by Zoey Parker
It was shitty. That was the next thing I noticed. The carpet might as well have not been there, it was so old and worn out. It needed a new coat of paint, all over. I could see into the kitchen from where I stood in the living room, and it didn’t surprise me how old and rundown the appliances looked.
But she had tried to do her best with it. I noticed that, too. Ellie had hung pretty pictures on the walls. There were bright, cheerful curtains on the one window, the only window I could see from where I stood. A slipcover on the couch. I guessed it covered up how old it had to be. And it was clean, neat, tidy. She wasn’t a cluttered person—she couldn’t be, or else she wouldn’t have been able to move in the place.
But it was her home. I hated that sonofabitch ex of hers for putting her there. Even if he hadn’t physically put her there, he was the reason she ran away. He was the reason she couldn’t afford anything better. She deserved so much more than what she could afford. I would bet her kid deserved more, too, and I hadn’t met her yet.
Ellie looked at me, and I could tell she felt embarrassed. “It’s not much,” she said, spreading her hands.
“You don’t have to be that way,” I said. “It’s not much better than what I grew up in, though it was a house, not an apartment. But this looks familiar.” I sat on the couch, feeling the way the springs sagged. I couldn’t wait for the chiropractor bills after I spent a night or two there. Well, it was my big idea. I would have to live with it.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, moving toward the kitchen. The awkwardness in the air was almost crushing.
“No, thanks. Don’t worry about it. Sit down, please.” She waited a second, like she couldn’t figure out what I wanted from her. “I just wanna talk to you. I wanna find out more. That’s it.” I had never bothered to care what women thought about me. They usually wanted to screw me, which was fine as long as I wanted to screw them, too. But I didn’t care if I scared the rest, or I didn’t until I met Ellie. She made me want to talk a little slower, a little quieter. I wondered if it was the wounded look in her eye, like she was just waiting for me to explode. That was what she was used to from men, I guessed. A dog could only get hit so many times before it flinched when it saw a hand coming at it.
“What do you want to know?” She sat at the opposite end of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs.
“When did it start? When did you leave? How long has it been?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. You just jump right in. Why should I tell you all of this? It’s kinda personal.”
I shrugged. “I wanna know more about the guy who’s making your life hell. That’s it. The more I know about him, the better I can keep you safe.”
She thought about it, nodding. “Fair enough.” She laughed shakily. “I wish I had a drink. A real drink. It’s a long story.”
“I have the time.”
She grinned. “Okay. Let’s see. Um, I married Connor the week after I graduated college. He was a teacher’s assistant, a grad student. A big, mature man.” She chuckled. “I thought I knew so much back then. So we dated for a couple of years, got engaged in my senior year, and got married almost right after. By that time, he had his Master’s in finance and his career had already taken off. It seemed like a no-brainer, right?”
“How did he treat you then?”
She looked at me, eyes narrowed. “He was possessive. I felt flattered, though. Like…he cared enough to feel protective. He didn’t like me talking to other guys because he didn’t want them to steal me from him. Because he loved me so much.” She laughed, running her hands through her dark hair, shaking it out. “Ugh. It’s like a miniseries about the typical idiot girl who should have known better than to marry the creep.”
“It’s easy to look back and see everything we missed,” I said.
“Yeah. That’s the truth. So anyway, we got married. The first time he hit me was about a month after the wedding. He found out I hadn’t sent out the thank you notes yet. I didn’t have a job—I mean, I had just graduated, and he didn’t like the idea of me working outside the home, anyway—so what else did I have to do? That was the way he thought about it. I was doing everything I could to get us set up in our condo. I made practically gourmet meals for him every night. I liked doing that back then. I liked being the happy little homemaker. And I’d forgotten the thank yous. So he slapped me around.
“You know what the worst part is? I thought it was my fault. If I weren’t so stupid, I wouldn’t have forgotten the notes. I finished and mailed them out the next day. I got comments from friends on how surprised they were to see them so soon, since most people don’t send theirs out so early. You know, because they have lives.”
She sighed, pulling her legs closer to her chest. “A few weeks later, I found out I got pregnant on our honeymoon. Timing, right?”
“You were, what, twenty-one?”
“Yeah. Twenty-two when I gave birth to Isabella. I convinced myself I was being selfish, wanting too much, so I had nothing to complain about. Besides, I had a daughter to think about. I had to keep things stable for her.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t enough. I left. That was eight months ago.”
“And you’ve been here since then?” When I saw the way her face changed, I knew that came out all wrong.
“Yeah. I’ve actually survived here ever since. Crazy, huh?”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Like I said, I grew up just like this. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”
She looked around. “It’s a pretty far cry from the life Connor gave me—the things, that is. The house, the car. I still drive the car, lucky me, since he put it in my name. One of the only things he let me have. We had a huge condo. More space than a family twice our size would have needed. I had help around the house sometimes. I could get my hair and nails done—I had to, to keep him satisfied. I was never happy.” She smiled sadly. “I’m actually happier now. Can you imagine that?”
“I can. Hopefully, once this douchebag’s out of your life, you’ll be even happier.”
The sad smile never left her face. “He’ll never be out of my life.”
I heard a noise down the hall, and Ellie almost jumped. “Isabella,” she whispered. Like I needed her to tell me once I saw the little person come around the corner, rubbing her eyes.
“Mama?” she whispered, but she looked at me when she said it.
“Isabella, honey, this is one of my friends. His name is Parker. Can you say hi to him?” The little girl scrambled up onto her mother’s lap and put her face to Ellie’s neck. Ellie laughed. “Oh, come on. Are you gonna be shy now? The most talkative person I ever knew.” She laughed again.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You can be shy, Isabella.” I didn’t have any idea how to act around kids—I was just glad she wasn’t one of the ones who walk up to people and start asking questions right away. I wouldn’t know what to say if she was.
“She’ll warm up to you,” Ellie said.
I smiled like I was glad. I didn’t care if she did. I never liked kids all that much. Whiny brats, snot-nosed, throwing temper tantrums when they went out. Whenever I saw a kid throwing a fit like that, I would thank God I didn’t have any kids of my own.
Isabella whispered something in Ellie’s ear. Ellie pulled away, frowning at the kid. “What an interesting question.”
“What did she ask?”
“She wanted to know if you’re a giant, because you’re so big.”
I had to smile. The kid looked at me with wide eyes that reminded me a lot of her mom’s. “No, I’m not a giant. I used to think my dad was one. You think I’m big? He was a really big guy. When I was little, I thought he was the biggest man in the world.”
“You were little?” she whispered. She had a sweet little girl voice.
I grinned. “We all start out little. I was as little as you.”
“No way.”
“Yeah, I was.” She sat up. I guessed sh
e thought I was okay—I talked like a normal person, and I smiled. I didn’t growl and roar like a monster.
“When was that?”
“What? When I was little?”
“Yeah.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m thirty now, so was a long time ago.”
“Like a million years.”
Ellie laughed. I had to laugh, too.
“Yeah, well, sometimes it feels that way.” I met Ellie’s eyes, and for the first time since I met her, she looked happy. She looked young, as young as she really was. I knew how to do math—if she was twenty-two when Isabella was born, that made her twenty-five. When she laughed, I could believe it.
Isabella looked at Ellie. “I’m hungry.”
Ellie looked at the clock. “Yeah, I should get dinner started.” She looked at me. “Will you join us?”
“Depends on what’s for dinner,” I said.
“Spaghetti!” Isabella clapped her hands.
“Her favorite,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes. “And meatballs.”
“Guess what? That’s my favorite, too.”
“Really?” Isabella asked. “Mama makes the best meatballs in the world.”
“I guess you would you know, since you’re a pretty big girl.”
She smiled at me, and I thought all kids might not be so bad. She was polite, she didn’t yell or scream. I had only known her for less than five minutes, though. But I could usually tell right away if a kid was trouble—it wasn’t hard to tell. She seemed okay.
“Do you mind if I leave her out here with you while I make the meatballs?” Ellie asked. I looked at Isabella, squinting like I thought about it.
“I don’t know. Is it okay with Isabella?”
“We can watch TV,” she said, getting off Ellie’s lap to sit on the sofa.
“I guess that’s a yes,” I said to Ellie. She smiled like she had never felt so relieved in her life. I thought she might have needed a lot more help than she would admit. She had been alone with the kid for a week, too. That might have had something to do with the way she smiled.
Isabella turned the TV on. It was already on a cartoon channel. I could handle cartoons. “Is this a show you watch a lot?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm. It’s my most favorite.” She twirled a strand of dark curly hair around a finger, watching the TV. I watched her. She looked mostly like Ellie, but there was enough of her father in her, too. Like the shape of her nose and mouth. It was weird, seeing that nose and mouth on a face I didn’t want to crush with my fists.
I looked around the living room. There were a lot of books—I could already tell she was a smart kid. A few toys. I wondered how many more were in her room. I wondered if she missed her father, her old bedroom. Kids were pretty good at getting over things, though. The big things. They just wanted to love. I knew how that felt. I might have been a grown man, but I remembered the little kid who just wanted his mom to come home at night so he wouldn’t be alone.
I heard pots and pans making noise in the kitchen. “Need any help?” I asked.
“No, I’m fine. I love to cook.” Right, the gourmet meals for Connor. It was a shame she had wasted so much of herself on him, but she was still young. She had time to find a good man—most girls her age were still dating around.
I could see her from where I sat. She had a smile on her face, even though she didn’t know I could see her. I wondered what she smiled about. Was she relieved that somebody was finally taking care of her? If that was true, I was glad I could do that. I was glad I could make her smile. She had spent too long crying.
Something about watching her cook made me feel good inside. It felt right. And it terrified me. The kid, the apartment, the woman in the kitchen. I got up so fast, Isabella looked scared. “Sorry, kid. Just gotta…go to the bathroom.”
“It’s right there.” She pointed around the corner, where she had come from.
I followed the path and locked myself in when I got there. No way you’re doing this, I thought, my forehead against the door to the tiny, tiny room. There was hardly enough space for a tub, toilet, and sink. It felt claustrophobic as hell, and I didn’t usually have a problem with that. It was the way I felt inside that got to me. I felt pressure all around me. I wanted to help her. I wanted to stay far, far away.
What did it say about me that I felt so comfortable with her so fast? With the kid? I went from hating kids to kind of liking Isabella in about five seconds. Was I that desperate for whatever I thought I could get from them?
“Don’t do this,” I whispered. “Don’t do it. Help her. But stay away from her.”
Chapter 12
Ellie
I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I made dinner. I even hummed as I mixed meat and breadcrumbs in my hands. It seemed natural to feel happy, relieved. It wasn’t the wine, though, that had helped me get through the awkward conversation with Parker. It was the feeling that I didn’t have as much to be worried about that left me smiling from ear to ear.
It was a false feeling. I knew that much. I wasn’t deluded. I could think I was as safe as I wanted to, but that didn’t make it true. Connor was still very real. The ever-dwindling number in my bank account was painfully real. I couldn’t ignore those things any more than I could ignore my child.
But I didn’t have to worry about it alone. I’d nearly gone crazy the week alone with Isabella. I had seen almost no one but her, had spoken to only a few people. I’d lived like a prisoner. And it didn’t hit me how deeply affected I was until Parker walked in and took a little of the burden off my shoulders.
I wondered if he knew what he was getting into. I’d tried to warn him about Connor, and I would have to do it again to make certain there was no misunderstanding. The man was dangerous, and connected. I shuddered to think how connected he was. Maybe connected enough to make a person disappear.
The thought made my blood run cold. If I put Parker in danger, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It wasn’t that I had feelings for him—that much I knew. He still sort of scared me, with his sheer size and that certain animal magnetism of his. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew it was there. It freaked me out, the way he repulsed me and drew me to him all at once.
If Connor hurt him, I might never forgive myself. Just another slab of guilt to tack onto the already heaping portion I carried around with me. I shouldn’t have married him. I shouldn’t have stayed. I shouldn’t have left and uprooted my daughter’s life. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have. My ever-present litany of self-abuse.
I glanced into the living room to find the two of them on the sofa. Isabella didn’t normally warm up to people as quickly as she had to Parker. That told me something about the person he really was. Kids could always tell, couldn’t they? A sort of sixth sense about others. She seemed to trust him. A good sign, I thought. And he put up with her insane cartoons. Another good sign.
I grinned, rolling the meat into uniform balls that I then put in the heated oven. I thought that night’s dinner should be a bit fancier since we had guests. Sandy had been kind enough to include a loaf of frozen garlic bread, which I put on the oven’s lower rack. I made a quick salad, too, just a few things I had in the fridge. It was such a rare treat, having a guest for dinner who wasn’t my mother.
My mother. I closed my eyes, imagining what she would say when she found out her granddaughter was about to coexist in a tiny apartment with a biker. I would have to do a lot of talking to convince her not to take Isabella home with her. I couldn’t risk the two of them being alone at her house. I didn’t trust Connor as far as I could throw him.
I couldn’t worry about Mom until she showed up. Until then, I had a daughter to keep happy, and a biker to entertain.
I giggled at the thought of “entertaining” him. I had a feeling I knew the sort of entertainment he usually got from women. I had a little girl to think about. It was off the table, even though the memory of his kiss was still enough to inspire dirty thoughts.
I glanced into the living room. No Parker. “Sweetie? Where did Parker go?”
“Bathroom,” she said, never taking her eyes from the TV. Sure enough, when I stepped into the hall, the closed door greeted me. I hoped I hadn’t left any feminine hygiene products lying around in there. Just the thought was enough to make me blush a deep, furious red.
I took the chance of knocking on the door. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sorry,” I said, stepping back when I heard the irritation in his voice. Maybe he already thought he’d bit off more than he could chew. Maybe he regretted his offer. I chewed my bottom lip, wondering what to do next.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I just needed a minute.”
