Caveman: A Single Dad Next Door Romance

by Jo Raven

  “Ellen.” He chuckles. “No progress on that front.”

  That’s my brother. I missed him. Before Blake and the accident, things were always like this between us: easy.

  “I’ll talk to Mom and Dad,” I say. “After work today.” I tug on the sleeve of my jacket. “Will you be there?”

  “Maybe.” He tsks. “What will you give for me to be there?”

  It startles a laugh out of me. “You’d extort your own sister?”

  “To get you to bake me those chocolate brownies of yours? You bet. At least two dozens, sis.” He’s still chuckling as he disconnects the call.

  Bastard. But I’m grinning as I head to work, patting down the new jeans and blouse I bought yesterday with Cassie. I refuse to acknowledge the swarms of butterflies in my stomach.

  This is me, getting my life back. Finding happiness. Finding me.

  “Micah works at Damage Control?” Cassie’s cheeks flush. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” To say she’s reacting strangely is the understatement of the year. “Why?”

  “Oh nothing.” The blush turns crimson. “Nothing.”

  “Who else works there?” I lean toward her, curious in spite of myself.

  “Just this guy I’ve met a few times when I go out with the girls. His name’s Jesse.”

  “And he’s hot, huh?”

  She giggles, then claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh God, this is so stupid. He doesn’t even know I exist.”

  “Then talk to him.”

  “I can’t.” She fans herself. “He’s got girls all over him, like, every night. He’s just cute, that’s all. Now stop talking about Jesse and tell me about Micah!”

  I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t know where to start. “He’s great. He’s just…” Familiar heat floods my face.

  “Oh God, you’re in love with him, aren’t you? I knew it.”

  I don’t know where to run and hide. “I’m so not.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Good.” She still looks worried, but she smiles. “You can’t fall in love so quickly, Ev. It’s dangerous, especially with these gorgeous ones. They change girls like socks.”

  I make a face. Micah doesn’t seem that kind of guy… Does he? I mean, he is gorgeous but…

  “Which is why you should go in with your eyes open,” she goes on, eyes bright. She really believes this stuff. “Have fun, but don’t be exclusive.”

  Not be… I blink. I realize with a jolt I don’t really know Cassie at all. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. The main thing is, is he good at sex?” Cassie asks, her face serious.

  I gape at her for a good five seconds. In the end I give in. “Yeah, he’s…” I wave a hand.

  “Big?”

  I can’t help it. I start laughing.

  “What? It’s an important question!”

  “Yeah, I guess he’s big. God, Cassie.” I wipe at my eyes. “Don’t tell me. You’ve checked Jesse’s package out already, haven’t you?”

  She shrugs, a glint in her eyes. “I won’t lie to you. It’s pretty much outstanding.”

  I laugh again. I can’t believe this discussion. “You blush like a little girl when you talk about Jesse, but have no trouble talking about his size. Isn’t there something wrong with this picture?”

  “Size, sex… These things are normal. It’s just that…” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “Well, Jesse, he’s…”

  “He’s what?”

  She sighs. “I don’t know. Hard to read, I guess. Joking about, fucking all those girls…”

  I wince. “Uh-oh.”

  Cassie goes on, seemingly oblivious. “Every night he has a different girl, and I kinda know if I approached him he’d sleep with me, you know?”

  Do I? This all sounds so strange to me. If Micah slept with other girls… Just the thought makes my hands curl into firsts, even though I know realistically that he must have had girls before he met me. After all, he seems to know what he’s doing.

  “And normally I wouldn’t mind,” Cassie says.

  I struggle to follow. “You wouldn’t mind being a one-night stand for Jesse?”

  “Exactly. I wouldn’t mind.” Her voice has gone a little husky, and her eyes glitter. I can’t read the emotions in them. “But I can’t. Not with him. There’s something about him that won’t let me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like he’s cracked, like a glass that looks whole, but if you press it too hard it will shatter,” she whispers, and a shudder runs through me.

  Because Micah also seemed ready to break this morning, and the things he said about his past are lurking in a corner of my mind, waiting for me to examine them. Darkness, pain, sorrow. It hurts to know he’s been through that, and yet I’m happy he trusted me enough to tell me.

  I want to see him again this afternoon. Tonight. I want to talk to Asher’s mom about working with homeless youth. I’ve checked the site of the National Runaway Switchboard online and I can start as a volunteer, then later take courses and work there. I want this. And I want to put Blake and the accident behind me.

  “I want to move out of my parents’ house,” I blurt out.

  “Whoa. Moving in with Micah already? Isn’t it too soon?”

  “No, not with Micah.” Although the thought sends a thrill through me… But he hasn’t asked, and it’s way, way too early to even think about something like that. “I just need to move out.”

  “I see. Looking to share an apartment? ’Cuz I may have something.”

  “You do?”

  “One of my friends is looking for someone to share her apartment with. She’s great. You’ll love her. She lives close by.”

  I smile. It’s a good sign, isn’t it, if luck is smiling my way. “Let me talk to my parents, and I’ll let you know.”

  My parents stare at me in disbelief when I break them the news.

  “You want to move out? For heaven’s sake, why?” my dad roars.

  Oh, crap, it’s going worse than I thought it would, and Joel is nowhere to be seen. I could use the support right now.

  “I need my space,” I say quietly. “I have—”

  “Why, so you can sleep around? Or to spend time with all the losers on the street and spend every penny until you become one of them?”

  “John,” Mom says. Even she sounds horrified at his words.

  Not more than me, though. My stomach hurts as if he’s punched me there. “Is that how you think of me?”

  “Come on, Evie.” He rolls his eyes and gives me a withering look. “If you don’t want people to think of you that way, then act responsible. Like the adult you pretend to be.”

  Ow.

  “Listen to your dad, Evie,” Mom chimes in. “He wants what’s best for you, and you’re not doing anything meaningful with your life.”

  “Oh, for chrissakes. I finished school. I got a job. I almost never go out. What are these ‘adult things’ you expect from me?” My voice cracks and all I want is to run out of the room and hide. There’s a lot of hurt inside me. No matter what I do, it will never be enough for my parents. “What else do you want?”

  “I want you to stay home where it’s safe for you,” Dad says, and tendons stand out in his throat. “To think seriously about what you want to do with your life and start doing it.”

  “I have thought seriously about what I want to do.” I’m leaning forward in my chair, every muscle taut. My jaw aches from the tension. “I want to work with homeless youth. There’s someone I’m going to talk to—”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Dad snaps, just as Mom mutters, “This isn’t going to end well.”

  “This is what I want! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “There’s lots wrong with that. Lots!” Dad gets up and looms over me. “This isn’t what your mom and I worked our asses off for, so you could have a nice house, and nice clothes, and a chance to go to college. You’re throwing away all our effor
ts, all these years lost—”

  “I’m not throwing anything away.” I inch back in my seat, but anger pushes down my fear. “I just want to do what makes me happy. I’m not going to feel guilty about that.”

  “You listen to me now, young lady…” Dad bends over me and jabs a finger at my chest. I flinch and fear returns. He’s a big man, and I’m tiny, like Mom. I’ve never been afraid of him before, but he’s so angry spit flies out of his mouth, and my blood runs cold.

  Dad won’t hit me, I tell myself. He never has. But when he grabs my arm, gripping me painfully tight, I can’t help but think that Blake also never hit me, and yet he’s held me like this, bruising me, forcing me to stay when all I want is to leave.

  “John, stop it,” Mom says, and I think I hear fear in her voice, as well.

  “Dad, let her go right now,” a male voice says.

  Dad jerks and releases me so that I fall back in the seat, my breath leaving my lungs.

  Joel is standing there, a hand gripping Dad’s arm. His blue eyes glitter with anger. “Don’t you touch her again.”

  “You don’t get to order me around, Joey,” Dad mutters, but he walks away from me and shoves his hands into the pockets of his black pants. “I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

  “You already have,” Joel says and glances at me uncertainly.

  “I’m okay,” I say, my voice small, but the truth is, I’m not. Not because of the ache in my arm, but a deeper one.

  I can’t stay here a moment longer. But when I try to get up, my legs refuse to take my weight, and I sink back down.

  Joel holds out his hand. “Come on, Evie.”

  He helps me up, and I stand by his side. Dad is giving me his back, and Mom is staring at me with tears in her eyes as if I’m dying or something.

  “I’ll visit you,” I say, mostly because I can’t stand to see her so sad. “I’m not going far, Mom.”

  She says nothing.

  “She’ll be fine,” Joel says. And with that, he pulls me out of the room and into the cold night air.

  Joel doesn’t say much else that night. He drives me to his apartment, which he shares with his ever-absent friend Jethro, and throws some folded sheets on the couch.

  “You take my bed,” he says, “I’ll take the sofa.”

  He must be kidding me. I don’t even want to know what action his bed has seen since he moved out of our parent’s house three years ago. “I’ll be fine on the couch, Joey.” I see a new frown forming on his face and grab the sheets to forestall an argument. “Honest. Thanks for standing up for me and taking me in. I wanted…”

  He’s staring at me, and suddenly I don’t know what I want to say. The reality of it all hits me. I’ve left home. I’m on my own for the first time ever.

  “You can stay for a while,” Joel says. “Jethro won’t mind.”

  Since Jethro is never here, he probably won’t even notice. I clutch the sheets to my chest. I’ll have to return home at some point and grab my things—clothes, shoes, books, knickknacks.

  Oh my God, I’ve left home. I sink heavily on the sofa, my knees knocking together. Which is ridiculous. I’m nineteen, for chrissakes, not twelve. Others leave the nest much earlier.

  Deep breaths now, Ev.

  “You okay?” Joel asks, sitting by my side.

  “Yeah.”

  I just need a place to stay, one I can afford. Share an apartment. Cassie. She said she may have something for me.

  I can do this.

  “Let me see your arm.” He takes my hand, but I don’t let him push up the sleeve.

  “I said I’m okay, Joey. I really am.” I hold his gaze until he drops my hand.

  “If you’d stayed with Blake,” he mutters, “he’d look after you. Dad and Mom trust him and wouldn’t worry so much about you, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Dad and Mom should trust me, not a stranger.”

  “He’s your boyfriend, not some stranger.”

  “Dammit, Joey, he’s not my boyfriend anymore! And I don’t need him to take care of me.”

  I turn away from him and do my best to swallow my disappointment. Bitterness fills me. Even Joel doesn’t trust me. Despite his help this evening, he doesn’t think I can take care of myself, much less others. Why? What did I ever do to make them all think I can’t cut it?

  “Get some sleep,” Joel says, and the sofa springs creak as he gets up. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  It seems to me there’s nothing more to talk about. And it doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’ll make this work. I have to.

  But in the morning Joel leaves before I wake up. A message on my phone informs me he’s got practice on campus and won’t be back all day.

  So much for talking. Though I’m secretly glad to avoid more arguments and fighting. Glad for the quiet.

  I take out my phone. I want to talk to Micah, tell him what happened. He hasn’t texted me or tried to call me since I left his apartment last night. Telling myself it’s nothing, that of course he doesn’t have to text me all night, even after the things we talked about, I sigh and put the phone down.

  Not feeling like talking much, either, at this moment. I just wish… How selfish it is of me to wish he’d called me? His voice would make everything better, but I have no right to expect anything from him. He’s not my boyfriend. We’re not an item.

  Are we?

  We barely know each other, and after pushing him to open up yesterday… Maybe I should mark the day in my calendar: the day I got over my fear of Blake, my fear of leaving home, and pushed Micah over the edge.

  Damn.

  Joel’s apartment is downtown, so I have more time than usual to get ready. I keep expecting the mysterious Jethro to walk into the living room or the kitchen, but he doesn’t. Big surprise. I’m not sure I even know what he looks like.

  I pull my hair back into my customary ponytail, zip up my jacket and grab my bag. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and tuck a stray strand behind my ear. The memory of last night slams back into me, and I wince. I kinda hate my family right now.

  Then I think of Micah who never really had one and feel bad. At least I know my family cares for me, even if they don’t trust me. They’re overwhelming, but they’ve looked after me all my life.

  Deciding I’ll call Mom later on and ask how she is, I walk out and head to work.

  The guy I’ve caught watching me from across the street is there again, smoking a cigarette. His dark eyes follow me as I hurry to enter the sports store. What’s his problem? It’s not Blake, but could Blake have sent someone to keep tabs on me?

  Ice coats my insides at the thought, but then Cassie intercepts me and pulls me to the back of the store to ask how it all went. I take a deep breath and tell her everything—about Micah and Seth, the fight with my parents, the fight with Joel. It feels good to get it off my chest, and she keeps telling me it will be all right, and it will all work out.

  She’s sweet, but a part of me is sad it’s not Micah asking me, concerned about me.

  He’ll text, I tell myself. Micah cares for me. He isn’t a one-stand kind of guy. We shared more than just sex. Mind-blowing sex. Still. He cares.

  Right?

  Work takes my mind off things for a while. Around midday I check my phone and still nothing. Disappointment threatens to drown me. Bad things happen in clusters, and this day is going to hell.

  But I refuse to let it end like this. I need to act, work for my happiness. With trembling fingers I text Micah.

  ‘Miss you.’ There. Short and sweet.

  And he never replies.

  I swallow past the thickness in my throat. Not you too, Micah. Not today. Please don’t decide to leave me today.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’ I send the message off and wait.

  He doesn’t text back.

  “What’s going on? Is it Micah?” Cassie asks.

  I don’t answer. Maybe he just didn’t see my text. So I call him.

  His phone rings
and rings until it goes to voicemail. Bowing my head, I push the cell back into my pants pocket.

  There must be an explanation. Maybe he left home and forgot his cell. Maybe his battery ran out. Maybe he’s busy with something, and he’ll call me back later.

  Time passes. Cassie sends me concerned looks as I bang the shoes on their stands and rip the tape off boxes with unnecessary force. I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to see the pity in her eyes.

  Before I leave work in the afternoon, she approaches me and slips a piece of paper into my hand. “This is Kayla’s number, the friend I told you about who’s looking for a roommate. Give her a call, she’s really nice.”

  “Thanks.” I do my best to smile, and Cassie smiles back.

  “If there’s anything you need…”

  I nod. “I know. Thank you.”

  Micah told me the same when we first met. Did he mean it?

  My way to Joel’s apartment doesn’t take me past the donut shop and Damage Control, but I deviate. Somehow my feet take me down my usual path, and I find myself standing across from the tattoo shop. I don’t know why I thought I’d find Micah standing outside like I did almost every day in the past weeks.

  After a small hesitation, I cross the street and push on the door.

  It’s locked. The shop is closed.

  Frowning, I take a step back, a bad feeling knotting up my stomach. What’s going on? It’s just a weekday like any other. I call Micah’s number again, and again, he doesn’t answer.

  The bad feeling intensifies.

  Movement inside the shop catches my eye, and I step to the glass door once more. I rap on it with my knuckles and press my face to the pane to see.

  Two guys are sitting in the reception area of the store, in those ugly orange armchairs I noticed the one time I went in. One of them has short spiky hair and the other is blond with long purple bangs falling in his eyes. He’s saying something, shaking a fist in the air, when he notices me and narrows his eyes. He shakes his head at me and gestures that the shop is closed.

  I rap harder on the door, rattling it. When that doesn’t work, I fish into my bag for pen and paper, write Micah’s name in big bold letters and press it to the glass, then rap again.