Hiss and Make Up

by Leigh Landry

  Maybe that’s why they were friends. Maybe she’d misjudged Marc. Maybe she’d wrongly assumed he’d be anything like the guy she remembered.

  But Freddy had called her his cute face. It implied ownership. Possession. Not something Marc wanted to let go.

  Sierra couldn't tell if that implication was a reason for excitement or terror.

  Marc shook his head, wincing against the pain again. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he said, “Go home, Sierra.”

  Okay, he was mad. He had a right to be mad at her. She’d hit him with a pot. But he still needed her help, and she wasn’t about to let this go. The only problem now was how to help without inviting more of his wrath.

  Although, his current mood seemed pretty low on the wrath scale. He was sending out more of an annoyed vibe. Or defeated. Not by some psycho arsonist, but by her.

  “Can I at least drive you to the hospital? You really should get that looked at.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “She might be right, man. You should get that looked at.” Freddy reached out to steady Marc as he tried to stand again. He was much more solid on his feet this time, but that knot on his head looked ugly.

  “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  Freddy side-eyed his friend. “I should make you sign some kind of release form.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Someone needs to watch you. Aren’t you supposed to stay awake or something?”

  “Now you want to babysit me?”

  “Me? Hell, no. Besides,” Freddy said, nodding at Sierra, “I’m guessing she makes a much better nurse.”

  “Did you see what she did to me? You want to leave me alone with her?”

  Sierra glared at him. “I should have swung harder.” She put the pot back in the cabinet and slammed the door shut before she really did decide to knock some sense into him.

  He must be brewing a massive headache. Sierra hoped he had some pain medicine at the house. Freddy could stay with him while she ran out to get some. Or he could go while she stayed. Either way, she wasn’t leaving Marc alone.

  He could be mad at her or shut her out or even file assault and trespassing charges, but she wasn’t leaving him concussed, pissed off, and alone.

  “Fine.” Marc glared at Freddy, then turned back to Sierra. “Let’s get you out of here before you do some real damage.

  Freddy waited until Marc disappeared to give Sierra his number.

  “Thanks.” She typed it into her phone and sent him a text so he’d have her number.

  “I’m going to check on y’all later tonight, but call me if you need anything.” Freddy nodded toward the bathroom. “He’s stubborn. Do not hesitate to call me if I need to drag his butt to the hospital.”

  She smiled. Marc was lucky to have this guy in his corner. “I have no doubt. And I’ll hold his feet.”

  Freddy shouted down the hall, “Later, man! I’m leaving you in good hands!”

  Marc grumbled from the bathroom, and Freddy winked at Sierra before he left. She locked the door behind him and debated whether to check on Marc. He was still pretty pissed.

  Instead, she went to the back door and waved at the dog through the glass. Happiest flea-bitten mutt ever. The bowls of food and water made her feel a little better about leaving the little guy there. He didn’t look like he would be much trouble, but she'd have to call the vet and some rescue groups over the next couple of days.

  It was a shame. He fit back there. Like he was the dog Sierra and Marc always wished they’d had when they were kids. Sierra’s dad had been a lost cause on the issue since he didn’t believe in pet ownership as a matter of principle. But Marc’s parents already had a fenced-in yard and everything. Their old dog had died when Marc was a baby. His mom was already tired of cleaning up after kids, so no matter how much Marc and Sierra begged and dropped hints, she wouldn’t agree to another dog.

  Now here was this little guy, dropped in their laps like the dog they never got to have as kids. Only they weren’t kids anymore, and Marc seemed even less enthusiastic about the idea than his mom had been.

  Sierra dug through Marc’s freezer and found a couple of empty ice trays, a frozen pizza, mozzarella sticks, and an unlabeled container of something that might have been soup a few years ago. Not a single bag of vegetables she could use as an ice pack.

  When Marc emerged in the hallway, he had a black and gold jersey crumpled in his hand. In one swift motion, he removed his T-shirt and tossed it across the room onto a side table. Then he stood there—shirtless, muscles tense across his back—as he waited for the opening kickoff.

  Sierra caught herself holding her breath. And staring.

  Ever since that wasn't-supposed-to-mean-a-dang-thing kiss and the almost-hot-sex-in-the-workshop, she couldn't shake this jittery feeling around Marc. Her Marc. The Marc who was supposed to be part of her past. And Sierra had strict rules about not digging up the past.

  Now she was staring at him shirtless in his living room, trying not to pant like a dog or jump on him. She stuck a finger in her mouth and chewed on her fingernail to keep herself from doing either of those things.

  To her disappointment, a whole pile of men tackled the guy with the ball, so Marc slid his jersey over his head.

  "What?"

  She shook the image of him half-naked from her head.

  “You’re being weird,” he said. “I mean, weird for you.”

  “You’re imagining things. It’s the concussion.” She pointed at his head. “Sorry again, about that."

  In truth, she was definitely feeling weird, but she wasn't about to tell Marc that. He walked to the kitchen, grunting as he passed her.

  “So, this is going to be a fun evening.” It was a much better plan to keep him cranky—for the moment, at least—than clue him in on what she was really thinking about.

  He pulled two beers from the fridge.

  “Should you be drinking that? Maybe I should call a doctor and see if that’s okay. Or at least check the internet.”

  “No.” He popped the cap off one with a bottle opener attached to his key chain. She took it when offered and watched him place the second bottle against the lump on his head. He tensed as the cold bottle hit his skin, then relaxed and sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you, Sierra.”

  “I’m not fighting. I’m trying to take care of you.” Her voice sounded a wee bit pathetic and pleading, but for once, she didn’t care. “And apologize.”

  He took a deep breath and stared at her. “Stay. Don’t stay. Call the doctor. Whatever. Just don’t hit me again.”

  She nodded and made a cross over her heart with her index finger. “I swear.”

  “Good.” He tried and failed to stifle a smile, then he cleared his throat and walked to the couch. “I’m going to sit here and watch the Saints game and write my column and make notes for tomorrow’s show and try not to fall asleep. I know that would freak you out.”

  He grabbed the remote with his free hand, while the other kept the cold bottle pressed to his head.

  She moved closer to the couch and examined what she could of his head around the beer bottle. “Why don’t I get you some real ice? I couldn’t find any frozen vegetables.”

  “That’s because vegetables are for eating,” he said.

  “And they make excellent ice packs. Peas make the best.” That was one of the first things she learned after moving in with Liz and Luna. Kids are walking bruises. “So you’re saying you recently ate all your vegetables and that’s why there are none in your freezer?”

  “Sure. Let’s go with that.” He allowed a small smile to form, before wincing at the movement. “Plastic bags are in the drawer by the sink. Towels are in a drawer there too. And can you grab my laptop?”

  She smiled, then had a momentary freak-out as he opened the bottle and turned on the TV. Should he be drinking that? Could he drink with whatever painkiller he took?

  Without looking back at her, he said, “Relax. It’s fine
.”

  She wasn’t normally a worrier, but he could still read her mind somehow. How the hell did that happen? She decided not to question whatever had changed between them. She would relax and roll with it and scurry to the kitchen for some ice.

  God help her, she scurried. To fetch something. For a man. And she wasn’t even resentful about it.

  But Sierra didn’t care. If that’s all it took to apologize and make him not pissed at her anymore, she’d gladly fetch ice and a computer and anything else he needed.

  As both teams trotted towards their locker rooms for halftime, Marc turned his attention to Sierra’s scrunched up face staring at his laptop. He’d had to write his game notes on a legal pad, but she was focused on something other than his head. Completely worth transcribing everything later.

  He’d been concerned about letting her stick around to “babysit” him. Not because he was worried about her skills with kitchenware. Because he still wanted her as far away from him and this street as possible.

  But he had to admit he was glad for the company. Her company.

  There was nothing weird or awkward between them over the last hour. Only a complete lack of any discussion about what had happened between them the night before.

  Just two people watching a game and doing research. Simple. Comfortable.

  She caught him watching her. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Any revelations?”

  “Well, I realized I was wrong about the arsonist wanting or needing to come back to the house.”

  “Did you just say you were wrong?”

  “Shh, pay attention,” she said. “I mean, if they were after something in the house, why would they set fire to the place and risk having what they were after going up in flames?”

  He must have a concussion because she was actually making sense for the first time that weekend. “Good point.”

  “Did you just say I had a good point.”

  “Shh,” he said, half-laughing, which crinkled his forehead and made everything sore. “But that brings us back to square one. Why scare Denise and the kids away and then burn the place?”

  “No idea. Something on the property they want? Something in that shed?”

  “Doubtful. You saw what was in there. A whole lot of nothing.”

  “Still, it’s worth another look. Or I could—”

  “No.” He couldn’t believe she was planning another scheme. Did she seriously think he would let her hide in that shed? To do what? Hit the arsonist with a gas can? No way.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I was going to say I could set up some sort of security camera in there.”

  He’d jumped to conclusions again. Even if he did have every right to, given her track record, he had to stop that. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

  She grunted but didn’t respond.

  “What else do we have?” he asked.

  Sierra scrolled through her document. “Let’s see. We have an email threatening you and your ‘clan.’ We have one poisonous snake and a nest of—” Her skin paled and her mouth hung open.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, no!” She jumped up and dumped his laptop onto the couch.

  “What?” he asked again.

  If she heard at all, she ignored his question. He scrambled to follow her out the front door, the quick movement shaking his brain against the sides of his skull like a hamster in a plastic ball.

  15

  Marc wanted nothing more than to lie on the couch and sleep, or at least to watch the rest of the game, but he wasn’t about to let Sierra out of his sight. Not when she was on a tear like this. At her best, she was unpredictable. When she was frazzled? He couldn’t imagine what she might get into.

  He struggled to keep up, and once she took off in a sprint across the field, the effort was hopeless. Walking as fast as he could, he finally met up with her at Denise’s house. She stood in front of the deck box, one arm holding the lid open while she stared inside.

  Afraid to find some new horror—cobras, rabid raccoons, hellhounds?—he inched forward until he could see over the edge. Inside, he found a pile of dead snakes. He’d forgotten all about them.

  Sierra dropped the lid so it slammed shut with a deep, plastic thud. She slid to the ground and held her head in her hands.

  The sight of her crumbled in a heap on the grass hurt more than his aching head. Guilt and failure radiated from her, and he wanted more than anything to tell her it wasn’t her fault. It was some demented asshole who’d set the fire and presumably killed those snakes from smoke inhalation. But he didn’t think it would make her feel any better.

  What he could do was grab the shovel and a trash bag and save her from the awful task of removing them. Just the thought made him queasy, but they were dead and Sierra was upset. He could do this.

  But something told him that wasn’t what she needed at that moment. Something told him not to walk away, even to go a few yards to the shed and come right back.

  Marc sat on the ground next to her, pulling his knees up and scooting against her. He wrapped his arm around her and guided her head to rest on his shoulder. As he kissed her forehead, he resigned himself to the fact that he’d sit on the grass with her for however long she needed him to. Minutes. Hours. Days.

  Forever.

  Sierra had no idea how long she sat on the ground, incapable of moving.

  How could she have forgotten about them?

  The snakes were all dead. She’d screwed up, and they had paid the price.

  Now there was nothing to do but stare out into the darkening sky and wallow. It was still early, so the stars weren’t out yet.

  She missed the stars. There was too much light pollution in Lafayette, so she didn’t see the sky lit up very often anymore.

  After she wiped the last of her tears away, Marc kissed her forehead a second time and left her to stare at the sky alone. He returned with a garbage bag and a shovel.

  When she reached for the shovel, he pulled it away and handed her the bag. “Hold it open. Don’t watch.”

  Stunned, she stared at him and rubbed her eyes. Who was this man in front of her?

  She didn’t have the strength to argue, so she nodded and held the bag. But she couldn’t look away. She’d failed them. She was responsible for this.

  When he reached for the bag, now heavy with the weight of several dead snakes, her instinct had been to argue. She could take them to Dale. She should take them to the station. But the look in his eyes told her she wouldn’t win this one. He wouldn’t let her stare at them all night beating herself up. She didn’t want to run from her mistake, but she let him take the bag anyway.

  With the shovel resting against his shoulder, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck to pull her close and kiss her forehead again. He carried the bag to the can at the curb, then took her hand as they walked back to his house together.

  They had missed half an hour of the second half, but Marc was able to pull up the missed stats online. He didn’t rush her, complain, or bring up the game while they were outside, even though it was his job to watch it and make notes for his radio show in the morning. All with a probable concussion.

  His eyelids were droopy, and he wasn’t quite as alert as before. Otherwise, he looked fine, so it wasn’t a problem with his head. Just fatigue from the weekend and not sleeping the night before. But she didn’t want to take a chance. Plus, he still had work to do, and she couldn’t exactly help with that.

  “Hey, you gonna make it?”

  “What?” He turned his sleepy face to her. It was the most pitiful thing she’d ever seen.

  She reached over and ran a hand through his hair to brush it away from his face, the way she’d been wanting to since she saw him in that driveway three days ago. His hair was soft and the dark waves in her fingers sent chills up her whole arm. She was careful not to brush against the lump she’d caused.

  At least he seemed to have forgiven her for that. Maybe second chance
s were a real thing people could have after all.

  “You’re gonna make it through this game, right?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Just in case,” she said, “I’m gonna talk at you between plays.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then, great. Let’s do it.”

  She pulled her hand away and watched out of the corner of her eye to see if he caught the insinuation. He turned to the TV and said, “That. You talking at me. Let’s do that.”

  She laughed and scrolled through her notes. "Whoever put the snakes at Denise's house wanted her to find them. Why there? They could have been there for days before she found them in that deck box.”

  Marc shook his head, while he wrote down numbers and names on his legal pad. "She goes in there every morning.” He laughed. “She pulls out the toys every morning because she doesn’t want the kids digging around in there. She’s afraid of spiders hiding in it.”

  Sierra swallowed a short laugh. “That’s a good thing to be on the lookout for too.” She typed that into her notes. It wasn’t a strange thing to do, but every single morning? “So this person knows Denise's habit. And they knew you’d be at the game while she was away from the house yesterday. That should narrow things down, right?"

  "I don't know about that."

  "How many people could possibly know that?"

  "They're not exactly secrets. We both keep pretty predictable schedules."

  “Not predictable unless someone knows you and the football schedule. And Denise’s schedule may be regular, but it’s not exactly normal. Someone would have to know her pretty well.”

  “Or have been watching her for a long time,” Marc said.

  That sent a chill through Sierra. She wasn’t related to Denise and certainly didn’t consider her a friend, but someone stalking her and her kids made Sierra sick nevertheless.