I’d unwittingly slipped into a therapist’s role, which was a role I knew I was hysterically unqualified for. “Well, she’d probably be happier than if you’d stayed with him.” It felt weak coming from my lips, but I learned that Brooke didn’t need advice, not really. She just needed to get things off her chest.
“I mean, it’s her fault—if you want to examine how this happened.” She quickly shook her head. “No, it’s not her fault that Troy hit me. But she never showed me what a healthy relationship looked like.”
“Your dad?”
“Never met him.”
We had more in common than I’d thought. “So, she was a single mother, then?”
“And she always told me how hard it was. Being a single parent, the sole responsibility for my life.” She kicked a pebble that rolled over uneven sidewalk until it landed in the street.
I was as unqualified to give advice as just about anyone, but I knew one thing. “You didn’t ask her to give birth to you.”
She stopped and looked at me, wrinkling her brow. “Wow. You’re so right. I didn’t. I didn’t tell her to create me.”
“I’m sure being a single mom is tough, but it’s a choice she made when she decided to have and keep you.” It was the one thing I’d always felt about my own mother, whenever she threw back at me how hard it was to raise me singlehandedly.
“I didn’t want to raise this baby by myself.” She covered her stomach with her hands.
“But that’s what you have to do,” I told her. “Because, like it or not, that baby didn’t ask you to create her. Your responsibility is to her, and not to put her in a situation like the one you were in.” It was the one thing I believed whole-heartedly and was the reason I was reluctant to ever become a mother myself. I was an irresponsible adult, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think that bringing a baby into the world would somehow transform me into a responsible one.
“There you go again, bringing my baby to the forefront.”
“That’s where she should be.” I bit it off angrily, not meaning to, but comparing that baby with myself was something I found myself doing a lot. “I’m not here to be your best friend,” I said, wishing I regretted saying it as soon as I saw the flash of hurt in her eyes. “I’m not going to hold your hands and tell you everything is going to be fine. I’m just a stepping stone for you. And you’re a project for me.”
She searched my face, probably looking for that regret that I couldn’t honestly feel. And then she nodded. “I get it. And you’re right. We barely know each other.”
“Right.” I nodded curtly. “Don’t look at me like I’m your savior. I’m selfish and I’m mean. If you don’t believe me, just ask my boyfriend.”
She didn’t argue and continued to walk beside me when I resumed a second later. “So what do you do for work?”
“I help Six when he needs it.”
“What does he do?”
I tried to decide how much to tell her. There were boxes around the apartment, filled with his files. It’d take less than five minutes for her to figure it out, so I made it sound as legitimate as possible. “He’s like a private investigator.” He was more than that, though. So much more.
“Ah. That’s why he can afford the nice place.”
I shrugged but didn’t dignify that statement with a response. I didn’t know what kind of money Six made, but I knew it must have been good enough for him to afford to pay my rent and basic utilities along with his own.
“What do you do for work?” I asked her.
“I bake. I mean, I used to.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, which was difficult with the belly in the way. “But Troy got too jealous. Not coming home until six or seven in the morning set off his suspicions.”
“I don’t know how to bake,” I said, hoping our differences would enable her to trust me long enough to help her before she moved on. She, like me, needed a distraction right now. If teaching me to bake could be one, then we’d both be better for it. “It’s science-y, right? I can throw a few things into a pan and cook it on the stovetop, but I’m a train wreck with the oven.”
“I can teach you. It’s incredibly rewarding to watch dough that you’ve worked over and over with your hands turn into something beautiful, like a big loaf of warm bread.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that, since I can’t speak from experience on that. But sure, let’s bake some shit.” We’d reached the end of the block, so I turned around and she copied me, as we headed back toward the house.
By the time Six came home from working, the house smelled like a goddamn bakery. It stunned him, too, based on the way he paused by the door to take us both in. Brooke’s hair was in a messy but somehow still pretty bun on top of her head. She had flour up to her elbows as she was using a brush to paint the top of a loaf of bread with egg wash.
I, on the other hand, had flour not just up to my elbows but all the way up my chest, in my hair, and across both cheeks.
“You’re baking?” Six asked, or at least I thought that was what he said. It was hard to hear, which I blamed on the handfuls of flour likely stuffed in my ears as well.
“Yeah, some bread.” I pointed to the loaf that Brooke was shoving into the oven. “And over here,” I gestured like a game show model to the plate on top of the counter. “Cookies.”
Six set his bag down by the door and approached us both. Brooke didn’t look at him, seeming to prefer to divert her gaze as he came closer. “It smells like heaven in here,” he said, and picked up one of the cookies.
“I didn’t poison it,” I told him as he inspected it.
“I didn’t think you did.” He quickly met my eyes and my stomach did a little flip at the smile on his face. “I’m just surprised you made something that isn’t black from being burned.”
“To be fair, Brooke didn’t trust me with measuring. I just did the stirring and she babysat the oven.”
“Probably for the best.” He looked at Brooke, who was still avoiding looking at him, keeping her eyes tucked down and to the floor. “Well, I’m impressed. I was going to cook dinner, but since the oven is a bit tied up, why don’t I order that Chinese that you wanted at three o’clock this morning?”
“Great idea.” I came around the counter and held up my hands in warning. He shrugged indifferently, so I clapped my flour and dough-sticky hands on his cheeks and leaned up for a quick kiss. “Don’t forget my rangoons.”
He brushed flour off my forehead with his thumb, looking utterly charmed by me as messy as I looked. “I won’t.” He looked above my head to Brooke. “Any preference on the kind of Chinese food you’d like for dinner, Brooke?”
She didn’t look at him, just shook her head. “I’m not picky.”
Six waited a beat, as if he expected a more elaborate answer to follow, before he looked at me and I shrugged. “Orange chicken and sticky rice, too.”
“I know,” Six told me, and I knew it was a subtle reminder from him that he did know me, probably better than I thought he did.
When he disappeared, I stepped back into the kitchen, where Brooke was ferociously scrubbing the mixing bowl our bread had been in. “Is he mad that it’s so messy in here?”
I furrowed my brow. “Six? Yeah right. That’s kind of what he’s used to with me. Besides, he came home to homemade cookies and bread baking. That’s probably his particular brand of kink, right there.”
Startled, she whipped her head to me. “That’s a joke. No, he’s not mad.” When her eyes turned back to the soapy sink, I asked, “Is that why you didn’t look at him?”
“What?” But she kept scrubbing the dishes harder, even though there was no reason to scrub that hard.
“I know you don’t really know him, and you barely know me, but he’s a good guy.”
“I guess I have to take your word on that.”
I couldn’t help it; her answer rose my hackles. “He’s letting us crash here while we figure shit out. A guy who wasn’t good wouldn’t be cool wit
h that.”
“Yeah, and he barely knows me, and he’s having to deal with my shit, as you so eloquently put it.” She glanced over her shoulder. “He can’t enjoy having a stranger in his house.”
“He doesn’t care. Promise.” Six was on the back patio, his cordless home phone in his hand as he dialed. “He’s a good one.” Not like me, I added silently. “He’s cool.”
“Well, if it ever becomes too much of a burden, I hope you say something before acting passive aggressively toward me.”
“I don’t think I have a passive aggressive bone in my body. You’re my hobby, remember?”
She winced. “Right. You’re honest. Almost painfully so.”
“As long as we’re on the same page. But Six isn’t here to make you feel like a burden. He doesn’t care. I mean that.”
“Okay.” She blew out a breath and handed me the sparkling metal bowl for me to dry. “But … just tell me, okay? If it gets to be too much.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
She shut off the water and looked to where Six stood on the patio. “Can you give me a ride tomorrow? I didn’t pack enough of my stuff, turns out, and I need other stuff.”
“Is he going to be home tomorrow?”
“It’s his day off. But I have to go while he’s there. He didn’t let me take my keys when I left.”
“Well, fuck that. We’ll break in.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No, no way. He’ll know I was there.”
“So?” I shrugged. “What’s he going to do? Call the cops? Fat fucking chance.” I finished drying the bowl and handed it to her for her to put away. “We’ll break in, take your shit, and if you need to leave a note, we will. But we’re not going back there when he’s home.”
She lifted her chin, a bit of her pride returning. “Why?”
“Because he’s a dick. And I don’t want him guilting you into coming back home. When is his next shift?”
“Tonight. He’ll get home early in the morning.”
“Then we’ll go tonight.”
“We can’t just break down the door,” she protested.
“No shit. We’ll pick the lock and get your stuff and get out.”
She opened her mouth, but I shushed her with a sharp look as Six came back inside. The silence was so loud, so consuming between us, that even Six noticed.
“Everything okay?”
I turned to him, looked him right in the eyes, and lied. “Yup.”
Six left the house to go to his office downtown, and Brooke and I dressed in black. I gave her what I could of my clothes, but she was a bit too tall for my pants, so I gave her long black socks to cover up her exposed skin.
“We look like we’re about to rob a bank. Not break into my home.”
“It’s not your home anymore,” I reminded her as I perused the locksmithing book Six had left on his nightstand. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to remember the kind of lock that had been on Brooke’s door, and then I flipped the pages until I came across what I thought it was.
“This your door?”
Brooke leaned over, placing a head-sized shadow on the page. “Yes, but the back window would be a better bet. He took out the glass last summer for the air conditioner and never replaced it.”
I contemplated that option briefly. “Big enough to slide through?”
She put a hand on her stomach.
“Not you, okay. But me?”
She nodded but looked tentative. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Why didn’t you want me to say anything to your boyfriend?”
“Because it’s not a good idea—it’s probably an illegal idea. Which answers both of your questions.” I slammed the book closed and turned to her. “Should we bring trash bags, or do you have a suitcase there you can fill?”
“I’ve got a suitcase in the closet. I couldn’t fill it before without arousing his suspicion.” She moved, and the light shifted enough across her face that I saw the deepening bruise. It renewed my desire to get in and get the hell out. With Troy—and Six—none the wiser.
It took us twice as long to get to Troy’s from Six’s than I remembered, but I blamed that on me being lost and Brooke being confused.
“You sure this is right?” I asked her when we turned down a street she’d told me not to go down once before.
“Yes.” She looked up at the house on the corner, shrouded in the kind of darkness that ten at night allowed. “It’s this street.”
I followed her but wasn’t sure until she stopped right in front of the small house and looked at me. “How do we get in the back?” I asked.
Wordlessly, she turned her body sideways—which made me laugh only because she was just as wide straightforwardly as she was sideways—and crept along the dark stucco to the darker backyard beyond. I followed her, stopping to glance at my watch. I wasn’t sure how long Six would be gone, but usually when he went downtown to the office to work, it wasn’t a quick visit.
The back of the house was overgrown with weeds and stray patches of grass and, here and there, a big puddle of mud that my boot got stuck in.
“Fuck,” I grunted as my foot nearly came out of my stuck boot. I gripped onto a tree branch and yanked until the boot released, sending be backward onto a pile of gravel. That time, I kept the swear word quiet at the sound of music pouring from the open window next door. But I rubbed my lips together as I pushed myself to standing and examined my boot.
“Here.” Brooke handed me a branch from the tree and I used it to scrape off the bigger globs of mud before giving up. I’d have to take them off to squeeze through the window anyway.
Brooke moved to the window in question and removed the panel of plexiglass that was in place of an actual window. Gently, she set it off to the side before standing back.
“Right,” I said under my breath as I lifted my feet out of the boots and shrugged off the thick puffy coat I wore. Brooke held both in her hands.
“You’ll be in the dining room here. You can unlock the sliding glass door.” She pointed to it, just off the side of the small house. “And then I’ll come in.”
I nodded and hooked one leg through the window before sliding my next leg through and, with little grace, falling flat on my ass inside. That was the second time in just a couple minutes that my ass was hurt in some way, and I hoped neither incident would lead to bruises Six would notice.
After unlocking the sliding door, Brooke darted inside and looked around. Her hands came to the kitchen counter and she curled her hands over the sink. She looked outside the window and I shook her arm.
“Now’s not the time for nostalgia. Get your shit and let’s get out.”
“Right.”
The whole house was dark, without even so much as a nightlight, but Brooke moved quickly and skillfully in and out of rooms, depositing the suitcase at my feet before darting back down the hall.
I tested the handle of the suitcase and found it heavy. It’d be a bitch to haul this back to Six’s, and I decided then to get a cab, so I’d not have to take any longer than necessary.
Brooke returned with a smaller bag but judging by the pink and brown cartoon animals on it, I knew it to be a diaper bag. “Ready?”
She nodded and as we walked toward the back door, there came a sound that made us both stop.
It sounded like a floorboard creaking and, as if we were synchronized, our heads flipped in the same direction and I heard each of our intakes of breath. Then, all I could hear was the thunderous roar of my heartbeat.
Finally, Brooke turned to me. “Upstairs neighbor.”
I didn’t want to stay any longer to confirm, so I ushered her out the door. When she attempted to put the plexiglass back into the window, I stopped her with a sharp shake of my head. He’d know we’d been there. No use wasting time to cover our tracks.
When we were a solid two blocks away, Brooke pulled out her cell phone and dialed for a cab. By then, my hands were sweaty and achy from carrying the suitcase�
�whose wheels were broken and therefore couldn’t be wheeled down the sidewalks.
While we waited for the cab to come, I noticed Brooke started trembling beside me. Her breaths sawed in and out and I found myself shoving her to sit up against a landscaping border. “Calm down, Jesus,” I said and dug into my jacket pockets for my cigarettes.
When I pulled out the pack, Brooke’s eyes went wide. “I don’t smoke.”
I plucked a cigarette from the pack and stared at her. “No shit. You think this is for you?” I placed it between my lips and flipped the little gold lighter open, quickly lighting the end. I took a deep breath in and then exhaled the smoke. All the while, Brooke watched me almost hungrily.
“What’s your deal?” I asked her, and then swallowed, realizing my tone wasn’t exactly friendly. “He wasn’t there. We got in and out. You’re safe.” I took another deep puff and she tipped her head back to stare at the sky above us.
“Yes, but he could’ve been there.”
“He wasn’t,” I said flatly. “Cool it. I don’t think we need you going into labor right now.”
My eyes grazed over her stomach, as they often did, and I wondered—briefly—what was it was like carrying a human inside of you. Another life you were responsible for, a life that literally depended on you for everything.
It sounded like a torture only a sadist would seek.
I took in a deep breath of clean air and then sucked on the cigarette again.
“Could you not smoke right here?” Brooke asked, and I turned to her.
I wasn’t annoyed by her request; I was actually pleased by it. She’d been so meek, and this was the first sign of her behaving the way I’d hoped she would. I took wide, exaggerated steps away from her and turned my head so when I exhaled, it didn’t go into her face. “Better?”
“Yes.” She sighed loudly and rubbed her stomach. “I can’t believe we broke into my house.”
“His house.”
She nodded, but I didn’t think she was really hearing me.
Six Feet Under (Mad Love Duet Book 1) Page 23
