by L. B. Dunbar
I don’t go by my street name anymore. I’m sticking to who I am now—Leon Ramirez.
Standing at center court, I turn, rush the hoop, and slam the ball through the net, hanging for a moment with my hands wrapped around the rim. My feet dangle below me as I’m suspended in the air, and that’s exactly how I feel about my life.
Suspended.
It happened often enough back in high school. It meant being outside the norm away from friends and spending a day in the house while my parents both worked. I’m not far off as a damn adult, living outside what I know, away from anyone I knew, and spending my time working without much contact with my parents.
Papi is disappointed in me, and Mami just cries. I couldn’t face them either before . . . or after my time.
I drop to my feet, the thud hard and rippling up my body. My motorcycle boots are not the best set of shoes for playing on a hard court. I scoop up the ball, pushing away thoughts of my parents, my family, my old life, and stash it where I first found it tucked behind some bushes. Someone else either set it there for this same purpose or lost it and forgot all about it.
I’d almost consider myself lost, but I chose to be in this place. I look up at the first stars shining in the dimming sky, and I inhale the freshness of the early fall air around me.
You’d have to know me to understand why it’s all a novelty and important to me.
And as no one knows me here, I don’t expect anyone to ever understand.
+ + +
After my basketball stop, I head to the bar—Town Tavern. It’s the only place in town for a beer, and it’s not even a seedy place. Just a decent spot with booths along one wall, a bar opposite them, and tables down the center. A pool table stands in the back, but I’ve yet to see anyone playing on it.
I’m crossing the alley from my place to the bar, nearing the back door when it flies open, and a woman stalks out. She pushes the door so hard it swings backward against the brick and then quickly bounces back. She isn’t watching where she’s walking. With her face toward the ground, she mumbles something, and I still.
She crashes into me.
Instinctively, I reach out for her, catching her at the elbows before she falls on her backside from the force of plowing into me. When her head snaps up, her hands land on my chest, and I’m hit with the saddest eyes in the prettiest color I’ve ever seen. Under the alley lamp, gold flecks dance in the brown circles rippled with traces of green. They’re like the forest scattered around this town, and I want to get lost in the woods.
“Sorry,” she mutters. My hands remain on her elbows, holding her in place so she doesn’t tumble.
“No problem,” I say, slowly smiling down at her and catching the way her eyes follow the curl of my lips. Here’s the other thing about this small town—I haven’t gotten laid since I’ve been here. Six months. I’m out of practice on my flirting game, but I want to flirt with her.
“What’s this?” A gruff voice cuts into the moment, and I look up to find a man dressed like a hunter. Camouflage T-shirt and green cargo pants with black combat boots and a ball cap to match his shirt. The entire ensemble is too warm for the still-summer heat. And if he had a gun, he’d probably shoot me, given I’m standing like a deer in headlights and still holding the girl.
His girl, from the look in his eyes.
My hands instantly lift off her, holding them upright like I surrender. It’s a position I’m all too familiar with.
“None of your business, Trent,” the woman snaps, and I swallow around the fact I don’t like her answer any more than him. I don’t need any trouble in this town.
“Look, man, she just bumped into me. No harm. No foul.” I peer down at her, but she’s looking up at me, and something in her eyes tells me foul play has happened. I can’t completely read her, though, so I don’t know what she wants from me. Her pleading eyes stab at my chest, but I’m not looking to get between a man and his woman. That’s already happened to me in the past, and I won’t be doing it again.
Only, her fingers slowly curl into my T-shirt, which I’m suddenly aware is a bit sweaty from my time on the courts. I didn’t change. Figured I’d get a beer, then go home and shower. Relax. Enjoy the quiet.
The situation in front of me looks anything but peaceful.
“Why do you still have your hands on him, then?” This Trent dude addresses the woman, and she glances down at her hands and then releases me. Her fingers splay, and she holds her palms inches from my abs as though she can’t completely remove them from my midsection. Instinct tells me to grab her wrists. Common sense says don’t get involved.
The trouble with me is I don’t have much common sense, so I grip her wrists and glance up at the guy, not liking the tone of his voice or the glare he’s giving this woman.
“You came to the bar with another woman. Why do you care?” she snaps at him, and I relinquish her wrists, feeling funny about letting her go. My palms tingle at the imprint of her delicate bones under them.
“And now you’re hooking up with a guy in the alley?” Trent calls back to her, taking a step toward us. She hesitates no more than two seconds before she takes a step back, stepping on my foot and then bringing hers back to the ground as if she intends to stand against him. But he scared her. She flinched, and I noticed. So did he, and his eyes narrow.
“It’s over, Trent,” she says, her voice quivering despite her attempt to fight it. I practically hear her swallow.
I have no issue here. I shouldn’t still be standing here listening to this lover’s quarrel. I don’t give a rat’s ass if they want to argue or break up or be jealous of one another, but there’s something in the way this beauty stands before me. Still close. Still trembling. Her fingers clench to fists at her sides as if she’s trying to hold herself together or prevent herself from hitting him.
“It ain’t over yet,” Trent hisses. His eyes leap up to mine. “You’re still my wife.”
Dayam.
“Soon-to-be ex-wife,” she quickly clarifies.
Okay, I’m out. I step to her side, ready to scoot around her when her hand comes to my wrist, curling long fingers around my warm skin. Her soon-to-be ex-husband does not miss the move, and he steps closer.
“I don’t want any trouble,” I say, holding his glare. I lift a hand again, hoping to display my innocence. Only the woman isn’t releasing me.
Suddenly, the exit door pops open again, and a blond-haired man with a ponytail and bandana circling his forehead steps out. He looks like my kind of people, only I’m hoping he isn’t a third party to this awkward situation.
“Tricia, you all right?” he asks, looking around Trent to the woman. Something passes between her and Ponytail Guy, and he circles Trent.
“You left your date,” Ponytail Guy says to Trent, flanking the girl on the other side of her body. He crosses his arms and stares at the dude who’s apparently cheating on his wife—soon-to-be ex-wife—rather publicly if he brought his side gig to the bar.
“I don’t need any trouble, Jess,” Trent states. His narrowed gaze slips between the other man and Tricia. “Just wanted to talk to my wife.”
“Seems kind of awkward then that you brought a date to the Tavern.” The sarcasm and accompanying sardonic chuckle tell me Jess is familiar with this situation. I’d like to step away, but I can’t. Tricia’s grip has turned claw-like, her nails digging into my wrist.
“Ex-wife,” Tricia clarifies again. Jess doesn’t seem a bit surprised by this announcement.
“Not yet,” Trent repeats.
“Oh, I’d say close enough,” Jess replies, and Trent looks at him again. “Go back to your date.”
Trent takes a moment. His nostrils flare, and his chest heaves like a bull ready to rush. I don’t want to get in a fight. As I’ve said, I don’t want any more trouble in my life. This moment has trouble written all over it, but I won’t let him throw a punch without getting in the mix if I need to.
“I’ll see you soon,” Trent states.
No, warns. He takes the hint to walk away but not before pointing a finger at her as he speaks. He turns back for the alley door.
“Not if I can help it,” Tricia whispers. As soon as he disappears, Jess wraps an arm around her and tugs her to his chest. Her fingers slowly loosen on my wrist and slip away. For a second, I want to reach for her, to pull those long fingers back to me, but I don’t.
“Sorry about that, man,” Jess mutters over the shoulder of the woman pressed to him.
“No problem,” I mutter.
“Jess Carter,” he says, holding out a hand with Tricia still tucked against his middle.
“Leon,” I state. His brow lifts, wanting more, but that’s all I’m giving him.
“Well, thank you, Leon.”
Tricia doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t look up from this new man’s chest, and he tugs her with him, leading her down the alley away from me. Their absence causes the past few minutes to catch up to me, and I bend at the waist, hands coming to my knees.
Holy shit.
I don’t want any trouble, I think for the millionth time since arriving in this town, but as I gaze down the alley and see Tricia wrapped under Jess Carter’s arm, I know she has trouble written all over her.
Lesson 3
Spying leads to misperceptions
[Tricia]
Still tucked into Jess’s chest, I glance over my shoulder to find my savior is no longer present in the alley.
“Have you ever seen him before?” I ask my older brother, surprised by his display of affection but not by his irritation. Jess irritates easily.
“Nope, but I’m grateful he was in that alley. What were you thinking rushing out here alone?”
I wasn’t thinking. When Trent entered the bar with his hand on some woman’s lower back, I’d stood and left, no longer able to enjoy my home-renting celebration. It isn’t that I care he’s dating someone. She’ll learn soon enough that he’s a worthless man, but I’m upset he’s flaunting her before we’ve signed on the dotted line. A small part of me worries about her, woman to woman, but I can’t think about her safety. My only concern is me.
The risk I took going into that alley, knowing in my gut Trent might follow, slowly catches up to me. He’s going to know soon enough I’m no longer living with my mother, but I don’t need him to know where before I move in.
What was I ever thinking being with him?
My father was a decent man—kind and loving. My brothers are as well. I consider myself a smart woman. It isn’t like I don’t know how a man should treat a lady, so how could I pick such a bad man?
As a child, I was always a tomboy. It came with my love of sports, especially basketball. I wanted to hang with the boys but still be respected as a girl. It didn’t happen. Most boys were threatened by me, so I was either one of them or not. Not many saw me as feminine in my own right. In some ways, I ended up with Trent because I was trying to prove myself. I thought he accepted me as a woman while treating me like an equal among men.
I was wrong.
I was his buddy until I wanted a baby.
“A baby? Why the fuck do you want a baby?” He’d stared at me like I’d asked him to commit a crime. I didn’t know he didn’t want children. Trent had had a rough childhood. His mother left after his younger brother was born. His father was an awful drunk. None of this needed to affect us since I’d make a great mother. With guidance, I believed Trent would be a decent dad.
Wrong again.
“Let’s get you home,” Jess says to me, breaking into my thoughts while leading me in the opposite direction of my new place. I hadn’t planned to spend the night there yet as I hadn’t moved anything in, but even our mother’s house was behind us.
“Where’re we going?” I tease.
“Spend the night at my place.” My brother had moved out of our mother’s home recently as well. “Katie will love it.”
My niece is a source of joy for me, so he isn’t off in suggesting I seek refuge in his house. I just hope this night isn’t an omen of what’s to come for me while I live alone.
+ + +
After the long weekend of moving in and adapting to my new place, I wake early on Monday when the rumble of a motorcycle practically scares me out of my skin. With my bedroom overlooking the driveway, I’m able to hustle to the window and peer down into the shared drive to find my neighbor revving his engine at six a.m. It isn’t like I don’t need to get up, but I had a few more minutes before my alarm was set to wake me.
“Gah,” I grumble, throwing myself back on my bed.
My bed. The one I own and sleep in alone in my new place. I swish my arms like I’m making a snow angel and then reconsider the day. I hop out of bed and dress quickly because I have a full day ahead of me organizing my classroom at the high school. This year, I’ll be teaching freshman English.
Levi Walker, Trent’s younger brother, will be a freshman this year. My thoughts drift to him, wondering how he’s been doing since I left. Levi was raised by his elder brother for most of his life as their father, Robert Walker, was a drunk, and leaving Levi behind had been difficult. It wasn’t my place to take him with me, though, and I sensed he could fend for himself a bit more as a young teen. Levi stood up to Trent more often as he aged, and while this brought damning insults and definitive slaps, Levi wouldn’t take that abuse for long. He was already almost as tall as his brother. Thankfully, I’d be able to check on him each day at school.
By three in the afternoon, I need a nap. Standing near the window of my classroom on the second floor, I stare down at the basketball court across the parking lot, sipping a diet drink to give myself a break.
“Who is that?” Jenna Davis asks me. I’m fortunate that another woman in the English department started at the same time as I did, and we’ve become close friends as well as colleagues. She’s one of the few who knows about Trent. Someone is bound to find out when you end up crying in the female teacher’s restroom.
“I have no idea,” I reply, though something is vaguely familiar about the man clad in loose basketball shorts without a T-shirt, sweat gleaming down his muscular back. The shorts might be baggy around his muscular thighs, but they hug the two fine globes of perfection that are his backside. His attention remains focused on the task at hand—shot after shot after shot.
“Damn, he’s good,” Jenna purrs. “And good-looking.”
“Mm-hmm,” I reply, holding the straw sticking out of my can between my lips but not sucking up the cola. My eyes are the only part of my body that move as I watch him dribble to half court and take a shot. Swish! My fingers twitch. I’d love to play ball with him—shirts against skin. He can be skin . . . all skin.
Jenna’s gaze moves from him to me and back again. “You should go out there. Introduce yourself.”
This breaks my gawking. “What?”
“Go meet him,” Jenna says, tipping her brunette head toward the window.
“Oh, I’m not interested in dating.”
My gaze falls back to the man. Something marks his back, but it’s difficult to make out the details. It could be a tattoo. I’m not opposed to them, but the last man I knew who had them was dangerous, and I’m not looking for a dangerous man.
“Who says anything about dating? When was the last time you got laid?” Jenna’s voice teases, but she’s also serious. I hadn’t been with Trent in over eight months. My heart aches with the reason for our abstinence.
“I’m . . . I’m not like that.” I’d been with Trent for ten years, and before him, there’d only been two others of no real consequence. I hadn’t ever had random hook-ups like my friend beside me.
“Well, you’re turning over a new leaf. Perhaps it’s time to shake the whole tree a bit.” Jenna laughs, but I’m not as cavalier as she is, and I’m definitely not going after a man with tats on his back and a fine ass in basketball shorts.
My sight drifts to the edge of the parking lot where I see a familiar-looking truck. I narrow my eyes, and my breath hi
tches.
“What?” Jenna asks, reaching out a hand for my forearm. I watch as the truck pulls away from the lot, and I decide I’m seeing things. It couldn’t be, could it? Did Trent come to the high school?
“Nothing,” I say. “I’ve sworn off men,” I deflect, watching the taillights of a truck I want to dismiss as unfamiliar. However, I can’t shake the possibility of knowing its driver too intimately.
My eyes leap back to the basketball court and land on the hot guy taking another shot. That’s right. No men for me, I remind myself, even if his back ripples with strength, and his backside suggests all kinds of things I shouldn’t be thinking.
+ + +
When I get home after work, I make dinner in my own kitchen outfitted in outdated appliances and worn countertops. Nothing has ever looked so beautiful to me as the mustard gold refrigerator and the fake butcherblock counters. I prep my lunch for the next day and sigh in relief. Day one down. This day was the start of my new routine.
Suddenly, I hear car doors slamming outside the window as the kitchen sink faces the drive, like the dining room. I tip my head as I step right, hoping to disguise myself in the shadow of the upper cabinet while I peer out to watch what’s happening in the driveway. Two young girls exit an older SUV. Suitcases and bags are pulled from the back and out the side doors.
Slam. Slam. Slam.
By their stature, I’d guess them each to be in high school or just past it. They have matching long, dark hair with lightly tan skin. The one closest to me seems to be struggling with something, and the other rounds the vehicle, yelling at her.
The motion of her hands and the anger in her voice remind me of when my sister and I would fight. Pam was always fierce despite her innocent appearance. I watch as the one girl continues to wave her arms, and then I realize I don’t understand what she’s saying. She’s speaking Spanish to the other, and the fast-paced sounds float into the slight opening of my window. I took Spanish in college, but I can’t translate the words as quickly as they are being spoken. However, her body language insinuates she’s berating the other.
