers questions, shows them the damage, and I make damn sure they see the cigarette butts underneath her window. They take notes. Ask the same questions in a multitude of different ways. Take Michelle's statement. And then they leave, promising to be in touch. It's not enough. She's not safe in this house with its broken door and the cigarette butts under her window just because the police asked a few useless questions.
The moment they leave, I turn to Michelle. "I need you to pack your bags. Just grab everything you think you might need in the foreseeable future. There's no way in hell the two of you are staying here. Not alone."
MICHELLE
I wake in a strange bed and a strange room and sit bolt upright, clutching the blankets to my chest as David pushes through the door. "Good morning, beautiful." His smile is sad and I remember everything about last night in one great rush.
"Good morning, handsome. Where’s Claire?" I return his smile as the lush scent of coffee, pancakes, and sausage follows him through the door. "Oh my God. Did you make breakfast?"
David perches on the edge of the bed. "Claire’s downstairs eating breakfast, curtesy of my mother and her total lack of boundaries." He shrugs. "But if I'm being honest, when the lack of boundaries results in breakfast this good, I don't mind." He raises his eyebrows and smirks. "Much."
I take a deep breath in through my nose and let it out, savoring the smell of a home-cooked meal that I didn't have to wake up early to make myself. Light streams through the cracks in the curtains covering the large windows on the wall opposite the bed. I can't remember the last time I got out of bed after the sun came up.
"I'm sorry I slept so late.”
"Don't be. I just hope we didn't wake you. We Carmichaels aren’t known for our quiet demeanors." David puts a hand on my foot and gives it a squeeze. "But breakfast is ready, if you're up for it."
"If it tastes half as good as it smells, I'm definitely up for it." I let the blankets fall as I slide out of bed, revealing my bare breasts and naked ass.
"Speaking of up for it..." David stands and appraises me. "Having you curled up next to me all night was wonderful. I could get used to sleeping like that."
I dig through the bag of clothes I threw together, surprised by how comfortable I am being sans clothing in front of him. "Oh believe me, the pleasure was all mine." I give him a look and then drop my eyes as I remember how I balled up my fist and bit into it to keep from screaming in ecstasy last night. “But I don’t think there was much sleeping happening, was there?”
I get dressed and pull my hair up into a messy bun before following him downstairs where I hear Claire chattering and laughin
g with David's family.
"There she is." Annabelle opens her arms towards me with a smile. She grabs a plate and loads it up with more food than I could ever hope to eat, and plops it down on the table. "How do you take your coffee, dear?"
"No need to bother yourself." I say. "I can get it myself."
Annabelle flutters her hands at me. "Nonsense. You're a guest in this house."
"My house," David grumbles as he pulls out a chair and takes a seat.
"What, love?" Annabelle glances over her shoulder at him as she grabs a coffee cup.
"This is my house." David laughs. "I thought maybe we needed to be clear about that again."
Colton shakes his head as he cuts into his pancakes and dips a bite in syrup pooling on the plate. "You keep saying that like you think it's going to mean something to them."
"Michelle?" Annabelle holds out the mug, ignoring her sons. "Coffee?"
"Yes, please." I sit next to David. "Black is fine." I meet Claire's eyes as she gobbles up a bite of her breakfast. "How'd you sleep, Bear?"
"So good, Momma. That bed is like a big, giant, fluffy cloud."
Annabelle sets the coffee down in front of me with a smile. "It's so nice to have a little one around again, isn't it Dean?" She tosses her husband a funny look before turning back to the stove.
Mr. Carmichael raises his eyebrows, glances at Claire, and then rubs the top of her head with his meaty palm. "She's not so bad." He graces my daughter with the warmest of smiles.
Breakfast passes in a series of clinking plates, sarcastic comments, and so much love and familiarity that Claire and I end up catching each other's eyes and suppressing giggles. It's wonderfully outrageous and I think I love it. There was never a shortage of love in my family, at least not from my mom's side of things, which is the family I grew up in. But with my stepdad working a corporate day job and my mom chasing her dream and building the dance studio, family meals just didn't happen. There wasn’t time. I ate breakfast alone in a dark kitchen, making as little noise as possible so I didn't wake anyone. Breakfast with the Carmichaels is the exact opposite of those lonely mornings.
