Fighting Wrath

by Jennifer Miller

  I smirk and shrug, “I guess so.” I refuse to divulge why he really recognizes me. If my dance wasn’t that memorable, screw him.

  “What did you say your name is?” He asks me.

  And I think about it. I really do. But instead, what comes out of my mouth is, “I didn’t.” Smiling I walk away, but I can’t help but throw a glance over my shoulder. I stumble when my eyes meet his and see nothing but challenge and determination shining back at me.

  Once I pay for the books, I’m in my car and making the trip I do as many times a week as I can. Some weeks are better than others and I can visit more, but sometimes I’m buried in homework and working so much I can hardly get away. Those are the worst weeks. The guilt almost eats me alive.

  Pulling into the parking lot, I once again wish that this visit were the last one. I want to leave with Sammy and never return. Realistically, that just can’t happen right now, and if I’m really honest with myself I don’t know if it ever will. The thought makes me feel like an utter failure, so I do my best to push the feelings aside.

  Walking through the front door, I give a wave at the reception desk when I walk inside. “Hi, Mabel. How are you today?”

  “Oh, hi sugar. I’m doing just fine today, you’re such a sweetie for askin’.” I’m not sure where Mabel’s from, but I know it’s from somewhere down south because her southern accent is hard. I love it though. “Last I heard your Sammy was havin’ a good ‘ole day.”

  “That’s great to hear. I’m going to head on back.”

  “Alright, sugar. Have a nice visit, ya hear?”

  Walking down the hall, I try not to peek in the rooms I pass, but sometimes curiosity gets the best of me. For the most part the same people are always sitting in their rooms watching TV, eating or reading. Sometimes they have family or friends visiting them, or another resident is visiting. When they aren’t in their rooms, there’s a large entertainment and game room, a library that has a few computers, and a cafeteria they can use as well. The game room is great and Sammy and I go in there sometimes because he likes to play checkers. Occasionally on my walk to his room, I’ll see a new face – a new resident trying to adjust to their new life. The ones that are in their rooms crying, are the hardest.

  “Hi, Sydney.”

  I smile at Ms. Henry. She somehow always manages to see me when I come to visit and fills me in on the latest thing in her life. Today, she’s wearing a light blue, pink and yellow mu-mu with bright orange slippers. Her hair is covered in curlers and she’s got the pinkest lipstick on I’ve ever seen. “Hi, Ms. Henry. How are you doing today?”

  “Well I was fine until my son came to visit and told me they are taking my car keys away. Can you believe that shit? I’m not too old to drive. I’m still young at heart god-fucking-dammit.”

  She’s quite the cusser, Ms. Henry. She’s always angry at someone for one reason or another. “Well I’m sure they just have your best interests at heart, Ms. Henry.” Fact is, Ms. Henry has been here for a few years and hasn’t driven in years. She just doesn’t remember.

  She waves me off and rolls her eyes making me smother a laugh as I turn down the next hallway. Before I get to Sammy’s room I come upon one of Sammy’s friends, Chris. He likes to read and always shares some new piece of information with me. There’s never a hello or a how are you doing from him; he just gets straight to it.

  “Hi Chris,” I say. He’s sitting on a chair with a magazine in his lap, dark glasses perched on the edge of his nose, his face scrunched in concentration.

  “Did you know that cats could speak if their vocal chords were altered?”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep,” he says popping the ‘p’.

  “Well that sure is interesting. I’ve never heard that before.” He smiles triumphantly and buries his nose back in whatever he’s reading, and I’m happy to have finally reached Sammy’s room.

  Knocking softly before I open his door, I find him sitting on his couch watching his favorite baseball team. He’s smiling at the TV and I can’t help but just stand there a minute and look at him, since he seems so absorbed in the game. As much as I hate that he’s here, he does seem to thrive and loves it. Clearing my throat, I can’t help but break out into a smile when his head snaps in my direction, and a smile as bright as the sun shines on his face.

  “Sybney!”

  “Hi, Sammy.” I walk over to him and lean down to give him a hug.

  “What you doing here, Sybney? You just here a day ago.”

  “You know I come to see you as much as I can. I don’t have to work tonight so I thought I’d stop by.”

  “I watchin’ baseball.” He points at the TV as if to accentuate his statement.

  “I see that,” I give the bill of his hat a tap making him smile wider. “Who’s winning?”

  “My team! Duh! You silly, Sybney.”

  “Yeah, I’m silly alright. Silly for you.” I give him a kiss and sit next to him missing the days when our conversations were deeper, our dreams attainable and our futures planned out in minute detail. Those plans were oh so bright; filled with promise. Pushing the bitterness I feel away, I do my best to focus on the here and now, finding contentment in our being together.

  “It’s your birthday next week, Sammy. What kind of cake do you want?”

  “Me want fire engine! A wed one.”

  “Red?”

  “That’s what I said. Wed.”

  I smile at him and nod my head, doing my best to hide the sadness that’s consuming me inside making my chest tighten and my eyes burn. I never imagined I’d be buying a red fire engine cake for a twenty-five year old man. Not exactly how I ever envisioned us celebrating his birthday. Sometimes, life can be cruel.

  “I lub you, Sybney.”

  Sometimes I think he can read my mind and knows the exact thing I wanted to hear. No, needed to hear. There are moments in life when you want to know that all the hard sacrifices and decisions you make are worth it. Funny how three little words can offer a peace that just plain rationality can’t at times. “I love you too, Sammy.”

  He’s in her room again. I’m standing in the doorway and I see him creep up to her bed. She’s sleeping, her hands tucked under her chin, knees pulled up to her chest, completely oblivious to the walking horror stalking towards her. Racing to him, I reach for his shoulder intending to spin him around and pummel him into oblivion. He’s not going to lay a hand on my sister. I’m shocked when instead of making contact, my hand moves right through his body. I try again to grab him, this time by his arm, but once again, my hand passes through his body, not making contact. I scream at her to wake up, but no sound comes out of my throat. Grasping at my throat I try to yell again to warn her. Nothing. I watch in horror as his hand covers her mouth and she wakes up wide-eyes staring into a living nightmare.

  “ROWAN!” I scream sitting up in bed, my hands wrapped around my throat and the sound of my voice echoing off the walls. Unable to catch my breath, I rip the sheets off my legs in a desperate effort to cool off and to shake the pictures in my mind loose. Gripping my head in my hands I place my elbows on my knees and fight the urge to grab my phone and call her. To make sure she’s okay and that she doesn’t really need me. But I tell myself she is safe. Safe with Jax.

  Still feeling out of sorts, unsettled, I get in the cool shower and turn my face into the pummeling water. With every drop, the images that lodge in the corner of my mind are washed away and I start to feel relief. I lean against the shower wall, exhale, and feel my shoulders relax. Once out of the shower, I get dressed and take my phone off the charger. When the face lights up and the time displays, I realize it’s much later than I thought and I’m late for work. “Shit!”

  I’m not sure why my phone alarm didn’t go off, but I don’t have time to figure it out. I grab my keys and book it to my truck so I can get to the garage. When I hit a red light I groan in frustration knowing my boss is going to be pissed off. He hates me. Aside from working at the garage,
I have a side business where I rebuild old classic muscle cars. I love working on cars, I have a knack for it. It started when I was younger and worked at a car wash. Sometimes I’d skip school and hang out with a friend from work. It was safe then; Rowan was at school and I knew I didn’t need to worry about her being home alone with our strung out mother. He was working on an old GTO that had been his dad’s and sometimes I’d help or watch while we hung out.

  I think it’s safe to say my first love was a 1968 Dodge Charger. With her sleek body styling and mean-looking grill with hidden headlights, she was a beauty and I loved helping her purr. There’s something about being able to take something that’s broken, and rebuild it until it’s beautiful and working once more.

  My current project is one for my manager’s boss, Kip. He’s a great guy and he and I hit it off when we started talking about classic cars. He ended up telling me about one he had garaged that wasn’t running and I offered to help out and he hired me. When I go over to his place to work I never know if we’re actually going to work on it, or sit around and drink beer while we shoot the shit. My manager, Ron has witnessed our camaraderie and he fucking hates it. Of course, it doesn’t help that Kip isn’t a fan of Ron’s. He’s even asked me if management would be something I’d be interested in, making me wonder about Ron’s fate with the company. When Kip visits our garage, he’s nicer to me than Ron, and admittedly, it’s amusing to watch Ron do anything he can to kiss Kip’s ass. The whole thing is fucking ridiculous.

  When I arrive, , I whip into a parking spot and hit the asphalt at a run. As soon as I’m inside, I start helping out with an easy oil change for a new customer, apologizing to Ken, a fellow mechanic, about my lateness. “No worries, man. We’ve had two cars since opening. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

  I’m elbow deep under the hood of a car an hour or so later, when my boss comes up next to me. “Tyson! My office.”

  I look at him over my shoulder not removing my hands from the car, “Right now?”

  “Yes. Now.”

  Sighing, I turn to look at Ken who is standing next to me. He shrugs and takes my place while I start wiping my hands off with the towel I keep in my back pocket while working. Squeezing my hands into fists, I stalk to Ron’s office as requested, bracing myself for whatever he’s going to say.

  “Take a seat.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I respond, “I’ll stand.”

  He turns and faces me and I take in his pressed khaki pants, white collared shirt and stupid ass blue tie. The way his brown hair is cut, along with his mustache, make him look like he’s stuck in the eighties. He mimics me and crosses his arms over his chest too and I smother a smirk. Barely.

  “Is there a reason you were late today?”

  “I woke up late.”

  “Why didn’t you call to let us know you weren’t going to be here on time?” He’s sweating. I can see the prickles of moisture breaking out on his forehead.

  “I was in a hurry to get here.”

  “When you got here you should have respected me enough to let me know you had arrived.” I just stand there and look at him. I’m not going to apologize, because I’m not sorry. I’ve never been late. Other guys have been late now and then and I’ve never seen them get called into his office. This is about more than lateness and I’m starting to feel pissed off.

  “Are we done?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are. We. Done?” I state slowly to be an ass.

  “No.” He reaches for a paper on his desk and waves it around like it’s a prize. “I’ve written you up. You need to sign it and-”

  I laugh. “No.”

  “No? What do you mean no?”

  “I mean I’m not signing anything. I realize I was late, and I apologized to Ken. It’s never happened before, and I think being written up is extreme.”

  “You listen here! I’m your manager and I said I’m writing you up. Now you will sign this form right now.”

  I give him a smile that bares my teeth, “I’m not signing shit. As I just said I’ve never been late in all the time I’ve worked here. It was twenty goddamn minutes. Get over yourself. I have work to do.” I begin to walk out of his office, but he grabs me by the arm to stop me. Big mistake.

  “You little shit. I don’t care that Kip thinks you’re god’s gift to cars. When you are here and working for me, you do what I say, when I say it. Got it?”

  My teeth are grinding so hard in my effort to get under control that my jaw aches. A familiar feeling starts burning in my belly making its way through my body until my hands are once again in tight fists. I’m breathing hard in order to gain control. Sweat starts breaking out on my skin from the effort and I can feel a drop roll down my back as I stand still trying to hold myself back. Before I realize what I’m doing, I stalk toward him. With each forward step I take, he takes one back. When he’s against the wall, eyes wide and looking like he’s about to piss his pants, I put my face close to his. “You don’t want to fuck with me today, Ron. Not over twenty minutes. If you want to write me up, fine, but like I said, I’m not signing it. If you have a problem with that, I suggest giving Kip a call. He can come out here and we’ll discuss it with him. Until then, I’m getting back to work.”

  It takes everything I have to step away from him and not put my fist through the wall next to his head. Or through his face. I force one step back, then another. As I turn to leave his office, I can feel his gaze burning into my back.

  The rest of the day goes by quickly, but my thoughts are full. Not about the morning episode, but about the girl that hasn’t left my mind for long since I ran into her. Literally. It’s funny how thoughts of her calm me down. I picture her face and my jaw unclenches. I see her smile at Lily, and the burning in my body subsides. She was gorgeous and I found myself drawn to her – wanting to know more. I picture her beautiful eyes once again and my fiery temper is soothed. Her eyes are the kind that you could lose yourself in – deep and full of mystery. And of course I’d be remiss to not recall her luscious body at least once more. She’s like a present I want to unwrap. She mentioned she goes to the store a lot, so I make up my mind. I want to see her again.

  Rushing home after work I take a quick shower, and change. Sometimes removing the oil from underneath my nails is next to impossible. Rowan bought me this old fashioned cleanser and a nailbrush that I originally told her was girly shit, but I’ve gotten in the habit of using them. I’ll never admit it though.

  Once I’m changed I jump in my truck and make my way to the bookstore, feeling relaxed for the first time all day. I quickly push the button of my favorite radio station and further unwind as music penetrates the air.

  I arrive at the bookstore hardly aware of the drive, and once inside, make my way to the café and order a drink. I may be here with a purpose, but I need to look casual. While waiting I nonchalantly look around to see if I can spot her anywhere. Taking my drink from the barista, I sip it slowly and saunter around the store. I browse here and there, but really I’m just pretending to look at shit while my eyes really search out hers.

  Just as I’m starting to think she’s not here, I observe her at a corner table. There are four chairs at the table; she’s seated on one, while her legs are propped up on another. A book is spread out on the table in front of her as she absent-mindedly chews on the end of a pen. She has her chin resting on the inside palm of one hand, her arm serving as a prop – lucky hand. Her face is scrunched up in concentration and she’s fucking beautiful. Just seeing her does something to me I can’t explain. I’m moving towards her before I even comprehend that I’m doing so.

  A guy in a chair kitty corner from her keeps looking at her under hooded eyes. She’s oblivious to him, but it pisses me off. He notices my arrival, and a quick glare puts him in his place. He starts packing up immediately. Damn straight. I’m well aware of what people see when they look at me – a big guy with a lot of tattoos. It’s intimidating to some and I like it. Especially r
ight now.

  Pulling out the chair across from her with enough of a jerk to slightly startle but not enrage her, her feet fall to the floor as I sit down. “Well, hello there.”

  “I’m not interested,” she says not even looking up at me. I can’t help it. I laugh.

  “Excuse me, but you’re a little presumptuous aren’t you?”

  Her head snaps up and when her eyes lock with mine, they widen. The pen falls from her mouth and she stammers, “Oh…hi…um…it’s you.”

  I grin wider, “Yeah. It’s me. Studying?” I ask stupidly as if it isn’t obvious.

  “Yeah. Big test this week.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Pretty much.”

  There’s an awkward silence as we stare at each other for a minute. My body feels warm. She bites her bottom lip, it’s sexy as hell. I swear I’m about half chubbed. What is it about her? I want to know how that mouth of hers tastes.

  “No baby today?”

  “What?” I ask stupidly. Second stupid question. Get it together.

  “You don’t have your niece with you today.”

  “Oh. No. Not today.”

  “Do you come here often?”

  Her face reddens with the question and I find it cute. I want to see her face redden in other ways. When she hears me tell her what I want to do to her, or when she’s been ridden hard and long and is flushed with exhaustion. “I bring Lily here a lot. It’s kind of our thing. We read books together and I’ve even brought her to story time once or twice. Don’t tell,” I tease, “I don’t want it to ruin my reputation.”

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’d never tell anyone that the bad ass tattooed guy I met, loves story time.”

  “It’s Tyson,” I say. She looks at me questioningly. “My name. So now when you talk to people about me later, you can use my name.”

  “Oh,” she smiles and holy fuck it does something to my insides. “Okay then, I’ll tell everyone that Tyson, the bad ass tattooed guy I met, loves story time.”