by Kylie Scott
“You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic here?”
She harrumphed. “I’m not the one buying birthday cards for my pizza delivery guy.”
“One time. Once. And I was trying to be nice.”
“Oh yeah? How’s he doing?”
“He and his girlfriend got engaged just before I left, actually.” I smiled. “Gorgeous ring.”
“I rest my case.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
“Normal folk are not this involved in the lives of their takeout deliverymen,” she declared. “That’s why I pushed you into going. At least Idaho is outside of your apartment.”
“Since when did we ever care about normal?”
“Maybe it’s time to start.”
Deep breaths. That’s what was required. Deep steadying breaths so as not to lose my cool.
“Look, I get it,” she said. “God, do I get it. It’s incredibly hard to take that leap and actually trust someone, knowing that you could get hurt. But we can’t hide away for the rest of our lives just because we went through some shit in our younger years. Liam taught me that. Well, him and eight years of therapy. I take it you’re still down on the idea of talking to someone about what happened?”
“Val.” Memories of blood filled my mind. So much blood. A whole bathroom painted in the stuff. I gagged, my imagination more than happy to provide a lovely flashback of the nauseating metallic scent. “It happened to you, not to me. I don’t need fixing.”
“Bullshit.”
“I can’t do this right now.”
“We need to talk about it.”
Knocking at the door. Perfect timing.
“I’ve got to go, that’ll be him,” I said.
“Do not hang up on me.”
“I have to go.”
“Alexandra Marie Parks, don’t you dare—”
“I love you. Say hi to Liam for me. Bye.” And click. Call ended. Phew.
More knocking at the door.
The day had barely started and I was already over people. I opened it, trying for a polite smile for Joe. It felt closer to a grimace, however. Once I saw him, though, all of the tiredness and yuck in me lightened. Must have been some kind of beard magic. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Hands in pockets, he just looked at me. Nil expression on his face. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing much.”
Neither of us moved.
“Really? ’Cause you’re looking a little strung out,” he said, tipping his head to one side. “Aren’t you the ‘honesty means everything’ girl or have I got the wrong room again?”
I raised my chin. “All right. Do you want to know the terrible truth?”
“Hit me.”
“I’m a basket case,” I confessed. “A total head job. Might have forgotten to tell you that salient detail in the emails. But I am. A total weirdo nutter with more issues than I can count. Including avoiding having a real live normal sort of relationship with a man. To my mind, romantic relationships and commitment are the black plague. In case you hadn’t already guessed.”
“Seems like no one has it easy these days. Everyone’s got their problems.” He didn’t even blink. “I haven’t dated anyone seriously in years, not since things went to shit with my first girlfriend. We were together a long time and I thought it was for keeps, but … things change. Only it took me a long time to change with them. Then, later on, I lied to a woman on the Internet, pretended to be my pussy magnet brother just to get her attention because I thought she was funny and nice and I wanted to keep talking to her. Fuck knows what a shrink would make of that.”
I smiled despite myself. “Funny and nice, huh?”
“And pretty. Real damn pretty.”
God help me, I was blushing.
“Also, I keep playing family peacekeeper trying to make everyone happy,” he said. “It’s not working.”
“Interesting,” I said, leaning a hip against the door. “You try to please people while I just want to avoid them.”
Dark eyes assessed me.
“Or at least that’s what Valerie said my problem was.”
“You think she’s right?” he asked.
I shrugged, studied the carpet. “She’s spent a lot of time in therapy, so she usually is.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure those two qualities necessarily go together.”
“He’s not handsomer than you.” I creased up my face. “Just, you know … by the way.”
Joe said nothing. There did seem to be a certain light in his eyes, though.
“He’s not. So don’t think that,” I said in a rush. “It’s like comparing pizza to Chinese takeout; they’re both great in their own way, you know?”
“You’re comparing me to takeout?” A little wrinkle appeared between his brows.
“Definitely not. You’re the pizza in this metaphor.”
A blink. “Okay.”
“Gourmet, thin crust. We’re talking top quality here.”
He nodded. “I can live with that.”
“Anyway. You coming in or not?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, maneuvering past me into the room. “We heading to the airport today or what?”
“Meh.” I shut the door, putting my cell on the table, and turned to check out the view across the lake. Blue shimmering water and a pristine clear sky. This crazy insane urge inside of me, wanting to know what would happen next. What if I stayed and … just what-if in general. Screw it. I let my mouth do what it would. “But the weather’s so nice.”
“Yeah,” he said carefully. “It is.”
The tension in the room, I could have cut it and served it as cake. Shitty cake, but just the same. My hands twisted at my sides. “Seems a pity to waste it sitting in an airport lounge just waiting around.”
A small hopeful smile curved his lips. “That would suck.”
“And what’s another day or so, right?”
He shrugged. “Fine with me.”
My phone started ringing. “Just let me grab a quick shower.”
“Not going to take that call?” Joe made himself at home in the comfy chair, crossing his legs with his ankle resting on one knee, the way guys did.
“It’s Valerie calling to try and deep-and-meaningful me some more. I’m just not up to it right now.”
“Ah.” He eyed the buzzing phone warily while I gathered a clean set of clothes.
“Feel free to answer it if you like,” I joked.
The man did not laugh.
Today’s options were jeans or tights and a skirt. I had good legs. A big butt, but good legs. Black tights and a matching skirt, done. A somewhat fancy red bohemian blouse with cool embroidery for the top half. Sometimes a girl just wants to dress up a little. Feel pretty. No biggie.
“Won’t be long.” I headed for the bathroom.
He pulled out his phone and relaxed back in the chair, just hanging. “No worries. Take your time.”
* * *
Tools sat in the first large storeroom that was one of the studio apartment options. It sat above an empty shop, on the other end of the building from the Dive Bar. If Joe did wind up living there, he could just about make as much noise as he wanted.
A partition sat in the middle of the room, turning it into two offices, maybe. The little bathroom was a mold- and spider-infested ruin.
“Galley kitchen would work well,” mumbled Andre. He, Joe, and Pat were gathered around my laptop, looking over the designs.
“Definitely conserve space.” Joe pulled a rubber band out of his jeans pocket and proceeded to pull his hair back and put it into a ponytail. “I think the walk-in shower’s a good idea too. Keep things nice and streamlined. Minimum fuss. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Okay,” said Andre.
Pat seemed less scary today. Just sad. Contained, I guess. He didn’t say or smile much. From the brief chat I’d had with Nell, and the mega-fast walk through of her kitchen the night before, I couldn’t imagine the two of them to
gether. She came across as so bright and bubbly.
I moseyed on over to the collection of tools, just checking things out. A battered red toolbox sat open, displaying a wide array of goods. Atop a notebook sat a laser meter and measuring tape. A rubber-headed mallet and a saw. Ooh, a sledgehammer.
The men folk were still busy, discussing the designs … what the hell?
Quiet as I could, I picked up the sledgehammer. Gave the heavy bastard a swing or two back and forth. Wonder what it would be like to send it slamming into something. To crash it into a sheet of plasterboard.
“Alex,” said Joe, startling me.
“Yeah?” All swinging of large manly tools ceased immediately. I felt like a little kid getting caught stealing candy. “Hi.”
For a moment he said nothing, just looked at me in the quiet, mindful way he had. Then he nodded toward the partition.
“What?” I asked, eyeing the object of his attention.
“Hit it.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“It needs to come down,” he said. “You wanted to do some of the work, right? Learn some stuff?”
“Yes.”
He wandered over to the bit of wall in question, knocked on it twice. “It’s not a load bearer or anything like that. No wires in there. Go for it.”
Without further ado, he handed me some safety glasses. I donned them, looking beyond cool, no doubt. Then I lifted the heavy sledgehammer, giving him a small, unsure smile. The kind of smile you give a man when you think he’s serious but you’re not a hundred percent sure. Given life experience, etc., he might just be mocking me.
Andre shook his head and smiled. “Leave her alone, man. She’s looking gorgeous today. If she starts in on that she’ll get covered in plaster dust and shit.”
Interesting. Pat stayed silent.
Joe, on the other hand, gave Andre a hard glance before turning back to me. “Alex.”
“Joe?”
He licked his lips. Something low in my belly liked that. The aesthetics of his lovely mouth framed by the golden beard. Maybe I was going a little loopy. Loopier. Or maybe my tastes were undergoing a serious shift.
“Make that wall your bitch,” he said, eyes intense. Challenging.
I nodded, hefted the sledgehammer back out to the side, and then let loose. It was a pathetic hit. Sheetrock cracked but that was about it. More swing, more oomph was required. Much, much more. Again, with both hands wrapped tightly around the hilt, I drew back and then swung. Putting my weight behind it this time. Going in hard.
Crash!
The first layer of the wall cracked right open along with the second, a couple of inches in. I even managed to splinter an old length of wood running through the middle. Dust and dirt filled the air. Doubtless it had rained down on my hair, was covering my clothing. Who gave a fuck? The feeling of strength, the shock of destruction. I was hooked. Already my arms were starting to feel the burn from the unexpected workout. But it was all good.
Again, I drew back then rammed the sledgehammer into the wall. Crash boom bang. Holy balls. The big-ass hole, all of the wreckage and mess, I’d done that. Me.
I grinned at Joe and he grinned back, watching the proceedings with his thick arms crossed. Poor Andre shook his head while Pat gave me a half smile.
Back to wall breaking I went.
Bam. That’s for the people who made me feel small. The ones who overlooked and ignored me. The ones who never let me fit in.
Bash. This was for the ones who put gum in my hair and tripped me in the hallway. Who pushed me and hurt me physically.
Boom. An extra-special hit for those who’d tortured me with words. Because those words, all of those insults, they never left my head. Not even after all these years.
Bang. Here’s to the bullies, the bastards and bitches out for attention. The ones who caused me pain just so they could feel superior and powerful in front of their peers. All of them.
The list went on. A strike for those who’d told me to shrug it off, to ignore it and stop whining. Another for the people who’d seen it happen and done nothing. Acted like it was all just a joke, a normal part of growing up, nothing serious. I kept hitting, breaking down the wall, taking the fucker apart. And I didn’t stop until I was dripping with sweat and sheeted in dust, three-quarters of the wall laid bare to the studs, smashed to smithereens. My shoulders were screaming and body tired, but my soul was oddly appeased. God knows why, but I loved it. The power, the violence, the ability to well and truly affect my surroundings. Joe standing and watching, keeping out of my way, just letting me do my thing. I could have done it just fine without him there, sure. To have him close, however, made it better.
I doubt Valerie’s therapist would have approved. But I felt the best I had in a while.
I don’t know how long I spent staring at the remains of my wall, gulping down the bottle of water Joe had passed me, enjoying the afterglow. Sex with strangers didn’t even begin to compare to this stress-busting experience. Maybe I’d been a Viking marauder in a former life, or something.
At some stage during my “I am woman, hear me grunt and roar as I pulverize this innocent bit of building” Pat and Andre had disappeared. Only Joe and I remained upstairs, as far as I was aware.
“I see,” he said into a phone.
My cell. Shit. I’d told him he could answer it. Sure. Hadn’t exactly been serious, though. Nor had he seemed interested.
He noticed me noticing and held my gaze. The look was loaded. Meaningful. Full of what exactly, I couldn’t say.
“Okay, Valerie,” he said, eyes still on me.
I took a step forward, held out my hand. A swift shake of the head was my sole reply.
“Much appreciated,” he said. “Bye.”
“That was Val?” I asked stupidly.
“Yeah. Your phone kept ringing. Saw it was her so I answered to get her off your back.”
“Oh.”
“Earlier you said I could. This a problem?” He passed me the cell and slid it into the pocket of my now white-and-gray-speckled gritty skirt. So much for looking pretty.
“Ah, no.” I guess.
“Your first boyfriend lied to you, huh?” He canted his head, eyes narrowed on me.
Shit. My mouth opened, closed.
“He cheated on you?”
“Um. Yes.”
“Hurt your feelings?”
“That’s right.”
Slowly, Joe nodded, taking a deep breath at the same time. “And that was the reason you gave for not being willing to forgive me.”
“Lying is a serious offense,” I said, inching back just a little. Not that I was scared. Exactly. Definitely not because I thought he’d hurt me physically. Despite all of my sledgehammer girl-power behavior, I could still be harmed in other ways. A woman needed to protect herself. Right. “It’s a really bad thing.”
“It is. You’re right.” He took a step forward.
I took one back. “So? What’s your point, Joe?”
He stepped forward again. And again I stepped back until my spine hit the jagged remains of the wall. Whatever Valerie had told him, it couldn’t be good. And since when had my best friend decided to work against me with this man? Talk about betrayal.
Joe towered over me, arms relaxed at his sides. His eyes, however, they didn’t seem so chilled.
“How old were you when you had this lying, cheating boyfriend, Alex?” he asked in a disturbingly calm tone. I didn’t trust it one bit.
“Young-ish.”
“Do me a favor, Little Miss Fucking Sunshine? Be exact.”
I was going to kill Valerie. Sledge her with my mighty hammer. Wrap her in plastic and encase her in a wall. Something like that.
“Hmm?” He waited, looming above me with judgey eyes. “How old, Alex?”
“Twelve,” I grumbled.
The man paused, cupped his ear. “Sorry. What was that?”
“Twelve. I was twelve years old when Bradley Moore cheated on me by
dating some cow who was friends with his cousin.” I did not sound like a sullen little brat. I sounded like something else, vaguely related to the same. Someone who’d just been busted using a piss-weak excuse to avoid getting involved any further with this man. Not that it had even really worked. “It hurt.”
“I’m sure it did. How long were you dating him?”
“Not quite a week.” I stared straight at his long-sleeve-T-shirt-covered chest. It was dark blue today. The color suited him, brought out the flecks of green in his usually brown eyes.
“Right. This morning you mentioned you have an issue with trying to avoid people,” he said, still talking to me in that annoyingly calm voice, despite the skeptical look. “Do you think that you using this no doubt painful event from when you were twelve would be you trying to avoid intimacy?”
“Maybe.” I shuffled my feet.
“Or maybe there’s a little bit more to it,” he said, just sort of gently suggesting. Shit. “Not to diss your twelve-year-old broken heart.”
“Fine. Yes, there’s more to it. But it’s nothing I’m inclined to get into right now.”
For a while he said nothing, just stared at me.
“Sorry I lied,” I mumbled. “But it was only a little lie.”
Nothing from him.
If only I didn’t feel such a dumbass need to fill the silence. “I didn’t trust you and I needed space.”
“Sure. I can understand that,” he said in a tone of voice I did not trust at all. “How do you feel about me now, though?”
“Conflicted. How do you feel about me?”
“Confused as fuck.”
I huffed out a laugh.
“Alex, I’ve been giving some thought to our problems while you were doing your bit of construction work there.”
“And?”
“And … I think we should trade issues.”
“What?” I asked, jarred by the sudden change in focus.
“I say yes to too many people,” he said. “But you say no to too many people, then wind up alone, missing out on everything.”
My gaze jumped to his face. “Safe from everything too. Don’t forget that.”
“Yeah? Problem is, your safety is bullshit, Alex,” he said, voice firm. Harsh even. “What was it you said to me in that email, that you’re not some delicate little petal? Well, you’re no wallflower either. I’ve seen you in action and you’re more than strong enough to deal with anything that life throws your way. You don’t need to be hiding from anything.”
