by Leanne Davis
“Come off it, what are you doing here?” He swung his gaze back to her.
“This place is cheap and nicer than most apartments. Bill called me about a week after the engagement party and said you were moving out. I came to mind after I’d mentioned I’d like to move out of my parents’ house. He said he’s picky about who lives here because of the business below. I decided to take him up on the offer in spite of your presence here, not because of it.”
He’d just bet Bill was picky about who lived here. She probably believed Bill’s story of what a nice coincidence it all was. Christine wanted to move out and Bill just happened to have a free apartment. An apartment right over the place that Jason worked. Bill could be convincing, especially when he was meddling in things far beyond his business. Damn, Bill was trying to set them up.
“How did I not know?
“I asked Bill not to tell you.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” she said. Weariness seemed to settle over her. By the look on her face she was still hurt and angry with him. He felt a sharp sting of regret.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, studying her differently this time. “So, what? You cook and do laundry and all that stuff now?”
“Yes, I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “So you got a job?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. She wasn’t giving an inch. “Where? Doing what?”
“At a small shop on Main Street. Sales clerk.”
“What happened to Andrews Enterprises? All your plans?”
She shrugged as if none of it mattered, as if they were discussing what brand of laundry detergent she’d chosen to use.
“Nothing happened to them. I’m just taking a break. Figuring some things out.”
His eyebrows shot up. He studied her face intently. She dropped her eyes to the ground, presenting only her forehead and mass of hair for his perusal.
“I see,” he said after a long pause, his tone saying more than his words. Her brown eyes jerked up to his, as if daring him to say more. “So all month you’ve been coming and going and I had no clue.”
“Yes, I was at work.”
“Huh. Okay. Well, I guess if it’s what you want.”
“None of this is because of you.”
He threw up his hands again. “Okay, I got that.”
“Good.”
“All right. Point taken. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Hopefully not much,” she said, then turned back towards the nearest grocery bag and started pulling stuff out, her reach and pulls jerky. She was upset. She didn’t like seeing him.
Isn’t that what he wanted? Why he’d left things as they were between them the last few weeks? He hadn’t called her or tried to see her. He didn’t want anything to do with her.
“Hey, Christine—”
“Really, Jason, you should go, I have things to do.”
****
Just like that he found himself with Christine a few steps away from him while he worked. He looked for her car as he pulled into Kelso’s Garage, always first to open for the day. He periodically glanced towards the apartment when he was out back smoking.
And it annoyed the holy hell out of him.
He’d contemplated taking it up with Bill. But instead he acted as if he didn’t know who Bill’s new tenant was or what Bill was up to.
He had spent weeks keeping busy: cleaning his own house back up, getting his stuff out of storage, and moving back into the house he’d already been settled into once. He’d worked hard and exhaustively in an attempt to avoid thinking of the two things that bothered him the most: being on parole and Christine Andrews.
He tried to block out any feelings he had over prison. He still had nightmares where he’d wake up in a cold sweat and was afraid to open his eyes and find himself back there. He did everything he could to forget about it, and not feel anything. The rage that could start in his gut was enough to motivate him to go do something stupid. So he tried to not do anything, think anything and therefore, not do anything destructive with all the nasty feelings inside him.
Just like he could not have a thing for his brother’s fiancée.
He could keep his mind off of most everything. Except her. Because she kept showing up everywhere.
He’d assumed after the morning of the engagement party she’d stay far, far away from him. And that’s what he had planned on. Now she’d shown up, living over where he went to work each day. How the hell did someone ignore that? Ignore her?
Then, of course, he started to see her frequently enough that she seemed to be as much a part of his thoughts as work. First she started getting home while he was still closing up the Garage. Then soon after, she’d started jogging. In an array of colored shorts and tank tops, she would jog by nearly every evening after she got home. He’d wave and she’d stick up her middle finger at him and continue on her way. It only made him laugh each time she did it. One evening he heard repetitive thumps coming from out back of the shop. He went out one of the open garage doors and crossed the lot to find Christine running up and down her staircase.
“What are you doing?” he asked, studying her descent. She was sweating, her ponytail bouncing with each step. She hardly spared him a glance as she landed then turned and went back up.
“Running stairs. I’d suggest you try it, but I doubt your smoker lungs could handle it.”
“Why the hell are you doing that?”
She was coming back down by then. “Exercise. Ever hear of it?”
“You run every night.”
“Yes, but I need variety.”
“Have you always exercised this much? I didn’t know that.”
She finally spared him a glance as she stopped and grabbed the stair rail, breathing deeply. “How many times have I told you, you don’t know me, not at all. Jogging is new for me. I used to swim or do weights.”
He caught on. “Because at home you had your own exercise room, right?”
She nodded. “Sure, and a swimming pool. But so did the condo complex I lived in while in Seattle.”
“Of course. Doesn’t everyone’s?” His voice was dry with sarcasm.
She bent at the waist, stretching one leg then the next. Her hair nearly touched the pavement.
“And it turns out I’m going to have to learn to cook after all, since eating out about doubles the calorie count.”
“So that’s why you’re home now. You were going out to avoid me.”
She straightened. “Not to avoid you. To avoid cooking. Not seeing you was just a nice benefit. Don’t think you motivate anything I do.”
He threw his hands up. “Yeah, I got that last time. And the dozen or so times you’ve flipped me off.”
She smirked, then headed upstairs.
She was still furious with him. Yet she’d taken to jogging while he was still out and about the shop. Each day it became their kind of ritual. He’d look for her around five-thirty, and sure enough, she’d come by and glance towards the garage almost at the last second. Then she’d flash the finger his way. Others noticed the exchanges too. They tried asking about it but Jason ignored their inquiries. Until eventually every mechanic there recognized her and waved. She seemed to enjoy that attention, flashing them all smiles, so long as it wasn’t him. He still got a glimpse of her middle finger. And all six pairs of eyes in the garage would follow her bouncing jog along the street until she turned the block.
He found it made him smile each day and he looked forward to seeing her flip him off. When was the last time something, or specifically, someone had made him smile?
But no matter how much she tried to convince him differently, he didn’t totally believe her living there, where he worked, was a total coincidence. Or quite as innocent as she claimed. There was simply something between them. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, he was beginning to see that maybe he couldn’t.
Her cell phone chimed. She answered it with a deep sigh. Her mother. Again.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey, is this a good time?”
Was it ever a good time to be told yet again what a colossal disappointment she was? She mumbled, “I just got home, it’s fine.”
Her mother scoffed. They didn’t consider her small apartment to be any kind of home.
“Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.” Her mother’s tone was low, as if Christine had a terminal illness and she didn’t want to bring it up. Of course, their only daughter living over an office and working in a small shop downtown was almost the equivalent to her parents.
“Do you need any money?”
“Believe it or not, no, I don’t. I’m fine. I got a job.” No doubt her father had no idea that Kay often called offering her money. Her father had out-and-out cut her off. When she’d told them she was moving out and to where and to do what, he’d tried to forbid her from doing it. When she hadn’t wavered her dad had told her good luck doing it alone.
She’d then contacted Bill Kelso and asked him if he could help her sell her car. She knew of no one else to ask. Jason, of course; but no way was she pursuing that avenue again. She had the title of the car outright, even though her father had bought it for her. So she wasn’t exactly starting out completely on her own and broke. She had sold her car and bought a far more economical one, which also freed up some cash to use to get into a place. Days later Bill had called her and offered her Jason’s apartment. She had been speechless to learn another surprising fact about Jason. He didn’t live there. The apartment had been temporary for him. She’d hesitated at first. It looked strangely stalkerish to show up living where Jason used to and directly above where he worked every day. But the price was unbeatable, and it was much nicer than the few she’d scouted out thus far. So she’d struck a deal with Bill, and finally, two weeks after claiming she was moving out, she had.
And her father hadn’t talked to her since. Her mom called every few days. To offer her money, to beg her to come home, to beg her to become who she had been.
Kay sighed deeply over the phone. “When is this tantrum of yours going to be over? You’re killing your father. What is it you want?”
Christine gripped her cell and shut her eyes. How did they not get that all she wanted was for them to want her exactly for who she was? She opened her eyes and stared out at the sun shining over the fields just outside of town and the few roofs she overlooked. “I don’t want anything. I just don’t want what Dad has planned for me. At least not right now. I got straight As through college, Mom. I’m tired. All I’ve done is work and study. I just wanted a few months off. To get my head together. I wasn’t looking to mooch off you guys for the rest of my life or turn into the town whore as Dad suggested. All I want is a break.”
“Your dad doesn’t think that.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“He can be stubborn. He wants to see you succeed. The kind of upbringing you had has ruined more than one of our friends’ kids. We don’t want that for you. Your dad has only wanted to make sure you have goals and a work ethic. You can’t fault him that.”
“And the perfect GPA didn’t prove that I do?”
“Why is it such a crime for us to want you join the family legacy?”
“Because maybe I don’t want to. I don’t know that I don’t want to, either. I just don’t know. All I asked for was some time; not years, only months, to figure out what I wanted. Why is that such a crime?”
“And breaking up with Trent?”
Christine wandered back and sat down on the couch, deflated. How many times can two people have the same conversation? Back to Trent. Always back to Trent. “That’s between us. He’s letting me take the time I need to figure out why I am so scared to move forward with the wedding. Again, months, not forever. Why can’t anyone get that? Why do I have to know everything right this moment? I’m only twenty-two years old!”
“Well, how are you figuring it out there in that hovel?”
“It’s not a hovel. It’s an apartment. Most young people live in them at some point.”
“But you’re not most young people!” her mother exclaimed. “You’re Christine Andrews. The entire town knows who you are and you wouldn’t believe the things they are saying. First dumping the mayor’s son, and then living there and working in that stupid shop. Come on! This is not the way to handle a spat with your father.”
“A spat? He tried to order me where to work and who to marry. He called me a whore. That was more than a spat, Mother. And if I am Christine Andrews, why is it that in one breath you guys don’t want me to be too heiress-like, and in the next, I’m not living up to what’s expected of me as your freaking heiress? Which is it? What is it I’m supposed to be? Because I have to tell you, the message is completely mixed.”
Kay nearly shrieked into the phone. “You’re supposed to be our daughter. You’re supposed to be planning a wedding and getting married while starting work with your father. Did we really raise you to be this spoiled? You have every advantage, and it’s not good enough for you?”
Christine pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it open-mouthed. They really didn’t get this or her. She was not good enough when she was doing what they wanted, but she was a spoiled brat when she wasn’t doing what they wanted. She clicked the phone off. She couldn’t engage her mom anymore.
She got up and stared out her kitchen window. It overlooked the back end of the garage. The shop was closing up. Men talked and called out orders as the giant shop doors were lowered and cars were parked and stowed. She caught a glimpse of Jason, cigarette hanging from his mouth as he reached up and pulled on a garage door handle. She jerked back behind the wall when he glanced up. Had he seen her? She tried to spy on him a little too much. Especially on the weekends. He usually worked one of the two days. And she was home... and it was really hard not to peek out, just to see what he was doing. She glanced out, scoped him out and then... watched him. So what? He was a hot guy. The hottest one working there. So she watched him some nights as he threw trash in the dumpster or locked up the doors. So what? It didn’t mean anything. Other than she was a normal girl who liked to ogle hot guys.
She slid to her kitchen floor. Her heart was heavy. She didn’t want her parents’ total disdain and anger to hurt, but it hurt more than everything. Why couldn’t they accept her? Love her? Why did she have to perform to their standards to get even a small pat on the head? And why, as a grown-ass adult, hadn’t she yet outgrown the desire for that pat on the head? She stared at her feet.
She hated that they were disappointed in her. She hated that their love seemed predicated on her doing as they wanted.
The surprising thing about all this was who was doing well with her decisions of late: Trent. He didn’t pressure her. He didn’t demand anything from her. They had gone out together a few times for dinner, and he did as promised, he didn’t pressure her.
He understood what her parents didn’t. She was overwhelmed and lost and didn’t know what she wanted. And he was letting her be those things. Though he had yet to figure out where it was she’d moved to.
His understanding was... unexpected, and very welcome. She was gut-achingly lonely. And sometimes that loneliness got to be too much, like after the soul sucking conversations with her mother. She got up, grabbed her cell, and texted Trent. Sometimes she did that. It was hard to be alone, and she had no one else in Almstad. Besides, it was hard to break a habit she’d had for years.
****
The banging on the front door startled her, causing her to knock over a can of pop. She quickly threw a dishrag on it as she crossed the kitchen to open the door. He pushed in as she was starting to peek her head out. Her heart dropped. Trent stood before her. His face was red, his hair spiked from running his hands through it, and his tie was half-loosened and hanging askew. He never let his appearanc
e get messy.
“What the hell? What the hell are you doing here?”
She stepped back and he fully entered the place. His gaze swung around to take it in and landed back on her, his arms crossed over his chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and whispered, “I met him.”
His nostrils flared. “Obviously. Obviously you don’t end up living here, where he works, if you hadn’t met him. How? How do you end up living here? And what’s worse, why? Why do you live here?” His voice cracked with emotion.
“I wanted you two to meet. Away from your parents. I thought…you could find something with each other since you are brothers. So I came here to meet him.”
“And?”
She turned and sunk into her couch. Ashamed, she stared at the floor. “I met with him a few times. I tried to trick him into meeting you and me for dinner. He saw you and took off before you saw him.”
Trent stood as still as a concrete statue in the center of the room. Finally he said, “Yes, but why do you live here? How did this happen?”
She explained about Bill. That she lived here despite Jason, not because of him.
The silence was thick. “Did you sleep with him?”
“No.” She drew in a deep breath. She should tell him what she had tried to do. But…she didn’t see what good it would do. It might be the right thing to do, but it would hurt Trent far beyond how much she already had. The fact that she had separated from him wasn’t due to Jason Malone; it was due to her sudden conflict over if she was meant to marry him or meant to be part of Andrews Enterprises. None of that was fake or wrong. That was all real. What happened between Jason and her was between them, and totally not responsible for her break-up with Trent.
“Are you trying to?”
“No.”
“But you wanted to, didn’t you? That’s where all your doubts started from, isn’t it?”
