by Banks, R. R.
Climbing into my SUV, I start the engine and raise the garage door. The afternoon is waning, and the sky is painted in dusky hues as I pull through the gates and make my way down the winding mountain road.
* * *
After finishing one of the best steaks I've ever had at the local steakhouse, I’m absolutely stuffed. If there's one thing I can say for Ashton Mill, it's that they have some surprisingly good food. The atmosphere in the restaurant, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired. There were a dozen too many stolen glances in my direction and whispered conversations for my liking.
After taking the ribeye I ordered for Oliver, I leave the restaurant and stroll down Parkland Avenue – the main artery of this one-horse town. The main drag is lined with Mom-and-Pop shops – something I’ve always found charming. It has a more organic, hometown feel than the big city. It's something I know Maddy would have enjoyed. The citizens on the other hand – yeah, not so much.
I take a long breath of the cool night air, savoring it. I must admit, getting out of the house and being around people – as awkward as it is, since I'm not really with anyone – is making me feel better. Even though I'm by myself, being out in public, surrounded by people, makes me feel not so alone – despite the numerous side-eyed, suspicious, and judgmental glances.
Not quite ready to go home yet, I walk down to the local sports bar, The Hail Mary. When I come into town, I'll usually stop by for a beer or two. It’s the only place I've had any sort of actual human interaction since I came to Ashton Mill. Nothing earth-shaking or deeply profound, but enough to sustain me, I guess.
I walk in and take my usual spot at a table near the back. The bar is dimly lit, and the dark paint scheme on the walls makes it seem even smaller than it is. On the walls are pictures of various athletes – none of whom, I'm guessing, have ever stepped through the doors – as well as a ton of sports memorabilia. With no big games on tonight, the place is only half-filled, most of the TVs tuned to various baseball games, the others to SportsCenter, where highlights from other games are looping.
“Well, hey stranger,” Katie says as she walks up to my table. “It's been a while. What, a couple of weeks?”
I give her a soft smile. “Yeah, I've been – tied up lately.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Tied up,” she teases, her tone a little flirty. “Well, I'm glad to see you were finally able to pop in for a drink. The usual?”
I shrug. “What can I say, I'm a creature of habit.”
“Hey, if you find something you like, why not stick with it?”
“That's what I think.”
She smiles, and it somehow seems to light up the whole bar. “Be right back.”
As she walks away, I can’t help but notice her tight, perky ass in the tiny black shorts they make waitresses wear here. The black t-shirt with the bar's name and logo stretched across the breasts is also about a size too small, but in my opinion, she looks great.
Katie is younger than me. I’m betting she’s around twenty-four or twenty-five. She's got cool, alabaster skin, dark hair that falls to the middle of her back, and rich chestnut-brown eyes. She has full hips, perky breasts, and legs that look a lot longer than her five-foot-five frame – the total girl-next-door vibe.
Until you look into her eyes, anyway.
If you look deep enough, you can see that Katie’s been through something. Maybe she had to grow up too fast. Those eyes look a lot older than she is.
Katie is also very intelligent and knowledgeable about a surprisingly wide variety of things. It bleeds out in our conversations now and then, but she hides her wit beneath the flirty barmaid exterior. Which is too bad. But, judging by some of the barflies I see in here though, I'm guessing that most of the men in Ashton Mill don't find intelligence as sexy or appealing as I do.
But, she's always very sweet and kind to me – she's an outsider in Ashton Mill too, so she also relates to the odd looks and gossip. She said she came to town just over a year ago and is still trying to fit in. She's always quick with a laugh and a joke, and always eager to strike up a conversation. But then again, I also know she has to put on that persona as someone that relies on tips. I always make sure to tip her generously. Katie works a demanding, thankless job. She deserves it.
As she comes back to my table with an ice-cold Newcastle, she's smiling at me.
“Here you go,” she says, setting the bottle down in front of me.
“Thank you,” I say and take a sip of my ale. “Best stuff ever.”
The first time I came into the bar, they didn't have Newcastle. The bartender had never heard of it. It's my favorite beer, so I was disappointed, but it wasn't the end of the world. Katie, however, took it upon herself to make sure they had it the next time I came in – and every time since then. It's something that was unnecessary but appreciated, nonetheless.
Katie stands there, smiling at me. We usually talk a little bit – mostly about inconsequential things. I've noticed that she doesn't spend as much time with other customers as with me, but I chalk it up to the other patrons not having anything interesting to say. Most of them are either completely absorbed in whatever game is on, deep in their drink, or not sharp enough to carry on a meaningful conversation with Katie.
I'd imagine that for someone like Katie, the culture and intellectual wasteland that is Ashton Mill – charming though the town may be – must be killing her. She looks around at the mostly empty bar and drops down into the seat across from me.
“Isn't your boss going to be upset with you sitting down on the job?” I ask.
She smirks. “Marv isn't here tonight,” she explains. “Just me and Jake. And he's not going to care. It's not like it's super busy right now.”
I nod and take another sip of my beer. Her gaze is locked on mine, and a small smile tugs at the corners of her plump lips. I imagine a thousand unasked questions about me are firing through her mind. I know by now that even though Katie is inquisitive, she won’t stick her nose where it doesn't belong.
“Where are you from?” I ask. “Originally.”
“What makes you think I'm not from here?”
“You don't have the accent,” I say. “You sound like you're from somewhere in the Northeast. Maybe?”
She smiles at me again, and I feel a familiar stirring – one I haven't had in some time – as I look at her. Shame ripples through me as I try to stave off feelings of disloyalty over my attraction to this beautiful woman. I feel guilty for having these feelings for someone other than Madeline.
“You're good,” she says. “Boston, originally. Though, it seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Boston,” I say. “Great town. I’ve had some good times there.”
“I bet you did,” she says.
“How'd you end up here?” I ask.
A dark shadow crosses her face and she frowns momentarily. It's almost like clouds passing over the face of the sun, and casting the world into momentary shadow. Almost immediately, Katie seems to catch herself, and brightens up. The mask she constantly wears, however, slipped for a second, giving me a brief look at the woman beneath, and I saw a whole lot of hurt, heartache, and darkness. There's a story about how she wound up in Ashton Mill – and it’s not necessarily pleasant.
“Long story,” she says, making it clear she doesn't want to talk about it. “What about you? You're not from around here either. What brought you to this humble slice of heaven?”
A rueful chuckle escapes me. “Long story.”
She grins and nods in understanding.
“What were you doing before you came here?” I ask, simply because I don't know what else to say at this point.
Her cheeks flush and she looks away from me. “Would you believe I was studying to be a marine biologist at the University of Georgia?”
“Actually, I would,” I say, taking a long pull from my bottle.
“Really?” she asks, obviously shocked.
“Of course I would,” I say. “You're very smart. I can see
it – even though you try to hide it. Why is that? Why pretend?”
Her cheeks are bright with color, her blush like fire against her smooth, pale skin. Her smile is shy. Adorable. And again, I chastise myself for the thoughts running through my mind.
“Yeah, well, most men around here don't like a girl smarter than they are,” she says. “You show the tiniest bit of intelligence, and you’re treated like dirt.”
“They're ignorant yokels,” I say. “There is nothing better or sexier than an intelligent, strong woman.”
She blushes, her face totally scarlet. I'm half-afraid she'll explode if I compliment her again. I can't deny that her reaction is adorable, though. Before I can say another word, a couple of guys burst into the bar, laughing and talking to each other in loud, obnoxious voices. Katie looks over at them and turns back to me, rolling her eyes.
“I should probably go get their order,” she says softly. “I'll bring you another beer in a few.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She gets up and hustles off to attend to other customers. I drain the last of my beer and set the bottle down, struggling to keep my eyes off her. I've been to the Mary plenty of times since moving here, but this is the first time I've seen Katie in this light. Seeing her as a beautiful woman, and a sexual being, overwhelms me with feelings of guilt and shame.
A few minutes later, Katie drops off another bottle before heading back to the newly-arrived table with their drinks. The two men are growing louder and more belligerent by the moment. Turning my eyes up to the screen in front of me, I watch some highlights from a Yankees game. The sound of Katie's raised voice cutting over the bar, though, draws my attention.
The two men are getting handsy with her, and I can tell Katie is upset. She tries to step away from them, but one of them grabs her by the wrist and pulls her to him. I can see genuine fear in her eyes as she tries to pull away from him, but he holds her fast.
I jump out of my seat and walk quickly over to the table. As conflicted as I am about my feelings for Katie, I'm not going to sit idly by and let that kind of shit happen.
Katie
“Let go of my hand,” I growl.
“Or what?” he sneers.
I snap. “Or I'll shove that beer bottle up your ass.”
Both men roar with laughter like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard. Leon and Danny are regulars – and they're horrible. They are every stereotype of white trash come to life. They're usually drunk, obnoxious, and way too touchy-feely for my liking. They seem to think that buying a beer here entitles them to put their hands on me.
Having Leon holding onto my wrist like he is, dredges up all kinds of terrible memories of Victor. Of my time with him, and what he did to me. It fills me with rage, but also with an overwhelming sense of fear. It's almost like small PTSD flashbacks. I know that because of my size, and without any sort of defensive training, I'm at the mercy of larger men.
“Let go of me or I'll have Jake toss you out of the bar,” I say. “Again.”
Leon laughs. “Shit, that dickbag couldn't throw a bag of trash out of the bar.”
“Maybe not, but I can.”
I turn at the sound of Aidan's voice, shocked by his sudden appearance. He's glaring at Leon and Danny, anger darkening his features. His jaw is clenched, and his fists are balled at his sides. He looks ready to fight – and more than capable of handling himself. Leon and Danny are in their late-forties, soft around the middle, and spend more time drinking beer and eating pork rinds than doing anything even close to exercise.
Aidan, well over six-foot, looms over us all. He's got wide shoulders, a broad chest, and beneath his shirt, I’m sure I’d find a body taut with muscle. If there is a fight, I have no doubt that Aidan would tear both men apart without even breaking a sweat.
“It's okay, Aidan,” I say. “I can handle it.”
“Katie told you to let go of her wrist,” he says, almost as if he didn't hear me.
His eyes are laser-focused on the two men, and it's like nothing else exists to him. The air around us is thick with the promise of violence.
“Aidan,” I say, more firmly this time. “I got this. Leave it alone.”
I finally wrench my wrist free from Leon, but only because he's turned his attention to Aidan. He gets up off his stool, a smug smirk on his face. Danny is sitting there with a stupid grin of his own, showing off his dozen missing teeth, doing nothing, just watching the situation unfold.
Leon takes a step forward, standing up straight, trying to make himself as tall and imposing as he can – and still comes up at least six inches short of Aidan's height. Leon is mostly belly – any muscle he had turned to flab long ago. But, that doesn't mean he's not dangerous.
“Who the fuck are you?” Leon hisses.
“I'm the guy who told you to keep your hands off her,” he says, his voice low and menacing.
“What?” Leon sneers. “You her boyfriend or somethin'?”
“No,” Aidan replies. “I’m someone who’s not going to let pieces of shit like you put their hands on a woman after she clearly said not to.”
“Aidan,” I say sharply. “Leave it alone.”
Leon steps closer to Aidan, the sneer on his face growing even uglier and more menacing than before. The other patrons in the bar sense the tension and all eyes have turned to us. Jake is standing behind the bar with the phone pressed to his ear. I have no idea who he's talking to, but I motion for him to wrap it up and get his ass over here. Jake's not a big guy, nor is he particularly brawny. I know he won't be able to handle Aidan if it comes to a physical confrontation, but he might be able to hold his own against Leon. Maybe.
“What did you say to me?” Leon says as his eyes narrow.
“I think you heard me,” Aidan replies.
Not knowing what else to do, I step between the two men and put my hands on Aidan's chest. He looks down at me, but I get the impression he's not actually seeing me. He's so focused on Leon and what he wants to do to him. I shudder at the fury in his eyes. He looks like a man barely hanging on to his cool. Someone who could blow at any second.
“Aidan,” I say firmly.
He blinks, and the light of recognition flickers in his eyes. I let out a small sigh of relief. He looks at Leon and then back at me, some of the rage in his expression beginning to drain.
“It's fine,” I say. “I can handle this.”
“I don't like him putting his hands on you,” he says.
“It's not your problem,” I say. “I'll deal with it.”
“I can't let –”
I ball my hands into fists and thump them against his hard, toned chest. “It's fine,” I say. “Don't worry about it. I'm on it.”
He gives Leon another long, withering look and then turns back to me. He gives me a nod and walks away, heading back to his table. Crisis averted.
Thank God.
“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Leon snaps. “Fuckin' pussy.”
Danny giggles under his breath as Aidan turns back, and I let out a low groan. The flames of anger are burning high in his eyes again, and he looks like he's looking forward to a fight. Like he craves it. Whatever sense of calm he found a moment ago has vanished. And I don't think I'm going to be able to stop what's coming next.
“Leon, damn it! Shut up!” I roar at him.
Leon pushes his way past me, walking toward Aidan like he's the toughest guy in town and has already won the fight by virtue of his presence alone. I knew guys like him when I was younger and have no doubt that Leon had been a school bully. Maybe he was a jock who thought he walked on water and could treat people any way he wanted. I'm guessing he’s never encountered someone like Aidan before. A man who won't cower at his feet. Somebody who can – and will – fight back. And judging by the look on his face, Aidan seems to be looking forward to it.
Everything seems to slow down, and there's a collective gasp from the rest of the bar as Leon cocks his arm back and throws a punch. Aidan's ready for
it, and deftly steps aside, letting Leon's fist sail by. For such a big man, he moves with a nimbleness and grace I wasn't expecting. Aidan's movements are a blur of motion as he grabs Leon's hand and bends it unnaturally. Leon lets out a choked scream of pain and drops to his knees.
Leon howls in agony as the rest of the bar stares wide-eyed at the unfolding spectacle. Everyone is silent, though many have grins on their faces. If there's one thing people love seeing, it's a bloody train wreck, and it looks like this is going off the rails quickly.
“Lemme go!” Leon screams. “You're gonna break my fuckin' wrist!”
Shaking myself out of my stupor, I rush over to the two combatants and give Aidan a hard, two-handed shove in the chest – though, he doesn't budge an inch.
“Let go of him!” I shout. “You're hurting him!”
I'm angry, though I don't know why. All Aidan is doing is trying to protect me. After my experiences with Victor, however, I'm not overly keen on men using their fists to solve problems or express their rage. Truth be told, after dealing with Victor, I'm not overly keen on men, period. I haven't dated anybody since leaving that asshole, and have no plans to break my year-long streak anytime soon.
Leon is a scumbag, but I don't need Aidan to play overprotective big brother for me.
Aidan moves so quickly, I can't keep up. He lets go of Leon's wrist, but the other hand is already flash of movement. It’s not until I see Leon's head snap back that I realize Aidan just delivered a blow to his nose.
Leon falls flat on his back, groaning in agony. His eyes water as he clutches his nose and crimson blood squeezes out from between his fat fingers. I'm not gonna lie, part of me is deeply satisfied at seeing Leon down on the floor and bleeding – but, I'm filled with inexplicable rage. I round on Aidan, my body filled with white-hot fury.
“What in the hell?!” I shout.
