by Max Henry
The tension in the room grows noticeably as he takes a seat opposite me on the sofa. His plate is something different altogether. Lined up next to two hard-boiled eggs is a massive tin of tuna. He cranks the rip-tab lid open, and dives in with a fork.
“Do you always eat it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Raw?”
“It’s not raw.” He smiles.
I swallow back my sudden case of schoolgirl nerves. “I meant unprepared.”
He smirks. “It all comes out the other end the same, no matter how it goes in your mouth.”
I grimace, and to him it’s hugely amusing. A deep chuckle erupts as he covers his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Squeamish eater—I’ll remember that.”
Rolling my eyes, I go back to eating what’s left of my sandwich. Whatever the situation we’re in, he always manages to make me feel comfortable with him.
I like that.
Finishing my last mouthful, I pick up the pills and the glass of water. “How long have you lived here?”
The question comes left of field for him, but it’s one that’s been burning in the back of my mind. I want to know how long he’s been here, listening to us argue next door, and why he chose now to intervene. One step at a time, Jane.
He pauses in his eating, and taps the tin with his fork. “About a year.”
“Oh. I was curious, since I’d never seen you. I don’t see anyone around here much, to be honest.”
“Goes both ways,” he says, and stuffs another forkful in. He pushes the lid into the empty tin. “I’ve never seen you before now, either.”
“I can be a bit of a homebody.”
My joke falls flatter than a pancake. Rocco senses the awkwardness, and moves back to his bed.
“I’d wanted to help before that night, you know.” He looks up at me, and the hurt in his gaze causes me to avert my eyes. “I didn’t know what he’d do, though. Or if you’d let me help you.”
“I don’t know either.”
I throw the pills back while I think it over. What would have happened if he’d come over on another night, and asked me to go with him? If he’d struck out at Dylan on any other given day? Was the fact I was so emotionally distraught the thing that made me welcome his intervention, as brutal as it was?
“Where did you learn to fight?” I ask.
“Don’t all guys know how to fight?”
“I don’t think so.” I smile.
He shrugs. “Not important. I’m just glad I could help out poor Rocco here.”
Although he told me it wasn’t the case, I instantly feel as though all his actions have been simply to ensure my dog’s safety all over again.
“Yeah. Thank you again.”
A brief moment passes with the two of us lost, staring into oblivion before he snaps free first. “Are you ready to go?”
I nod.
“I’ll go grab a few things.”
“Do you have a phone I could use?”
He pauses halfway across the room, and looks over, as though it’s an odd request.
“I want to check how much is in my savings,” I explain.
“You don’t need to worry about that, Jane.”
“One thing at a time, huh?”
I WAKE with a startle, my head lolling against the door pillar as we hurtle down a country road. The scenery all looks the same; endless green fields separated by the odd brown one, freshly turned after a harvest.
“Morning, Sunshine.”
I look across at his profile as he drives, intently staring at the road. How I know that’s where he’s looking I have no idea, given he wears jet-black sunglasses, but I do.
“Is it morning?”
“No.” He chuckles. “It’s not far away from dinner.”
I’m lost in those slight dimples, the movement of his muscles along his jaw when he smiles, the slight crinkle to his eyes I can see beyond the black plastic of his glasses.
“How much farther do we have to go?” I ask.
“About fifteen minutes.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said we were headed to the country, were you?” I stare out at the passing fields, and hone in on the beautiful oranges and yellows of the trees that have begun their autumn transformation.
“Not in the slightest. Rocco will love the room to run.”
“I bet.” I turn and look out the small rear window at my dog, sitting with a silly grin on his face, ears flapping in the wind. “How did you find the house?”
“I’ve got a friend that knew about it.”
“Oh.” What are his friends like? I’ve never seen anyone visit his house—not that I used to watch the place religiously before this, or anything.
His hand crosses the gap between us, and rests atop my thigh. I stiffen without a second thought, and he presses harder, yet gently.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Jane.”
“Old habits,” I mumble.
“Well, take the time we’re here to try and kick them, okay?”
“You’re staying, too?”
He grins. “What did you think the bag was for?”
I glance at the duffle at my feet. “I thought it was an over-nighter, you know? I can’t expect you to take time off work for me. You’ve done enough.”
“My work is, how would you put it”—He tips his head to the side—“flexible.”
“That’s lucky.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
The mood shifts in the car, and he withdraws his hand. I feel dejected, as if I’ve crossed a line I should have known was there.
“Sorry. I’ll mind my business,” I offer pleasantly.
He simply turns his head. Despite those dark glasses, I cringe knowing the kind of chastising look that lies underneath.
Point made.
“What did you do before you met Dylan?” he asks out of the blue.
“I was your run-of-the-mill college student. My major never amounted to much though. We got together right before I graduated, so I never had any reason to pursue my own career. I was always supporting him, you know? I had a job until a few weeks ago, though. Nothing flash, but a job all the same.”
He nods slowly. “I never picked that douchebag as being the kind to let you go out to work.”
At the mere mention of Dylan, I’m checking the rear-view. “He couldn’t stand ‘carrying me’,” I explain.
“Is that what he called it?”
“Yeah.”
Malice shakes his head, and flexes his shoulders while he grips the steering wheel tighter. “You’re his wife.”
“So?”
“So, it’s his responsibility to ‘carry’ you. He signed a contract to protect you, cherish you, not make you this.” His hand waves the length of me.
I cross my arms over my chest carefully, and frown. “And what am I, exactly?” The thought he finds me repulsive sends my gut churning with a mixture of pure burning acid and fear.
“Unbelieving of your own self-worth. Ready to protect your dog at the risk of your own life. Apologetic about the whole fucking deal.”
He has me there. Labeled out like that, I can understand how pathetic I must look to him.
“I guess I never saw what he was doing when it happened so slowly over the years.”
He shifts through the gears, and takes a left turn. Bringing the pick-up back up to speed, he reaches across and takes my hand in his. “Tell me what you were like before him.”
I choke back my tears. The gesture of holding my hand has me all skedaddled upstairs. I can’t think straight, let alone remember something I’d tried to forget while he’s doing that.
“I’m not sure.”
“Were you outgoing? Assertive? The life of the party, or a wallflower?” he prompts.
I stare out the side window, trying to remember. I want to say I was outgoing, but I can’t be certain. I sure as hell couldn’t have been assertive if I let a creep like Dylan win me ove
r. “I guess I was naive.”
“I bet you were smart. And I bet you were loyal to your friends. But my guess is you were compassionate, too, and he took advantage of that.”
My mind drifts back to how Dylan and I met. I was young, and out for a weekend camping with a few of my friends. Some bands played at a festival several hours from our hometown, and we’d decided on a whim to make a getaway out of it.
It had been a dark night—no moon—and soft rain fell. Two of my friends had already gone back to our tents, and I was left with Amy, a girl I’d known since grade school. She met up with some guy and disappeared on me, leaving me to walk back to our campground in the rain, alone.
That didn’t bother me in the slightest, but the guy following a block behind had. I turned and confronted him, and he’d stolen my breath away; he was tall, muscular, and dominant. He’d told me how much he wanted to kiss me, and that he never had any luck with the girls, which is why he couldn’t strike up the guts to talk to me before then. He seemed so sure of himself, so frightening, yet so vulnerable.
I’d fallen for his sob story, and let him take my head in his hands, kissing me senseless until I asked him where he lived.
That was the first night I spent with Dylan.
“You pretty much summed it up perfectly,” I reply.
“We’re here.” He drops my hand, and turns the pick-up into a long, dirt driveway.
I stare out the windscreen at the farmhouse that slowly emerges from the dense trees. It’s classical, but well looked after. White timber, and blue window frames. Pretty.
“It’s furnished and everything, so you won’t have to worry about much.”
I glance across the car at him. “Thank you.”
Malice opens his door, and rounds the car to let me out. I take his offered hand, and look up at the house while he lets Rocco off the chain. His furry, black butt disappears around the back of the property.
“Is he okay out there?”
Malice nods. “There are fences all around the property. He won’t get out.” He walks to the right side of the house, and shuts the narrow gate Rocco bolted through. “Let’s get you settled.”
• • • • •
“WONDERFUL.” I take the cup of steaming coffee from Malice, and set it down on the outdoor table. “Thank you.”
We’ve been outside for a while watching Rocco run around, and the sun begin to descend. It’s peaceful here, and the warm tones of the turning trees make it homely. I could sit in this spot for days. I can sit in this spot for days if I want to. The freedom to decide my own schedule is foreign, and I long for Malice to give me one thing to do to occupy my hands. Anything.
“I told the cops we’d meet at the station tomorrow to go over the details. They agreed that you could do with the space for a night, but asked that you jot down anything you might forget.” Malice takes a seat opposite me, and places his beer on the table.
“I don’t think I’ll forget any of it.”
“Only passing on what they said to me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He leans forward, and takes the arms of my chair in his strong hands, turning me to face him. “Let’s get something clear—I don’t want to hear that word again this week, okay?”
“Fair enough. Sorry.” I clap my hand to my mouth. It falls so easily. I’ve got no idea how I’m going to make a week, let alone a day.
He smiles, and cups my chin. “I’ll let that one slide. How are the ribs?”
“Starting to ache.”
“Stay there. I’ll get your meds.”
He returns a short time later, and drops the pills into my palm before handing me a plain biscuit.
“I know I said I’d be staying, and that I’ve got time off work, but I need to head out tonight and sort a few things before the week starts.”
“Okay.” I stare down at the white tablets in my hand. I know I can’t expect him to stick around all the time, but a part of me is crushed that he’s leaving me alone.
“You’ll be okay,” he reassures me, placing a hand on my arm. “I’ll lock the gate at the road, and leave you my number so you can get in touch if anything worries you.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t stress too much.”
“I can’t help but be concerned.” He pulls away and crosses one ankle over the other knee, staring out the dimming light. “There’s food in the kitchen, so make whatever you feel like. We can do a shop later in the week.”
“You aren’t sticking around to eat?”
He shakes his head, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. I just . . . I can’t.” He launches out of the seat, and bends over to kiss my forehead. “I’ll be back tonight.”
I watch him walk into the house, grab his keys, and go. My body hums, cloaked in a warm, comforting glow. The feeling is different to anything that I ever felt with Dylan, and I can’t place if it is something I felt with either of the two boyfriends I had in my teenage years. Those relationships were so long ago now, that any emotions I did have at the time are cloudy, poisoned by the bad experiences I’ve had since
I don’t know what this is between Malice and I. The intimacy that he shows leaves me unsettled, but at the same time I know on a deep level that I enjoy it. I crave it. In those brief moments I can return to the fantasy that I, Jane, have a man who loves me, and cares for me.
Ludicrous, I know. But for the while it’s nice.
Besides, what girl doesn’t enjoy playing pretend?
I LIED to her, and I feel unease about it that I’m not used to. I don’t care about shit like that. Not normally.
Floodlights click on as I pull up to the house. Sure, I told Jane I needed to sort some stuff out, and that part at least was a little truthful. I do need to sort some stuff out—stuff in my head.
I kill the engine, and leave the pick-up to head for the door. Two dogs rip to life out the back, warning me away—never mind the fact I’ve known them since they were puppies. They have a job to do. I can’t fault them for that.
The wooden steps creak under my weight, and although Bronx will know I’m here, I knock anyway. I was raised better than to walk into somebody’s house unannounced, no matter how many times I’ve been there.
Music resonates from within the residence, and the sound of laughter punctuates the heavy bass beat. Seems the party’s started already. The door swings wide, and Bronx meets me with his arms thrown wide.
“Brotha!”
A smile rips across my face, and I take his outstretched fist into a clinch, and bump shoulders with him as I pass by. “How’s things?”
“I thought you were going to be a no-show.” He tips his chin at one of the boys sitting in the living room as we make our way through to the kitchen. “You owe me a fifty, Ty!”
“Had something to square away first,” I explain.
“Yeah? Well, I ain’t gonna press you. Your business, and all that.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. He’s gagging to know. I can tell by the way he stands beside me like a damn chaperone.
“I’m not telling you anything, Bronx.”
“Aww, what?” he roars. “We’re mates.”
I could guarantee the empty bourbon bottle on the bench belongs to him, too.
“Mates, yeah. Not each others fuckin’ agony aunt.”
He slaps me on the shoulder, and walks away, shaking his head. “One day I’ll get all your dirty secrets outta ya.”
I smile as I run my eye over the choice of liquor we have tonight. The rules have been since the early days that the host supplies the drinks. Bronx and I have been meeting up with the other boys for going on eight years now. Not all of us make it every time, but our fortnightly ‘wind-down’ nights have become a steadfast tradition between us.
Who am I talking about?
The brothers who are closer to me than anyone related by blood will ever be. The guys who have had my back through thick, and thin. These are the men I’d trust with my life, and I’m pretty sure the f
eeling is mutual with each and every one of them. We’re a bunch of kids who grew up on the street, thrown together in adverse situations, and have stuck together as a means to survive.
Demons cripple a man left to fight alone, but allies can take on the world.
I learnt that the hard way.
“What’s your choice?”
I turn and give a nod to Ty as he enters. He leans against the bench for stability while he pours himself another whiskey.
“I’m thinking it’s a vodka kind of night.”
He smiles lazily, and quirks an eyebrow. “Kinda girly, isn’t it?” I punch him on the arm, causing him to slosh his drink. “Not fair, asshole.”
“Don’t call me a girl, then.”
I normally drink whiskey, neat. Tonight, though, I don’t plan on sticking around long. All I need is a quick drink to give me the right amount of warmth to part the fog that clouds my ability to make a clear decision, and I’ll be gone.
Ty throws back what’s left of his spilt drink, and pours another.
“You’re hitting it hard,” I comment, lining up a shot glass for myself.
“Rough week.”
“Work?”
He shakes his head.
“Women?”
He nods slowly. “Isn’t it always?”
Yeah, it kind of is. My thoughts drift to Jane, alone in that house. I should have stayed—even if it’s impossible to think straight when she’s around. The woman is probably going out of her mind.
I pull my phone out, and check the display. Nothing.
“Expecting something?” Ty asks.
I shake my head. “No.” She’s not my woman, so why would she ring me if she felt unsafe, scared, or simply alone?
Because she needs you.
I want to believe my head isn’t making a mountain out of a molehill, but the buzz was there. I felt it. The times she’s shown me trust, I’ve felt that need to protect, to help, to show her the world isn’t so bad.
Only, I’m the wrong guy to do that.
Ty’s disappeared back to the living room to join the others. I throw back the shot of vodka, and stand for a minute to get my shit together. Feeling the need for fresh air, for a clear thinking space, I slip out the back. The night sky is calm, and the stars twinkle merrily down at me. Right now I feel anything but merry. Fucking stars.
