by Aly Martinez
He’s a good-looking man. I noticed that he was tall and muscular right off the bat. But as I look up at him now, I see the whole mouthwatering package. His hair is clipped short, the front just long enough to allow him to style it. His eyes are an unusual combination of brown and green, making them appear almost golden. They’re undeniably beautiful. His nose is slightly crooked, but it doesn’t distract from his good looks. His smile is wide, but still timid. It’s as if he knows what a wreck I am and he’s trying to walk on figurative—and apparently literal—eggshells around me. His white teeth are not perfectly cookie-cutter straight. It’s obvious that he did not have the torture of years of orthodontics like I did. But these slight imperfections just make him look sexy and rugged. He must catch me staring because his confident smile fades as he quickly looks away.
"Really. I can get the eggs and glass. Thank you for everything. You know, letting me freak out on you. I get a little worked up about stuff sometimes. It won’t happen again."
His eyes immediately lift back to mine. "If you need anything, Riley. You just let me know. Okay? Anything at all."
"That’s really sweet of you, but I’ll be okay. I just have a tendency to overreact. That’s all." I brush off my behavior as no big deal, but it’s clear that he isn’t buying it.
He turns his head and gives me a knowing look that is just patronizing enough to be annoying but sexy enough for me to let it go. I don’t say another word as he heads to the door.
Just before he walks out, he turns back to face me. "Anything you need, Riley. Even if you think it’s silly. You know where I’m at. Don’t be afraid to come to me," he says, and the honesty in his voice forces me back a step. There is a glimmer of something in his golden eyes, but before I can really figure out what it is, he steps over the mess of eggs in the entryway and closes the door behind himself. And just like that, I'm completely alone once again.
I shake off whatever weird exchange Adam and I just had and grab my phone to call Dave again. He has to pick up. He just has to. I mentally run over all the plans we have made in the past, trying to remember how long I’m supposed to wait before calling it in that he’s disappeared. Twelve hours. Twelve long hours. I scroll through my call log to find the time of our last conversation. Four hours ago he was safe, alive, and laughing at me.
Eight more hours. I roll over to the clock on my nightstand. Seven hours, fifty-nine minutes. Please, God, let him be okay.
The sound of feet stomping down the hall rouses me from sleep. I fly out the door with nothing but terrified blue eyes dancing through my thoughts. Two darkly dressed teenagers jump when they see me.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I growl as they hurriedly race away laughing.
The fresh-paint smell makes it obvious that they came back to finish their underwhelming attempt at a tag on the building. Fucking kids. I’m less worried about the new mural than I am the woman who will be terrified by the commotion. I knock on her door, but if earlier today was any indication, she won’t answer. I’m betting she is probably sitting on the other side, listening to me, maybe even peeking out the window next to her door.
"Riley. It’s me. Are you okay?"
"Um. Yeah. I’m fine," she says quietly, but her voice shakes, giving her away.
"You sure. It was just a bunch of kids again. I’m going to call the police—" I’m interrupted by the click of her deadbolt. Suddenly, her door swings open, and those eyes—Jesus, those eyes— appear.
"No. Don’t do that." Her voice quivers. Her shoulders are square and her body language is calm and collected, but I’m absolutely not convinced. It’s the exact opposite of what her eyes are screaming.
"Why not? I bet they’ll be back. I ran them off just now, but it looks like they are pretty damn adamant about finishing this one."
"Did you see them this time? Are you sure it’s really just kids?" she asks, and no matter how hard she is trying to fake it, the way she is nervously chewing on her bottom lip gives her away once again.
"I didn’t get a good look, but yeah, they were young. Ran like hell as soon as they saw me."
Her shoulders instantly fall as she releases a silent sigh.
I smile, trying to ease her. "So, I see you cleaned up the eggs."
"It was really gross," she responds humorously, but the lack of actual humor in her voice is what really gets me.
"Hey, any chance you want to watch a movie?" I ask out of the blue and against my better judgment. I’m just not okay with the idea of leaving her alone right now. She’s distraught even if she’s desperately trying to conceal it.
"It’s late. I’m sure you would rather be sleeping than watching crappy movies with me."
"I can’t sleep. And never underestimate the power of the crappy movie as a sleep aid. What do you have in mind?"
"Vision Quest," she answers shortly, immediately looking down at the phone in her hand.
"Who am I to say no to Louden Swain?"
A small smile lifts her perfect pink lips. "You’ve seen it?"
"Oh, I’ve lived it. I wrestled in high school. Although I never had a hot older woman fall in love with me."
She lets a quiet laugh slip, and just the sound hits me hard.
"You sure?" she asks. Her eyes lift to mine, and if I weren’t already sold, her sparkling, blue gaze convinces me.
"Positive."
She nods and opens the door wide enough for me to enter. I step past her, and just before she closes the door, I notice that she takes a quick glance down the hallway.
"I promise they’re gone. We really should call the cops though. I could probably get them to do a drive-by through the complex. Maybe scare the little shits into giving up for the night. I’ll install a motion sensor light tomorrow," I throw in just to reassure her, but she only nods and heads to the DVD player in the corner of the room. Her small hands shake as she flips through the pages loaded with DVDs.
"You can have a seat," she says, motioning to the couch.
Only then do I realize that I have been staring at her. "Oh, right. Yeah."
I sit on the far corner of the couch, leaving plenty of room for her to sit on the other end. It’s odd being here. I don’t know this woman at all, but I do know that she needs someone. I’m reasonably sure she doesn’t recognize me. So I can at least take comfort in my anonymity.
"You want something to drink?" she asks, but her voice is filled with distraction.
"Are you okay?" I stand to follow her to the small kitchen area.
She spins to face me and backs away a few steps as I approach. Her reaction immediately halts me.
"Yeah. I’m good. I just have a lot on my mind tonight. Drink?" she asks again, never taking her eyes off me.
"Beer?"
"Oh, sorry. No beer. I think I have a pop or something though."
"A pop would be great," I say enthusiastically, trying to alleviate her tension, but if her weak lie of a smile is any indication, it doesn’t help at all.
I head back to the couch, settling in the corner again. I try to find a comfortable spot for myself in this ridiculously uncomfortable situation. What the hell am I doing here? I should be asleep right now, but instead, I’m entertaining a frightened woman who barely even looks me in the eye. On second thought, maybe I’m right where I should be after all.
"So how long have you been living here?" she asks, settling down on the opposite side of the couch and handing me a pop.
"I come and go, but I would consider this place my home," I answer honestly, careful not to expose too much. "What about you?"
"Just a few days," she says absently, looking down at her phone.
She turns around to face the TV, effectively ending the small talk.
We sit in silence as the movie begins. We both stare at the screen, but what I’m really watching is her as she anxiously dials someone every five minutes on her cell phone. My curiosity is piqued, but I don’t dare ask her about it. I have a feeling she wouldn’t tell me anyway.
/> "You don’t have to stay," she says quietly. A hair slips from her ponytail as her eyes slide to mine.
"I know, but I’m going to anyway."
She nods emotionlessly and drags her eyes back to the TV. A few minutes pass before she whispers, "Thank you."
I don't respond because I have nothing to say. She doesn't need to thank me. I'm doing this just as much for myself as I am for her.
For the next hour, she continues her mission on the phone, alternating between dialing and texting. She finally gives up and curls into a ball, quietly sniffling to herself. There isn’t much I can do for this damaged woman, but I can make sure she isn’t alone.
Not five minutes later, her eyes close and her breathing evens out. I take a moment to really look at her. Her skin is creamy white and flawless. And her mousy hair has the slightest blonde roots peeking through. I still can’t get over her eyes or figure out why anyone would want to cover them with brown contacts. But really, nothing about this woman makes sense. She’s wearing fitted, black yoga pants and a plain, long-sleeved T-shirt that covers her completely. Jesus, what the hell is she hiding? She was terrified of me tonight yet so desperate for help that she was willing to momentarily trust me.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from reaching out and brushing the hair away from her face. She releases a small gasp but only stirs for a second before falling right back to sleep.
I should really go. I could lock the door behind myself and leave her to sleep on her own. She doesn’t need me anymore. But instead, I lean my head back, becoming lost in the sounds of her peaceful breaths mingling with the music of John Waite’s "Change" coming from the TV.
It’s not long before I follow her out of reality and into the darkness.
I startle awake with a creak from the front door. I scrub my hands over my face, trying to get my bearings. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. I immediately glance to the woman sleeping soundly at the other end of the couch. When my eyes swing back around to figure out what woke me, I come face to face with the barrel of a gun.
"Don’t fucking move," I hear a man growl, but in the darkness, I can’t see his face.
I should lift my hands in submission. People always tell you not to fight, and if I were alone, I probably wouldn’t. But the fact remains that I’m not alone and my fierce need to protect the woman next to me erases all rational thinking. I won’t allow her to be scared again.
As fast as I can possibly move, I push the gun aside with one hand and land the other with a hard fist against his temple. He falls back with a grunt and the gun goes flying. We both jump toward it, fighting as we tangle on the ground. He rolls me to my back and lands a few punches to my face. I guard myself as much as possible, but I’m useless on the ground. I shove him to the side, knocking his head hard into the end table.
In the distance, Riley begins to scream, and the sound of her fear only fuels my fire. I land a punch to the gunman’s face that dazes him, but I don’t let up. This isn’t a match where the ref is going to stop me; this is a fight for survival. Pound after pound, my fists land against his skull until his body eventually goes limp under me.
I need to find Riley and get us both the fuck out of here. I don’t know who that was, but it’s clear that she has more than enough reason to be afraid.
"Don’t move," I hear her demand from the corner.
My eyes immediately find hers from where she stands across the darkened room. Her arms are raised and the gun she is holding shakes wildly in her hands.
"We need to get out of here," I say very calmly, careful not to frighten her. "Put the gun down." I push to my feet and take a step towards her.
"Don’t move," she pleads with a whine as the tears stream down her cheeks.
"I won’t hurt you. I promised you that. But I need to get you out of here. You have to trust me. We have to go before he wakes up."
She stares blankly at me for a second before she loses grasp of her emotions. A sob rips from her throat as she very slowly lowers the gun.
I rush forward, lifting her small body into my arms. "Shh… It’s okay. Don’t look."
Looping an arm around my neck, she melts into my touch. I'm almost to the door when a weak voice comes from the man lying bloody on the floor.
"Riley," he gurgles, and she explodes in my arms.
"Leo!" she screams, fighting from my grasp. I hold her tight, desperate to restrain her. "Leo! Oh God. What did you do!" she shouts at me, breaking free and rushing to his side.
What did I do?
At the last second, I catch her around the waist, dragging her away. I have no idea who he is, but I’m not letting her anywhere near that man.
"Let me go!" She kicks and hits me, all the while screaming his name.
"You need to calm the fuck down. I just woke up to him holding a gun in my face. Who the hell is he?"
"He’s my..." she starts but pauses for a beat before finishing. "He’s not the enemy."
"You don’t know that," I growl.
"That might be the only thing I really do know," she retorts before spinning out of my arms and heading to his side. "Leo. Oh God." She kneels over his body, carefully inspecting him.
He grunts and reaches up to palm the back of her head, pulling it to his chest with a sigh. "I’m okay," he rasps.
"No, you’re not. You have a deep laceration over your left eye and a possible left orbital fracture too." I listen to her ramble off medical terminology, even more confused than ever.
I watch with a sick feeling in my stomach as she begins to repair him. Is he why she is afraid? Is he the man she was searching for earlier? Or better yet, is he the man she was flinching from when I tried to touch her?
"I need ice," she demands, but I don’t move an inch.
"There’s some in my apartment," I say quietly, but no one could mistake my menacing tone. I need three minutes with this man. One round—that’s all it would take to give him a little reminder. I would really only need half of that, but with the way Riley reacted, I have a feeling I would need the next ninety seconds to clean up.
"Well, go fucking get it!" she yells, continuing her examination of his face.
"I’m not leaving you with him. If you want ice, you are going to have to get it yourself," I say without an ounce of hesitation.
"Adam," she hisses, but he catches her attention.
"Go get it. I’ll be fine," he says weakly.
She begins to reassure him, and it makes my skin crawl. "I’m not leaving you."
"Come on. I need some ice or I’m going to look like Sloth from The Goonies tomorrow." This fucking asshole is trying to make a joke right now. It only intensifies my rage.
Riley turns to me and asks, "Will you come with me?" I know she doesn’t want to leave me alone with him. Rightly so, because I am going to fuck this asshole up the second she closes the door.
"No," I answer, never taking my eyes off the pitiful excuse of a man on the floor.
"Adam, please," she urges, but she could beg all day and it wouldn’t change my mind. With or without her permission, I’m going to take care of this situation.
"Riley, just grab the ice. I promise we’ll be okay," he answers, pushing up on his elbows.
"There’s a bowl under the sink. Ice is in the freezer," I say emotionlessly.
"Don’t touch him. Swear you won’t touch him!" she orders, and my eyes flash to hers for only a second. She’s pleading with me, but I don’t give a damn. Her reactions over the last twenty-four hours speak louder than her words ever could.
I don’t answer her demand, but he does. "Go. See if he has any gauze while you’re at it." He pinches his nose and gently touches a large cut over his brow.
"Damn it," she swears, looking between us, but finally, marches out the door.
I don’t waste any time. "Who are you?"
"Why were you sleeping on my couch?" he counters.
"Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?" I move closer to crowd him.
"Dave, huh? Then why the fuck does she call you Leo?"
"I don’t know, Slate. Why does she call you Adam?"
Shit.
"Come on, come on, come on," I chant to Adam’s ice trays as I quickly try to dump them into the bowl. The way Leo—I mean Dave—looked tonight tore me to shreds. I thought for too many hours that he was dead, and to see him lying lifelessly on the floor… God, I lost it. I haven’t felt that level of panic in years. Not since that night when they managed to find us.
I desperately shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Now is not the moment to revisit the past, and it’s definitely not the time to get lost in it.
I rush to his bathroom closet and search for medical supplies, but his shelves are empty. Not even so much as a Band-Aid. I give up looking and hurry toward the door, only stopping when I catch sight of his bag slung across the chair in the corner. I need to get back to Dave, but this might be my only chance to figure out who this guy is once and for all. I snatch open his bag and begin to dig through the contents. It’s filled with nothing but clothes and a few toiletries, and in the very bottom is a roll of athletic tape. I twirl it in my hand for a minute before placing it on top of the ice and heading back to my apartment.
Due to the amazingly cheap doors, I can hear the guys talking and thankfully not brawling.
"I’ve never laid a fucking hand on her," Dave says adamantly.
"Then what the hell is she so afraid of? Who are you to her?" Adam questions, and even through the door, I can hear the accusation in his tone.
"I’m her family. Now, better question—what are you doing alone in my apartment with her?"
"I’m doing your fucking job." Adam’s voice lifts menacingly without ever growing louder. "I’m looking out for her. Making sure she’s safe. She’s not okay. I really fucking hope you recognize that."
Dave doesn’t immediately answer, and I take that as my cue to go inside.
