“Uh… great,” he says. “I’m great.”
“What’s going on with this?” I gesture at the branches on the lawn.
“Oh, this is, uh, firewood,” he says. “Juniper, she’s out in the woods, pulling in fallen-down branches like this. I told her she should let me, you know, chop down whole trees, but she didn’t buy a real ax, just a hatchet.”
“Right,” I say, even though I’m sure this guy has never swung an ax in his life. “Can’t let women go shopping for men’s tools, am I right?”
He grins at me, and I see a spark in him, that charismatic quality that is probably what attracted Juniper to him in the first place. Guys like this always have that about them. It’s an act, but it works. “Oh, you are so right.”
“You know, I have an extra ax,” I say. “You can borrow it.”
“Thanks, man,” he says, clapping me on the arm.
“Well, what are neighbors for?” I look around, spreading my arms. “Isn’t it great out here?”
“Oh, definitely,” he says with gusto. “It’s amazing. I’ve been wanting to get away for a long time.”
I turn back to him. “You’re so lucky to have a woman like Juniper, who likes roughing it. Man, most ladies hear the words ‘composting toilet’ and they run scared. You are blessed.”
“That I am,” says Graham, and there’s an edge to his voice, like I’ve made it too obvious I plan to move in on his chick.
Oops. Like I care. “So, uh, I go out hunting probably three or four mornings a week, if you want to come along.”
“Oh,” he says. “Hunting, yeah.”
“You like to hunt?”
“Love it,” he says. “I love all that shit. That’s why I’m out here in the boonies, right? Just to get close to the land.” He nods at me, and he’s doing that grinning thing, and I think he might actually convince a lot of people that he’s serious.
But he hates all that stuff, and I know it. He’s playing up to me because that’s all he knows how to do. He wants me to think that we are the same and that we have things in common because he’s learned that it’s better to make nice with new people. He might want to use me in the future, and if he learns what makes me tick, I’ll be easier to manipulate. I can see him sizing me up.
He’s also intimidated by me. He’s a wimp. He can’t handle it out here, and he knows it, and he’s embarrassed. He has to pretend to match my machismo to save face. It’s a thing we guys all learn about in high school.
When I was a pimply-faced nerd, I never used to bother with it. I’d refuse to play the dick-measuring contests, but I still felt rotten inside, because I knew I was a failure as a man. Then there was construction, and there was my stepfather, there was Alice, there was…
I don’t know. Now, I don’t feel that way. Now, I guess I’ve gone beyond that. I don’t live the way I do to prove anything to anyone, but maybe I was attracted to it in the first place because I wanted to prove something to myself.
Juniper appears, dragging a wagon loaded up with tree branches. When she sees me, her eyes widen, and she doesn’t look pleased.
“Oh, here she is,” I say. “Were your ears burning? We were talking about you.”
She comes closer, and I could swear she’s actually glowering at me.
“All good things,” I say. “Right, Graham?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says. He looks at me. “Did I tell you my name?”
Shit. “Definitely,” I say. “How else would I know it?” I clap him on the shoulder in a friendly way, like we’re old pals.
He doesn’t like it, even though he just did something similar to me. He doesn’t like my touching him.
“What are you doing here?” says Juniper to me, and she’s not really trying to hide her hostility.
“I came to invite you two to dinner,” I say. “I’ve got a full-stocked freezer, and I’ve got homemade wine, and I would love to grill out with you guys. Also, I have a hot tub.”
“A hot tub?” says Graham.
“It’s heated by a wood-burning stove,” I say. “You gotta see it.”
“I don’t know about… hot tubs,” says Juniper, who is blushing and trying to keep Graham from seeing.
“Okay, well, maybe after we all get to know each other a little better,” I chuckle. “Just say you’ll come for dinner, huh? I never get visitors.”
Graham shrugs. “Sounds good. And this saves us a trip, right, June? You wanted to go meet our neighbor, and here he is.”
She did? But she already met me. And why would she want to introduce me to Graham?
“We pass your trailer coming in the road,” says Graham.
“No, that’s not my house,” I say. “I live further back the road.”
“Oh, well, June wanted to go and introduce ourselves to—”
“It was just an idea,” Juniper interrupts. Does she look nervous? What’s that about?
“The guy who lives in that trailer is an asshole,” I say. “You probably want to stay clear of him.”
“Okay,” says Juniper. “Good to know. Let’s stop talking about him then.”
“Sure thing,” I say. “So, we’re on for dinner?”
“Yeah, I think so,” says Graham. “June?”
She sighs. “I guess we are.”
“Excellent,” I say.
* * *
It’s the middle of the night and someone is banging on my door.
Groggy, I roll out of bed and land on the floor. I manage to get myself together enough to grab my gun as I head for the door. When I open it, I’m still only barely awake.
It’s Juniper, standing out there in a knit hat and her coat and gloves. She looks furious.
I blink hard. “You okay? What’s going on?”
She pushes past me into the house. “I had to wait to until Graham was asleep. I tried to call you, but your phone doesn’t seem to getting service right now.”
“Well, you can’t rely on phones out here.” I rub my forehead. I’m still trying to wake up.
“I don’t want Graham knowing that I was… you know, flirting or whatever while he and I were broken up.”
“Okay,” I say, and then I shut the door, because it’s open, and it’s cold, but I’m still confused.
“I tried to tell you that it wasn’t a good thing for us to be hooking up,” she says. “You refused to listen. You just kept pushing.”
“Yeah, and it was utterly unwelcome,” I say dryly.
She glares at me. “I was confused. I was on a break with Graham, but now we’re back together.”
“Uh huh,” I say. Why is she with this dude? “I can absolutely understand what you see in him.” I am bitingly sarcastic.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Why the dinner thing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s a weird thing to do,” she says.
“Is it? Having my new neighbors over for dinner is weird? I’m trying to be friendly.”
“Why would you be friendly to me after what I did?”
“What did you do exactly?”
“I… I don’t know, I guess I gave you the wrong impression. I led you on.”
“You mean because you kissed me?” I raise my eyebrows, smiling at her.
She gets flustered. “That was a mistake.”
I shrug. “All right.”
“You’re not at all pissed off with me?”
“I don’t own you,” I say. “You don’t own me. We came out here to be free, right?”
“So, there’s no hard feelings at all? I don’t believe you.”
I saunter across the room until we’re close. There are only inches between me and her, and she lifts up her face to look into my eyes. She would back away, but she’s got nowhere to go. I’ve blocked her in. Her breath gets shallow, and I think about what it was like to have her in my arms, and I can tell she’s thinking about it too.
But I don’t touch her. I just say in a low voice, “Graham’s not going to last out here. He
’s not cut out for living off the land, but I am. You are. He’ll run away, and I’ll still be around. I’m willing to play the long game. In the meantime, I’d like to stay friends.”
She sucks in a breath and a little shudder goes through her. “No,” she murmurs.
“No?” I’m whispering.
“I want you to stay away,” she says. “We do this dinner, and that’s it. Then you don’t come back to see me, and you leave me and Graham alone.” And then she’s shoving her way out of my house like she can’t get away from me quickly enough.
* * *
-juniper-
I am watching as Deke pours Graham another glass of homemade wine, and I am getting anxious. I don’t like to see Graham so drunk, and nothing that I’m saying is having any effect on him. I try the line about responsibility and driving, and Deke completely undermines me with some macho bullshit about not letting a woman tell him what to do. Graham latches onto it, just like he seems to be latching on to everything that Deke says.
Deke keeps egging him on, making him say horrible shit, and then Deke raises his eyebrows at me, challenging me with his expression. I can read the questions in his eyes. Why are you dating a guy like this? What do you see in him? What the hell is wrong with you?
But Deke doesn’t understand. This is none of his business, and I hate him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Getting Graham this drunk is like pouring gasoline on a fire. I’m definitely going to get burned, and it could be serious.
I think back to the other night when I was afraid that Graham might kill me. I try to tell myself it won’t come to that, because I’m usually smart enough to defuse him or to get away when he’s coming after me. But we are so alone out here. I really wish that Graham would stop drinking. But I can’t stop him.
Graham will be a perfect gentleman as long as Deke is around. He won’t start treating me badly until we’re alone. So, as Graham drinks more, I can’t help but wish to drag the evening out.
But eventually, Graham is so slobbering, falling-down drunk that if I don’t get him out of there, he’s going to pass out at Deke’s table. He’s making boisterous claims about how good he is at hunting, even though he’s never been hunting in his life.
Deke is laughing and slapping Graham on the back and telling him how glad he is to meet him, and how great it’s going to be to have a buddy out here. I don’t think Deke has even had one drink of his wine. I don’t know what the fuck Deke is up to. His behavior isn’t normal. I think he’s angry with me because I teased him and then brought my boyfriend here, and now he’s doing all of this as some sort of elaborate punishment.
But he doesn’t know that Graham is abusive. Deke wouldn’t set me up to get beaten up just to teach me a lesson. Unless he’s an even bigger dick than Graham.
But no. Deke’s a good guy.
I thought he was, anyway.
I’m not sure anymore. The way he’s treating Graham, it’s not the kind of thing that a good guy would do. He’s not being outwardly cruel to Graham, and Graham can’t tell that Deke hates him, but I can. I guess it’s all for my benefit, but if Deke thinks this makes me want him, he’s wrong. Sure, he’s still attractive, but there’s a darkness in him that I don’t like.
I am helping Graham into his coat and he is thanking Deke for the dinner and the great conversation.
“We’ll have to do it again sometime,” says Deke. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Come on, Graham,” I say softly. I am holding him upright. “Let’s get you home.”
“Do we really have to go?” slurs Graham. “I think it’s still early.”
“We have to go,” I say.
“You heard the lady,” says Deke. “She wants you all to herself.”
Maybe that tack will work, but probably not. I try it anyway. “Yeah, let’s go, sweetheart. Let’s go be alone. Give me the keys.”
Graham’s head wobbles as he turns to look at me. “What? You think you’re driving? No way.”
Oh, holy hell, this is not happening. Graham has this stupid shtick about driving, and usually, I just go with it. He insisted on driving the whole way up here, even though we came in my truck. It’s not worth fighting him on it, usually, but he’s way too drunk to drive, even though it’s only a few minutes’ drive back to my house.
How do I fight him on this? If I do, he’ll make me pay for it when we get home.
I weigh my options. Car wreck versus Graham’s fists.
Hell, he’s going to start beating on me regardless. There’s no talking him down from it. He’s way too drunk.
“Yeah, you’re not driving,” I say. “Where are the keys?”
“She does seem more sober than you,” says Deke, grinning. “Anyway, I think you left them here when you came in.” He crosses to pick up the keys, which are sitting on the kitchen counter. He hands them to me. “You two be safe.”
I glare at him. I want to strangle him. How can I be safe when he’s sending me home with a ticking time bomb?
I expect Graham to argue more about it, but he accepts what Deke has said, and we make it to the car without his saying anything.
I pull out of the driveway, and we drive for about two minutes.
“Don’t ever undermine me like that again,” Graham says from the passenger seat, sullen. “You made me look like a fucking idiot. What kind of man can’t drive his own car?”
It’s not his own car, but I don’t say that. “Sorry, baby.” My apology is automatic, even though I know it won’t soothe him.
“You should be sorry,” he says. “You do dumb shit like that all the time, and you’re always sorry, but you never stop doing dumb shit. Why can’t you do better, June, why?”
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say back to that.
“Answer me,” he says.
I drive.
“God damn it, are you ignoring me?”
“All I can do is my best,” I say in my meekest voice, but I don’t know why I’m bothering. He’s going to hit me anyway. I suppose I just want to hold him off until we get home.
“Well, your best is crap,” he says. “You’re such a screwup.”
My face twitches. It’s hard not to react to his insults. I don’t know why, but it is. It shouldn’t bother me. After all, I don’t give a fuck what he thinks about me, and I know he’s wrong. I’m not dumb. He is. I don’t screw up. He does. But, hell, whatever. It’s still tough to take when someone calls you names right to your face.
I didn’t have much to drink, but I had a glass of wine, and I’m feeling a little looser than I might have otherwise. Also, I spent my whole evening seething at Deke. I am on edge.
“Don’t,” I breathe.
“What did you say?” he says.
“Don’t say shit like that to me,” I say, my voice stronger.
He is stunned. I have never—never once—stood up to him before.
I grip the steering wheel and my nostrils flare, and then the pain explodes in my ear and my cheekbone, the car swerves, and at first, I don’t know what happened, but then I realize that he hit me, and then I manage to yank the steering wheel back just in time, but we almost wreck.
And he’s screaming, “God damn it, can’t you drive, you bitch?”
I’m shaking, and I’m terrified, and I’ve never despised him more than I do in this moment. “I drive better when I’m not being hit in the face,” I snap. And it’s a bad idea. I shouldn’t say that, because it will only make him more angry, and I am stupid. God, I know better than to rile him up.
But I see the next one coming, and I duck, and he misses me, because he’s drunk, and his aim isn’t good.
He swears and screams, and I can’t understand him.
But then we’re home.
Finally.
I pull into the driveway, and I get out of the truck, and my head is pounding. It hurts so bad.
Graham stumbles out of the truck and shuts the door. He advances on me, head down like a charging bull.
> CHAPTER SIXTEEN
-deke-
I follow them. I’m not entirely sure how things will go down, but I know he’s drunk, and I figure he’ll start in on her again. I may have to intervene, pull him off her or something.
I kind of like that idea. I like being her hero. But it’s not ideal, because then, the last time she sees him, he’s with me. That’s not great. So, I’m hoping I can get it to go down another way. Maybe she’ll lock him out of the house. That would be perfect.
I stay far enough back that they can’t see me and I don’t put on my headlights. I bring my truck, because I’m going to need to haul him out of there. I’m strong, but not strong enough to carry a body all the way back through the woods.
I watch them pull into the driveway, and I stay out on the road with the engine off. I park my truck in the middle of the road because no one else drives up here, so it doesn’t matter.
I’ll get out soon, but I don’t want them to hear the car door slam.
He’s yelling. I can hear that he’s yelling, but I don’t know what he’s saying.
She’s yelling too. “Oh, right, that makes perfect fucking sense, you dumbass!” she screams. “I wish you’d listen to yourself when you start talking.”
Whoa. I’m impressed. I didn’t know she had it in her.
“You can’t talk to me that way,” he says, and I can hear the whine in his voice. He’s angry, but he’s also surprised and hurt, like a little boy. She has never been so harsh with him before from the sound of it. I hate him even more for the exposure of his weakness. I’m not sure what it is. It’s as if the predator inside me uncoils, like a python ready to strike, and I am salivating for the taste of my fangs in his skin.
“What’s wrong with you?” he says.
I get out of the truck and I carefully, slowly close my truck’s door.
It barely makes a sound.
Instead, the sound I hear is the sickening thud of fists colliding with flesh.
I wince, feeling an awful guilt settle over me like a suffocating blanket. This is my fault. I did this. I got him drunk. I got him worked up. Somehow, when I made the plan, I thought I’d be able to stop him before he hurt her, but it’s too late now.
Red-Blooded Heart Page 11
