by L. M. Carr
He rolls his baby blues at me.
“Secondly, you grew up in suburban Connecticut and you’re an assistant principal of a high school. All you need is the Volvo, a pair of Sperrys and a pretty little wife with a strand of pearls to complete the picture. Oh, don’t forget the ascot for your neck.” I try to fight the smile as I picture a scarf tied around his neck. My tongue darts out and slides across my lower lip.
“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” He shakes his head and snickers.
“I’m working on it.”
Shane stares at me for a moment longer before asking if I’m hungry. He flicks on the light switch, illuminating a small kitchen area. I peek over his shoulder and watch as he opens two cabinets. He sighs deeply and closes the doors before opening the refrigerator.
I notice as he rummages through the fridge that everything is tidy; not a single dirty dish in the sink or crumbs on the counter. From a simple observation, I gather he likes order; he prefers things neat and clean. The more time I spend with him, the more I learn about this beautiful man, but the inexplicable contrast in his behavior earlier awakens a high level of inquisitiveness in me. It’s what I do; I study people and human behaviors. It’s why I spend every spare minute reading and analyzing case studies.
“What have you got to eat?” I ask as I pull out one of the small chairs and sit down.
“I have instant oatmeal, granola bars, or yogurt.” He turns around, grimaces and yawns loudly. “Sorry. I have to go grocery shopping.”
I shrug. “Oatmeal is fine.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. I’m easy.”
He laughs as he grabs a small bowl, fills it with tap water and puts it in the microwave.
“If that’s for me, you don’t need to heat up the water.” I say nonchalantly, knowing what his response is going to be.
“You want cold oatmeal?” He raises his eyebrows, no doubt wondering if he heard me correctly.
“Not cold. Just lukewarm.” I smile sadly. For a moment, I’m a six-year-old eating a bowl of oatmeal for my dinner while my mother entertains a man in her bedroom. Since I was too little to use the stove and we didn’t have a microwave, I made do with what I had. Instant oatmeal and tap water. Sometimes it was cereal and water. It didn’t make a difference; it was something to eat.
“Are you sure?” The grin on his face matches the humor in his eyes.
I laugh and give him an exasperated look, “Yes, I’m sure.”
“If you say so.” He mixes the contents of the small bag with water and stirs it before offering it to me. “Here you go. One bowl of lukewarm oatmeal coming up.”
“Don’t judge! I was a poor kid.” I take an eager spoonful into my mouth and hum my delight. “Besides, I’m sure you didn’t always have fancy, gourmet meals in the military.” I take another bite and tease, “You guys probably fought like savages for the good stuff.”
His eyes become like lasers, pointing directly at me as his gorgeous face becomes hard as stone. “You don’t know anything about my time there. I did what I had to do.”
I struggle to swallow the food that now feels like cement. “Shane, I was just kidding.”
Within seconds, Shane is gone from my sight and I am left to eat my dinner alone. If I were smart, I would leave now. His constant mood swings lately are almost too much to handle. Perhaps I need to do some research on bipolar disorder or multiple personalities. I roll my eyes at my stupid thoughts and decide not to pry further. I suspect he’s probably having a bad week or something or the stresses of work are mounting.
After washing my bowl, I scroll through my phone while I wait for him to finish in the shower. The water seems to be running for quite some time. Glancing quickly at the clock on the microwave, I realize he’s been gone for nearly thirty minutes.
My phone rings, alerting me that Simon is calling. I answer immediately because he rarely ever calls; he hates talking on the phone. It must be important.
“Hey, Simon!”
“Where are you?” he practically yells into the phone.
“I’m out.” I’m slightly offended by his tone; I don’t need to explain my whereabouts to him or anyone else. “Why? What’s up?”
“I’m at your place and it’s fucking trashed.”
My back stiffens immediately as my legs swing around and find the floor. “What do you mean? Is my mother there?”
“No.”
If it were anyone else other than Jenna or Simon, I would ask how they got into the apartment, but they both have a key at David’s suggestion. My two best friends, each of them, probably have enough keys to look like a custodian. Every time I move, they get a new key.
“I’m on my way. Stay there.” I dash to the bathroom door and knock three times. No answer. I try the door knob, but it’s locked. Shit! I call Shane’s name several times before giving up. As much as I would love to wait for him, I can’t.
I call for a cab and wait at the corner of the street. As I stand there, I notice that I’m the only one at the intersection. In the neighborhoods where I grew up, street corners were occupied day and night.
After throwing money at the cab driver who tried to make small talk and kept looking at me in the rearview mirror, I jump out and run up the stairs. I find Simon sitting on the couch waiting for me. He looks awful. His hair is matted in some parts and wild in others. Rumpled clothes suggest that he’s been in the same ones for at least two days, if not more.
I eye him knowingly. “What were you doing here anyway? You look like shit.”
I begin the tedious task of picking up the strewn contents and putting them back where they belong. I release a deep sigh when I notice another hole has been added to the wall. “You could help me out, you know.” I can’t hide the annoyance in my voice.
“Remy.” Simon drops to his knees to help me pick up the shattered lamp. “I’m sorry.” My heart constricts at his simple words, but his empty apologies have long been exhausted; I don’t want to hear them anymore. This act of contrition is in vain.
“You need help.” I glare at him with ice in my eyes before I turn away and head into the kitchen to get a garbage bag. “Almost as much as she does.”
“I’m sorry I’m not the fucking golden child,” he yells defensively, rising to his full height. I notice immediately how thin and gaunt he’s become recently.
I cringe at the nickname. “Golden child? Screw you! Have you seen my life, Simon? You had a mother who loved you more than anything else and a father who still does!”
“Fuck this! I’m outta here!” The chair he just put in its upright position falls over as he rushes out the front door.
I grab the broom and sweep up the broken ceramic. I can’t help but think of myself as this lamp that’s held together by glue after being broken so many times before. I wonder how much glue it will take to piece the fixture together. Or is it finally beyond repair? After analyzing the damage, I throw the entire thing in the garbage before I’m satisfied that all the remnants have been cleaned up.
I ignore the ringing of my phone as I continue to restore items to where they belong. I don’t care that Shane texted relentlessly and has now resorted to calling. I don’t want to talk to him. The time for him to explain and apologize has long past. Again my phone rings until I decide to silence it with a quick slide of my finger, turning my phone off for the night.
Shane
I LIFT MY head and allow the scalding water to rain down, pelting my face mercilessly. An exasperated sigh escapes, leaving me frustrated and wondering why the hell I snapped at her. Who have I become? This person isn’t me.
After drying off, I open the medicine cabinet and take the cap off the orange-colored bottle. I cup my shaky hand and take a quick drink of tap water, ensuring nothing will get lodged in my throat. Get it together. I make a beeline for my bedroom and throw on a pair of sweats. I know I’ve got some explaining to do and apologies to hand out. I owe Remy that much. I stare at myself in th
e mirror and for a second, I see myself back there. I feel the heat. I feel the weight. I see the fear in my eyes. I see the fear in his eyes.With slow deep breaths, I struggle to regain composure. Boston. I’m in Boston. It’s over. I came home.
I call her name as I walk out of my room but get no response. The open living room and the kitchen are both empty so I check the spare room, but I still don’t find her. It occurs to me that she might have wanted to leave, but I would have expected her to wait for me to get out of the shower. I send a quick text message asking where she is. She doesn’t reply. I come up with every possible scenario just to avoid facing the truth. You’re fucked up, Davis.
Over and over I send text message after text message followed by phone calls. I know her phone is on because it eventually goes to voicemail. I listen to the happy tone of her recorded voice and feel horribly for the way I treated her. I have to suppress the idea to drive to her house just to make sure she arrived safely. I don’t want to push her away like I did to Mia.
I fall into a deep state of unconsciousness as I wait for her to return my call until I’m startled away by a loud noise outside.
“Yes, sir,” he gurgled as I pulled him toward me, protecting his body from even more damage. I unstrapped his helmet and cradled his bloody head. I bit the inside of my lip to prevent my lips from quivering. I had to be strong for both of us.
“Now you listen to me, you are fine. I’m going to get your ass home to your wife. Okay! Do you fucking hear me?” I gritted my teeth and got in his face, praying that he would listen until help arrived.
“Yes, sir...yes, sir…tell my wife—” Vacant hazel eyes stared into mine as he fell silent, drawing his final breath.
I jolt upward and wipe the sweat dripping from my forehead; I run my hand along my bare chest and press my palm against my heart to keep it from exploding. The heavy pounding reverberates in my ears.
For the next several hours I wait for sleep to find me again, but it never does. Each time my eyes close, I’m back there. I have no regrets about going, but one thing is for sure, I will never go back.
After lacing up my sneakers and pulling a hooded sweatshirt on, I’m out the door. I needed to get away from the apartment walls which felt as if they were closing in on me, putting me back in solitary confinement. The streets of Boston are quiet, filled only with fellow runners or strangers walking their dogs. I bypass the train station and keep on the route that will lead me to her. When I finally reach my destination, I’m exhausted, but my anxiety is gone. I pull the front door open and see her immediately as she carries a large tray covered in breakfast food. I grab a mint as I usually do.
She does a quick double-take when she spots me and then smiles tightly. I read her body language, which isn’t as light and carefree as I’ve become used to seeing. My eyes travel the length of her body covered in a white polo shirt and long pants that hug every curve perfectly and my dick responds instantly. I want her. Desperately.
Sitting on a stool at the counter, I watch as she and Jenna move around one another like an old couple who know each other well. One reaches up high to grab a bottle of syrup while the other bends down to grab the bag of coffee to brew a fresh pot.
Jenna comes over and brings me a cup of hot black coffee. “What’s up?”
“Not much, Jenna. You?” I lift the mug and sip slowly.
“It’s been crazy in here. Lenny’s brother-in-law didn’t show up so he’s back there trying to cook with a fucked up hand.” The woman sitting two seats down from me gives Jenna a reproachful glare to which Jenna grimaces and utters a quick apology.
I glance at the row of green tickets on the spinner, knowing exactly what I have to do. I stand, take the coffee and start to walk.
“Hey, where you going?” Jenna quips.
“To cook.”
Remy and I meet face to face when we both try to fit in the narrow opening to the kitchen.
“Hey,” she says, “What are you doing?”
I hear Lenny greet me by name as I answer her question. “I’m going to help Lenny.”
“Shane, you don’t have to do that. We’ve got it. Besides, Paco is back there.” She lays her hand on my arm and tries to nudge me back in the direction of the dining area. “Go eat your breakfast.”
I imagine her under me while her hands grip my arms; our bodies moving slowly in unison as I drive deeply into her.
I turn quickly and face her, taking her hand in mine and bringing it to my mouth. The feel of something at the end of her fingers causes me to look down, inspecting each one carefully.
“You’re hurt,” I blurt. “What happened?”
She pulls her hand away and out of my reach. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Each fingertip is covered with a Band-aid.” I lower my voice and glare at her, hoping she understands I’m very serious. “I’m not going to ask you again, Remy.”
“God, you need to chill out! I cut my fingers on some broken glass. It’s not the end of the world.” Her voice oozes with annoyance and I know it’s directed at me…as it should be.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
With a look of indifference, she glances up. “Okay.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.” She turns away.
“You should be.”
“Hey, Shane! I could really use a little help back here.” Lenny calls over the hot oil popping on the flat grill top.
“Looks like I’m cooking this morning.”
Green eyes roll upward as she releases a loud huff.
I sidestep her and reach for the same apron I used yesterday. “So how about it?”
“What?” she asks as I slip it on over my head and tie it around my waist.
“A kiss for the cook?” I smirk and flip the mint over with my tongue, teasing her. I lean down to kiss her, but she turns her face, making my lips meet her cheek. So she is mad at me.
She grabs a spatula from the drawer and hands it to me. “Get to work, loverboy.” The door swings as she walks through it. I catch her eye in the stainless steel framed window where she’s piling orders on a tray.
I take over on the grill as Lenny preps the side dishes. He’s not much of a talker except to call, “Order’s up.” The only time Lenny speaks to me was when he catches me watching Remy interact with the customers as she greets them by name.
“She’s a good girl.”
I simply nod my head in agreement as I hand him the dish so he can add some potatoes.
“She likes you.”
“I know.”
“You like her?”
He holds out the plate for me to take so I can slide it under the warmers in the food window. I look down at the plate when I feel resistance. Still holding the other end, he looks at me and asks, “Do you?”
“Very much, sir.” I inhale and exhale quietly, letting the silent words that I love her float away unspoken.
An oddly familiar middle-aged man comes in followed by an attractive woman whose skin reminds me of mocha. They find an empty booth and wave to Remy who rushes over to greet them. The smile on her face for the two people is genuine and I find myself smiling, too.
“What are you smiling about?” Jenna asks, pushing her way through the swinging door to get more ketchup.
“I’m not smiling.” I lie. “My face always looks like this.”
A roar of laughter erupts from the petite brunette. “Collin said you were funny, but I didn’t believe it.”
“Ahh…and how is my friend Collin?”
“Incredible.” She glances back and winks as she leaves the kitchen.
“By the way…what’s that tat on your back?” I tease her even though I really didn’t look too closely when she was busy riding my buddy on the couch in my living room.
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” A deep blush fills her face as she peeks through the food window.
While Remy continues to chat with the couple, I take the opportunity to ask Lenny a few questio
ns about her, but he’s no help because all he says is that I have to ask her. So much for guy code.
Remy turns around and looks in my direction as if she were talking to them about me. Where I would expect to see her beautiful smile, a sad smile appears; for some reason it feels as though it’s directed at me and as much as I hate to admit, it hurts. This woman is going to be my undoing. Everything I’ve worked so far for is going to be lost on her.
I call Jenna a few times until she finally hears me. “Who’s Remy talking to?” I nudge my head in the direction of the dark haired man just as Remy walks over.
“That guy? That’s David. He’s her—”
Remy interrupts with a single word, “Advisor.”
The quick glance between the two doesn’t escape my attention.
“He’s my advisor.” Her eyes hide the truth as she takes a hard swallow.
“Is that the same guy from the coffee shop?”
“The coffee shop?”
I give her a pointed look. “The one you were holding hands with.”
Balancing several dishes in her arms, she turns on her heels and makes a delivery after declaring, “Yep…he’s the same one.”
I return my attention to the tickets on the wheel and yank the tickets down with more force than necessary before I proceed to cook.
Remy pokes her head through the swinging door and speaks directly to Lenny. “Len, I’m going to take a break, if that’s okay.” I glance over in time to see her offer a tight smile.
“You got it, kid!”
While I continue to cook through the late breakfast hour, I get a knot in the pit of my stomach when the man, known as her advisor, slides over in the booth and makes room for her. The black woman smiles warmly as Remy talks to them. I notice Remy rolls her eyes and mocks the man who has his arm over her shoulder and seems to be enjoying her playfulness a little too much if you ask me. He better keep his fucking hands to himself if he knows what’s good for him.
When they finally leave, Remy waves goodbye and locks the door, flipping the sign indicating the restaurant is now closed.
“Whew! What a morning!” Jenna announces as she separates the money in the tip jar, her lips moving quickly counting the multiple bills and coins.
