by Max Henry
Forty minutes later we pull into the parking lot behind the police station, shrouded in the same silence we left the house in. She’s on edge—I can tell from the way she picks at her nails. It’s not right. This is going to be one of the most monumental moments of her life when she looks back on it, and the memory shouldn’t be one that will bring her pain.
Jane gets out of the pick-up before I can pull the keys from the ignition. I have to hustle to catch her, but damned if she’s going in there like this.
“Stop,” I instruct, taking her elbow.
She looks at the contact, then up to my eyes. I drop her arm.
“What?”
“You’re amazing for doing this. You know that, right?”
“I don’t feel so amazing right now.” She laughs weakly.
“You are.” I take a step closer, and feel the first pulls of that fucking magnetism she has over me.
Jane watches an ant make its lonely journey across the ground at our feet. “As much as I hated living with him, and wished every day for a way out, now that I’m on the other side it’s scary.”
“I get that.”
“I never thought freedom could be so overwhelming.” She pulls her head so low I can’t see her eyes, and I can bet why.
“Nothing worth having is easy to get.”
She nods, and a sniffle escapes from behind the hand she uses to cover her mouth.
Instinct makes me put my arms around her, and I pull her close to me, right there, in the middle of a police station parking lot. Her arms encircle my waist, and Jane gives her body over to me: relaxing in my embrace, and openly crying.
Before today, a woman crying in my arms would have sent me packing, running a hundred miles in the opposite direction. Yet now, the need to have her release her pain leaves me with the urge to squeeze her dry like a sponge.
A few minutes pass before she gets her breathing under control. She tugs free, and looks up at me, red-eyed, and beautiful.
“Thank you. I needed that.”
“I know you did.”
She doesn’t hesitate or protest as I entwine my fingers with hers, and we walk hand-in-hand to the station doors. Her palm grows clammy, and I can only begin to imagine how terrifying it must be, going up against the tyrant who has held her hostage for so many years. Reporting the guy is akin to poking the hornet’s nest. But this time, the aggravation is necessary.
While she stands at reception, talking through forms with the officer, I wait in the bank of seats beside the locked door that leads to the rest of the station. I watch her movements, her nerves laid out on display, and lose myself thinking of what will happen to that fucker she married.
Will he lose his job over the conviction? Will his family disown him? The asshole could be left to die in a tank of piranhas and I wouldn’t be satisfied that he’d suffer adequate pain. Who does this kind of thing to their spouse? To the one they’re supposed to love, and cherish? Who fucking does this?
Jane turns, and finds me watching her interactions with the officer. She gives me a small smile, and focuses on what the policeman is saying again. I store that image of her happy, if only a little bit, into the memory banks for later. One day I plan to replace it with the memory of her laughing, but until I can crack through her habitual sadness, I’ll take what I can get.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I step out the front to take the call.
“Hey, quitter,” Ty greets.
“Hey, Romeo.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, not so much. She ditched me today.”
“Sorry, brother.”
“Meh,” he quips. “Her loss. Anyway, I was calling to see if everything at the house is in order. I wasn’t sober enough last night to remember to ask.”
I laugh. “Yeah, perfect. Thanks again, man.”
“Remember, it’s an open lease. You stay as long as you need. I know you won’t bloody well tell me why you need the place when you’ve got your own in town here, but whatever. The invite’s open-ended.”
“Appreciated.”
An awkward pause hangs between us. I know he’s waiting for me to give him something, anything.
“She’s my neighbor.”
“Knew there was a reason,” he says triumphantly.
“Her husband beats her.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. We’re at the station now, filing the papers.”
“You’re a good cunt, you know that, right?”
I chuckle at Ty’s use of crass language to dampen the touchy-feely element of his compliment. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Another stretch of silence, equally as laden as the last.
“What are you going to tell her?”
“About what, Ty?”
“You know what about. Don’t be an ass.”
I close my eyes, and ponder the answer. How do I break that to her? “She thinks I’ve done her a favor. She thinks I’m helping.”
“You have to tell her.” He warns.
“Yeah, right. Like I can just up and tell her that I hunt down the scum of the town in my spare time. That I treat people no better than that asshole did her, and that I get paid for it.”
“I didn’t say you have to give her the whole gory truth about our business, but you will need to warn her about the dangers of it—that is, if you’re intending to keep her around. How permanent is this?”
“That’s up to her.” Unfortunately. We’ve had a day, and already I’m wishing for more with her.
“Whatever happens, you did good, Malice. Not everyone would step in to help a stranger.”
“Yeah, well, let’s say I hope she’s not going to stay a stranger.” I eye the station, double-checking she isn’t there, listening in.
Ty chuckles. “Damsel in distress needs a knight in shining armor, huh, and you just happen to be there?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sounds like it is,” Ty says.
“It’s more than that, but I don’t need to justify it to you. Look, I’m thankful for the place, hey? But I’m not comfortable talking about this yet.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know you. I bet you’ve broken out in hives telling me that much.”
“Almost.” I laugh.
“Catch ya later, hey.”
Ty disconnects, and I take a moment to suck in some fresh air before I head indoors again. Ty’s right; I can’t tell him everything about Jane, just as I can’t tell her everything about me. Right now, there’s no need for him to know much more about her, and there’s no need for her to be introduced to that part of my life, either. I’ve never been a fan of freely giving when nothing was expected to begin with.
The boys know enough about my history to understand me, but I don’t openly share my troubles with the world—or my close friends. I can’t see the reason why they would need or want to be burdened with my shit. So, I do what’s best, and I keep it to myself.
I’ve seen first-hand what can happen when a man crumbles, and it’s not pretty. Women cry, not men. Guys like me, they keep their secrets untold, and their problems buried.
It works better for everyone that way.
MALICE WALKS back in to the station, pocketing his phone. I should be listening to Officer Jenkins, but my head is elsewhere. Why did he take the call outside? Was it a girlfriend? Maybe that’s why he didn’t want me staying at his house next door? I can’t recall ever seeing a vehicle other than his, but that doesn’t mean to say he didn’t pick them up.
Why am I thinking like this? It’s not as though it’s any of my business.
“We’ll type up what you’ve told me here into a formal report, and be in touch. I’ll need you to come back in to sign it once it’s complete. Are you okay doing that?”
I smile at the officer. He’s been so supportive, and strikingly genuine about it all. I could nearly say I feel confident he’s going to do something about Dylan. “I managed to get through today, so I think signing will be fine. Thank you for your help.”
>
“That’s what we’re here for.”
He offers his hand, and I shake it. The tension in the air tells me Malice is close before I look.
Officer Jenkins shakes his hand also, and gives us both a curt nod before disappearing through the door to the offices. Malice places a hand on my lower back, and steers me out the front of the building. I relish the feel of the sun on my face, the warmth so foreign, as though feeling it as a ‘single’ woman makes it all the better.
“I need to come back to sign the report,” I tell him on the way to the pick-up.
He nods. “I heard that. I’ll drive you in.”
“Once it’s all finalized, then I can proceed with the divorce.”
“Sooner, rather than later I hope,” he growls.
I watch him walk to the far side of the vehicle, and open his door. He drops into the driver’s seat, and I swallow back the apprehension that he might take me up on my next offer.
“Thank you again for everything you’ve done,” I say getting in beside him. “But I don’t want to put you out.”
“You’re—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “We haven’t talked much, and I don’t know what you do for a job. But I do know that every job has limited time off, and I can’t have you using it all on me. I appreciate what you’ve done, really, but if you have a life to get back to, don’t let me get in the way.”
He picks at a spot on his jeans. “I’ll let you know when I’ve had enough.”
I nod, and bite back the tears that threaten to spill over. I should be happy that he’s okay with helping me a while longer, but his words slashed an open wound inside of me. Yet again, I feel like a burden, a project—somebody’s hobby.
We return to the house in silence, and in a strange way the awkward atmosphere feels a little homely. To laugh, and act carefree when I’m barely a day out from leaving my controlling husband would be odd. At least in our tense state I can feel a little comfort in knowing how to react.
Malice stops the pick-up in front of the locked gates, and hops out to open them. I sit stationary, and watch the way he moves with confidence as he unlatches the lock, and pushes the steel gate wide. Has he ever needed to face adversity? A singular thing that questioned who he was? The way he acts, and his guarded conversations would lead me to assume he has, but a person who walks with that much swagger has to be pretty darn comfortable in their own skin.
I can’t fathom how that must feel: having no doubts as to who you are.
He drops into the seat, and drives the pick-up through before getting out to shut the gate. I can’t turn and watch him without being obvious, so I take in the large oaks that line the driveway instead. Their trunks twist, and gnarl. Every stress mark is a sign of something they’ve had to endure: a storm, a sawn limb, or disease.
If I could see my soul, would it look the same?
I stay focused on the colors of the bark while we make our way to the house. Malice puts the pick-up in park, but doesn’t get out.
“I can’t have you silent all the time.”
I draw a breath, and look at him. The emotion in his stare alone has tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.
“Then what do you want from me?”
“Who you are. Show me who you can be.”
A bird darts from a tree to the house. I watch as it bobs around on the guttering, and then flies off. So at ease with its freedom. “I can’t switch back to the old Jane overnight. I need time to work it out for myself.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Make sure you try. Okay?”
His door slams, and I’m left with the ringing in my ears.
I thought I was trying.
MAYBE IF she returns to the way she was before that prick, it’ll be enough. Maybe then I won’t want her as badly as I do now.
But if that’s the case, what kind of predator does that make me if all I crave is a broken woman to protect and nurture? Does that make me as bad as he is for making her that way?
Fuck this.
What am I doing? She’d be okay on her own. There’s no real reason for me to stay.
The front door shuts, and her footsteps traipse up the hall. I can’t blame her; I wouldn’t want to be around me either. The age of the house gives away her location, and with every creak of the floor I visualize what she’s doing.
I need to hold her again, so badly it physically hurts. My arms literally have pins and needles. What would she do if I did? Watching her shut off the more I push her to the outside hurts, but the asshole I me can’t stop doing it. It’s what I’ve always done. It’s just how I am. I want more than anything to reignite that connection we had at the hospital, but if I start, I don’t know if I can stop.
“Malice?”
I jump. When the hell did she come back down the hall? “Yeah?”
“Do you have any washing you’d like done?”
My shoulders drop. I’m sure she notices. “No, thanks.” What did I think she was going to do? Come in here asking me to rock her in my arms? Kiss me?
Fuck. Wouldn’t that be sweet?
What does she taste like? I bet it’s fruity. She strikes me as a fruity kind of girl.
In an effort to busy my mind, I head over to the freezer, and pull out some meat for dinner. We need to go shopping if we plan on staying for a while. Ty keeps the place pretty well stocked, but I always intended to replace what we used.
Jane crosses through the kitchen on her way from the laundry, and I stall her by clearing my throat. “I need to go get some more groceries. Do you want to come?”
I want to come. You’re a sick fuck, Malice.
“Um . . .” The cogs in her head get to work. “I guess so. Can we stop by an ATM first?”
“I told you, Jane. You don’t need to worry. I’d rather you kept your cash for when you need it.”
She nods, but I can see the discomfort in it. Has nobody ever done a nice thing for her?
“I’ll wait until that washing you put on finishes.”
“Thanks.” She stares at me, and smiles. It’s small, but it’s a smile.
Parts of me that have no business noticing react.
“I’ll go check on Rocco.” I’m out the door before she can blink.
What the hell was that? One small smile about groceries, and I’m ready to strip her down on the kitchen floor.
I need my head read. Letting another person affect you to this level cannot be healthy—for anyone.
HE’S ALL over the place. One minute he’s damn near ignoring me, the next he’s initiating conversation, then he’s bolting out the door. What did I say? What did I do? Or not do?
I could have sworn with those small gestures he made the first time I spoke to him that he felt something between us, but now, it seems my suspicions about my overactive imagination have been proved right. He sure as hell makes a task out of avoiding me. Why does he stay, if that’s how he feels?
Like a spy on a mission I make my way through to the living room, and look out the French doors until I spot him. He’s pacing at the far end of the garden, talking to Rocco, who has his big head cocked to the side.
The thing I hate the most in this world is to feel like a burden. I’ve felt like one for long enough thanks to Dylan, and right now, Malice isn’t doing much to dispel my fears. Maybe it’s the recent success with my police visit, or maybe I’m truly coming into my own now I’m free, but whatever it is, I’m going to set this guy straight.
I open the door—my movement oblivious to him—and head across the patio, and down the lawn toward them. His mumbles grow louder until he lifts his head, and stops.
“Look,” I shout, still advancing. “You were the one who offered me this escape. You put me at risk by meeting me in the supermarket. I agreed to come here because quite frankly, I wondered if going home one more time would be signing my own death warrant.” He stares at me, wide-eyed as I rant. “Here’s what’s fucking me off.” My voice is rising in pitch as I go. “Now that you have me h
ere, you’re treating me like a leper some moments, and like something fragile that needs protecting others. I can’t fucking read you. You’re confusing the hell out of me. Do you want me here? Or do you not?” Tears spill free somewhere along the way. “Whichever it is, can you. Make. Up. Your. Mind? I can’t handle anybody else screwing with my head, okay? Not right now.”
He advances so suddenly that Rocco prepares to lunge. Malice’s hands find my face as he takes the final step, and his lips crash onto mine with such force, I taste blood as my lip gets caught against my teeth. He pulls away, and swipes at the dot of red on his lips. His eyes fix to it, and he frowns.
“Jane, I . . . shit.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You made me bite my lip, is all.” I lick my ‘love-bite’, and show him that the bleeding has stopped. “It was barely anything.”
“I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I couldn’t hold back.”
All this time I was sure he resented his decision to help me, when in fact it was the entire opposite. He’s been struggling not to give me space. “Then don’t.”
His eyes find mine, and before I can draw my next breath, I’m sharing his. Our lips mesh, tongues tie, and we dance to our own breathy beat. The adoration in this moment is beyond amazing. I’ve been at the point of believing there’s no such thing as magnetism between a man and a woman for so long that his advance has taken me completely off-guard. Everything about his lips on mine, his tongue wrestling mine, is . . . magic.
A unicorn sighs. I swear I hear a fairy laugh. Or maybe it’s the baby rabbits at my feet, and the bird singing on my shoulder that gives away my delirium. Either way, I'm sure some Disney tune is about to start piping out of nowhere. The moment is perfect . . . too perfect.
Malice pulls back first as each of us struggles for breath. “Tell me that wasn’t too soon,” he says.
I smile, and press my fingers to my lips. I’m still trying to process being kissed—like, actually kissed for the first time in forever. “It was far too late,” I smirk.
