What Doesn't Kill You

by Aimee Hix

  “Just one last question, Angela. When was this?”

  “Um, August seventh.”

  “This past August?”

  She nodded. Jesus, did no one take the time to get to know someone before moving in with them? That was barely three months ago.

  I closed my notebook and thanked her for her time. It looked like I was headed to the bar tonight.

  After lunch (coffee), helping Ben with his AP calculus homework (him pretending I was helping when I had no idea what any of the words meant or even if they were in English), continuing to ignore Seth’s texts, and dinner alone (more coffee and a brownie) since Ben was out with his best friend John, I headed out to Killian’s.

  It was a fair haul from my side of the county because despite the roads that ran directly across and directly through and directly around, there weren’t any that really ran directly anywhere else. I cranked the radio loud enough to ignore the annoying, hollow drone of my car’s twenty-year-old engine and the thoughts I didn’t want to think about the man I didn’t want to think them about. At least I succeeded in drowning out the engine for the duration of the trip. The thoughts were more stubborn.

  I brutally shoved down my uncertainty over Seth and walked into the bar. It was already crowded despite the early hour—lots of people drinking their dinner. The crush of people made the air feel heavy and thick. Testosterone overload, indeed. The crowd was mostly men, mostly manual laborers, mostly drunk. I felt the crawl of Bad Idea all over my skin, my instincts kicking into high gear.

  I was dressed a lot more conservatively than some of the other female clientele and, as such, garnered a few glares from them. I met all of them with the look I practiced in the mirror in high school, the one that said I’d kick their asses if they didn’t put their eyeballs back in their overly made-up heads. It worked on all but one and she gave me a curt nod. She had at least thirty years on the other women here. She was the head bitch. I pushed easily through the crowd that was drunk enough to be loose, at least with a sharp elbow here and there.

  Standing in front of her, I took my hands out of my jacket pockets.

  “I don’t know you.” Her voice was flat and lacking an accent. Another native, if I’d had to bet.

  “No.” You either had to make friends with the head bitch or stare her down. I kept my gaze even, hands hanging free, just in case.

  “Do I want to know you?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  She lit a cigarette while I eyed the bar area looking for Dave Barker. Him being a con had worked in my favor since I could look up his info, but if he was on duty tonight it wasn’t yet. I didn’t have time to wait. I had to get home to pretend to supervise Ben.

  Head Bitch it was.

  “My friend Violet told me about this place. Said she met her guy here. I split with mine a few months ago.”

  She pulled a stray piece of tobacco off her tongue with her ring finger. No ring. No indent. Nothing to do on a Tuesday night but a bar? You were discouraged from making judgements as a cop since it affected how you directed your reporting. You miss something in a report and the detective getting handed the case was handicapped. Luckily, being a PI meant it was just me and I could indulge my natural judgmental side.

  “You ever meet anyone here?” I asked.

  She eyed me up and down, taking in the outfit I had carefully selected so as not to appear too out of place.

  “You’re a little upscale for this place, hon.”

  I had, of course, been selecting from my own wardrobe, so I wore my sexiest jeans with my lowest cut t-shirt and highest-heeled boots. The trashy version of me was still too fancy for Killian’s. I’d have to let Leila know that the next time she fussed at me for not putting on my face, as she referred to it. Southern ladies always do their faces, even going out to get the mail, I’d heard more than once over the summer. I had pointed out time and time again that I wasn’t Southern and I sure as hell wasn’t a lady.

  I mimicked her shrug. “I just moved back from out of town and half my clothes are still in storage.”

  I saw a guy eyeing us from about a yard out, pushing his friend and giving the least subtle nod that I’d ever seen. He was shorter than my companion, if you could call her that, which meant a good four inches closer to the ground than my five-seven, and built like a fighting dog. His companion was a taller, doughier version with dead blue eyes. I shifted back to Head Bitch and wished I knew her name so I could call her that in my head. I was starting to feel bad thinking of her like that because she was being nice. Nice-ish. Well, not hostile.

  “You moved from the beach here? Heading to winter? Are you stupid?” She said it all with a smile and her face changed. She wasn’t pretty. It was too soft a word for her. She was attractive, with dark green eyes. They were an unusual shade and that reminded me of Seth and his pale green eyes and stupid nonstop texts. He’d texted half a dozen more times throughout the day. He’d even sent me knock-knock jokes.

  The beach? Why in the hell would she think … Ah, yes, my “tan.” But, much to my parent’s chagrin, I wasn’t a tenth-grade biology teacher and it wasn’t my job to give a lecture on the vagaries of human genomes. I was trying to track down a murderer, so I played along.

  I laughed. “Hell no. If I’d lived at the beach I’d never leave. I was in the Southwest. Santa Fe.”

  “A lot of wetbacks there. At least there’s no niggers. They don’t like the Mexicans, either.”

  My stomach went hot. This had been a mistake. Playing at PI was stupid.

  She must have seen the look on my face because she smiled again. “Sorry, hon, I forgot we’re all supposed to be PC nowadays, right? Forget I said anything.”

  Chapter

  5

  “Hey.”

  The slightly slurred almost-greeting came courtesy of the guy who’d been eyeballing me.

  “Hi.” I kept my voice neutral. The evening had gotten out of hand. Now I just wanted to extricate myself and go home. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the N word, obviously. It wasn’t even the first time someone hadn’t realized they were talking about me and half of my family. Just because it wasn’t the first time didn’t mean I’d gotten used to it. Or over it.

  The guy tried to hand me a highball glass. I didn’t reach my hand up to take it.

  “No thanks.”

  He kept the glass up, pushing it toward my face. “I’m not good enough to buy you a drink, is that it? You think you’re too special for a guy like me?”

  Great, he was more than just a little drunk and had little man syndrome. No matter what I said he was going to stay pissed. It was his default setting. He was looking to be offended.

  “Sorry. I don’t take drinks I didn’t pour or open myself. Bad experience at college.” I tried to ease the refusal with a bright, empty smile.

  “You accusing me of something? You think I gotta drug a woman to get her to go home with me?”

  That went well.

  Head Bitch looked at him hard. “Shut the hell up, Ed. The girl said no and it ain’t about you, so slide your ass back over by Mark and cool off.”

  “She’s a snotty bitch because she went to college.”

  “She’s a woman that doesn’t want your drink and she doesn’t owe you shit. You want a woman, get a clue and change your routine. And shower after work.” She pushed him hard, making him spill the drink all over his white t-shirt. He glared at her but moved back.

  “Sorry about Ed. He’s got a chip on his shoulder because he’s short. And that makes him an asshole. Then he blames women because they don’t want an asshole. Who’s short too.”

  “I appreciate it. He’s not going to try anything with you, is he?” I was genuinely worried for her safety. The guy was only going to get more drunk and his friend had a creepy aura about him.

  “Oh, he wouldn’t dare even
if he talks big. He’s my sister’s kid. She’d beat him raw if he raised a hand to me. And women gotta stick together. There’s too many like Ed who think we’re just supposed to drop to our knees and suck them off for buying us a drink.”

  Ew. Accurate but gross. She was a racist feminist. That was a new one for me.

  “Well, I think I’m going to leave now. Violet’s boyfriend wasn’t that big of a prize anyway.”

  I slid my phone and car keys out of my pocket and texted Seth as I walked out, trying to look purposeful and off-limits. Seth was acting odd but he was light years better than the losers who’d been licking their chops over the new meat dropped into their cage. Besides, I hadn’t planned on ignoring him forever. I was cranking the engine when I saw Ed watching me from the doorway. Over the course of the night I was sure the story would change from me refusing him to me begging him to do me in the bathrooms. I shuddered and pulled out of the parking lot.

  The phone rang and the display lit up with Seth’s number. I punched accept and speaker, taking my eyes off the road for only a second.

  “Killian’s? What the hell are you doing there, Sunshine?” His voice was agitated. I’d be pretty pissed too if someone had been dodging my texts to hang out in a dive bar.

  “It was for a case. I needed a witness but he wasn’t there.”

  “What case, Will? Your dad is on vacation and you don’t have a supervising investigator.”

  He sure knew a lot about private investigator apprenticeship rules all of a sudden. Which I mentioned.

  “I took a look on the Internet today in all the free time I had not getting a reply to my texts.”

  I laughed. “You didn’t waste all your time looking up bad jokes?”

  “You on your way home?” he asked.

  I turned onto the exit for 495. “Give me fifteen minutes and meet me at my place? I’ll buy you a drink to make up for hurting your girly feelings.”

  “I’m happy to bring tequila.” I heard the smirk in his voice. It didn’t annoy me as much as it usually did.

  “One beer then I’m kicking you out, Anderson. I’m a responsible adult with legal authority over an impressionable child.” I punched the button to hang up, still smiling.

  Seth was parked on the street behind Dad’s truck so I pulled in front of the Horowitzes’ house. He stepped away from the motorcycle as I shut off my lights and in a few long strides had managed to get to the car door and open it for me. He’d always been gentlemanly. That part wasn’t even a ploy to get girls to like him. He hadn’t needed it.

  “When did you start riding?” I’d never seen him on a bike before. I’d never even heard him express any interest in motorcycles.

  “Just expanding my horizons.”

  One of his famous non-answers. I was reminded why I’d snuck out of his bedroom at dawn, hungover and ashamed—he held everyone at arm’s length. Emotional bad boy, indeed.

  “Right. You and your horizons have always been so limited. Well, good for you. I’d hate for you to not be able to donate organs in your early thirties when they’re still so undamaged.”

  “I’m more worried about you in that rattletrap.” Another deflection. He smirked again but dropped it when he saw my face. “What? What did I do this time?”

  I shook my head and locked my car door. I walked across the grass that separated the two yards with him almost on my heels. He grabbed my arm, gently, and spun me to face him. He was close and even in my heels he was still half a head taller than me. He could have leaned down a fraction and touched my face with his. I took a step back.

  “You never answer the question I ask. You answer but it’s a side step. And it’s annoying.”

  He looked confused.

  “I asked when you started riding and you gave me some crap about horizons.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “You don’t let me get away with anything.”

  I almost countered. I almost reminded him that he’d let me get away, that I’d walked right out of that apartment and heard not one word from him for four months, but I knew it would sound wounded and I wasn’t about to give anyone that.

  “It’s not about … You extended an olive branch last night, Seth. I’m just trying to get to know you again.” I turned back to the house.

  “The next weekend. We had the memorial service and we … did what we did and then I stayed drunk for a few days and then I went and got the bike.”

  I looked back at him over my shoulder and he had that weird look on his face again. The one I had seen the night before.

  “What are you just standing here for? I told you I’d buy you a beer, didn’t I?”

  He grinned, caught up to me, and we walked the distance to the house side-by-side.

  In the kitchen he peeled off his jacket and gloves, laying them atop one another on the table. It reminded me of days of playing in the snow, long after we were all too old to be doing so, and coming inside to warm up with hot chocolate Mom always had waiting.

  “Hey, do you remember … ”

  It was a story I suddenly didn’t want to bring up. We were both trying to move on from Michael and I needed to leave that past where it was. I’d had enough maudlin memories the night before.

  “Remember what?” Seth asked.

  I shook my head. “Forget it.” I busied myself getting the beers out and opening them, avoiding his stare. I headed into the living room and set the bottles on the coffee table.

  We sat not looking at each other while we awkwardly drank our beers in silence. Mostly. I stole looks out of the corner of my eye because he looked amazing. Still. Always.

  “So, how about those Redskins?” he asked then laughed.

  I didn’t because it occurred to me that I wasn’t sure what we were doing or what I wanted us to be doing. And I couldn’t let that linger in the unknown. Bull. Horns. I put the bottle back down onto the table. “Okay, so this is weird. It’s going to be weird until it isn’t or it’s never going to stop being weird and we’re going to have to admit that we can’t figure out how to be friends now,” I said.

  “Is that what you want? To be friends?” He put his bottle down too and turned toward me.

  I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. I had this buzz in my head like a dead phone line and the quietest little voice dared me to admit that I did not want to be friends, that I wanted to do some very friendly things to him but that friends was not how people usually classified those things. Not unless friends was followed by with benefits.

  “Just friends?”

  I wanted to nod. I could even picture doing it. I just didn’t.

  He leaned closer and tilted his head to one side slightly. It was a move that turned the junior varsity cheerleading squad to puddles of girl goo. For good reason. He smelled amazing, like soap and his leather jacket.

  I glanced down at his hand resting on his thigh. He was worrying his thumbnail on the denim. It made me feel better that he was nervous. It was nice that I wasn’t the only one. Less than a beer gave neither of us an excuse. Whatever we said or did was on us only.

  “I told you that we’d never be just friends.”

  I looked up and found him staring at me. His eyes kept flickering down to my lips. I knew he was going to kiss me. I didn’t stop him.

  I remembered kissing him the night of Michael’s memorial service. Sitting on the floor, the bottle between us. We hadn’t had that much to drink before one of us (me) said we ought to just see what we had been missing all those years. See if it was that big of a deal or if we’d just made it into something bigger because we weren’t doing it.

  It was that big of a deal. I remembered staring at him when he’d pulled away from the first kiss. I remembered seeing his eyes looking lost and sad and happy all at the same time and wondering how that was even possible. I remembered him reaching up to touch my face, running his knuckles over
my cheekbone gently, before leaning in to kiss me again.

  Just like that night, it started out searching and unsure but by the time we heard the front door, Ben coming home, we were in a full makeout session like teenagers.

  We both jumped up and started reassembling our disheveled clothes. I wasn’t ready to answer any questions so I pushed Seth into the office. When I returned Ben was smirking at the two beer bottles and the smushed couch cushions.

  “Hey, Benj, how was your night?”

  “Clearly not as good as yours,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, I think it’s time you got to bed. Rest, study, get into a good college, save the world.”

  “Will, I’ve pieced together that you’ve got a guest.”

  “I guess we can’t fool him,” Seth said, reappearing. He and Ben did some elaborate male-bonding handshake ritual that made me want to smack both of them.

  “We could have tried. You could have stayed where you were hidden until after he’d gone to his room so we could have avoided embarrassing questions.”

  Ben hitched his backpack up again and backed out of the room. “You never saw me. Continue doing the embarrassing things you don’t want me to ask about.”

  I closed my eyes, leaving them shut even when I felt Seth slide his hand over the small of my back.

  “I hate to do this but I have to go. I have some stuff I need to get done tonight.”

  I nodded. “This was probably a bad idea anyway.”

  He leaned down and kissed me, reigniting what I thought had turned to cold ashes when Ben opened the front door. Then he pulled back. “It was a great idea. One I’d like to revisit very soon. And often.”