by Barefoot, LW
“What?” I ask with a purposeful smile.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes. Are you?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” he says as he drags me in his arms and holds me tight.
“Evan, it’s probably a good thing my hands were tied. I’ve been gearing up for a fight and I think I could have taken her,” I say against his chest.
I love that it makes him laugh. The rumble from his chest smooths over some of my frayed nerves. He looks down at me as I ball my hands into fists. I lift them up to show him my fiercest stance and he laughs harder.
“Hey, I can’t help how small my hands are,” I jest.
Evan locks both of my wrists in his much larger fist and presses a kiss against my wet forehead.
“Leave the fighting to me, little one. I’ll fight through even your darkest and worst nightmares to save you.”
I have no words. Desire has turned out to be such a nice distraction from thinking anything else. Desire is the roadblock I keep crashing into, because there’s nothing past that. I know this. But when Evan says things like that I fall. I stumble and hurl past desire and I don’t have a clue what it is. That promising abyss shouldn’t exist and it doesn’t have a place in my world.
Evan’s full lips move over mine, while he rinses soap from my body. He’s sweet and deliberate as he dries me off, so this has to be desire. That’s the only thing I know. Desire, desperation, and pain.
Harper
Evan and I walk together hand in hand downstairs. Bright cleansing light shines through open windows as the cleaning staff weave carts and vacuums down the hallway. Evan makes a point to compliment every worker we pass.
The plantation is being restored and I’m thankful there’s no remnants of last night’s activities.
We head straight to the kitchen and find Evan’s staff around the casual dining table and Mae amongst them. Men of varying ages and the force to be reckoned with are engrossed in an in-depth conversation about which car out of Evan’s collection she should take back to the city. Her back is turned to us and Evan motions for everyone to keep quiet. They continue bringing up advantages and perks of their apparent favorites. I don’t have a clue what they’re talking about as Evan and I make our plates, making as little noise as possible.
Seth and Brad argue over torque and speed, while Mae insists she wants a smooth ride this time. Apparently the last car she took rumbled and had squeaky brakes.
“Mae, just take the roadster, you know you want to,” Seth points out.
“Well I would but I feel like I’m already putting too many miles on it as it is. But when I slide behind that steering wheel, turn the key over, rev it up, it’s the best darn ‘vroom’ I’ve ever heard.”
“Or I could just sign over the papers to you so you don’t have to worry about putting miles on my car,” Evan says taking a seat next to her and I follow suit.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Mae laughs.
“I thought you already left for New Orleans yesterday afternoon, why did you stay?” Evan asks Mae.
“I wanted to stick around to make sure I wasn’t needed. Don’t worry I didn’t wander out of my room. I woke up to find Rufus taking over my pillow and snoring right in my face,” she laughs.
She reaches under the table and squeezes my hand in reassurance. I was the reason she stayed. She smiles and winks at me.
Seth and Brad go about eating and carrying on like last night never happened. Seth grins when our eyes meet and I could be wrong, but there’s something akin to acceptance and respect. Like nothing about our swift and tumultuous introduction last night happened. I let out a deep breath because I’m so thankful it’s not as awkward as it should be.
Brad heaps up pancakes like it’s his last meal. Mae finally admits that she’s stealing the roadster for an indefinite amount of time.
It doesn’t escape my notice that Brad studies me and even though I know he had to have heard Evan and I’s entire conversation last night, I don’t care. And I know he doesn’t either.
Leaving the plantation has an uncertainty I can’t place my finger on. I watch still bewildered by the engrossing oak trees and sprawling land. Regardless of what filth tainted its halls last night, there’s a calming sort of refuge about it.
Evan catches me eyeing it from the car as we pull away from the property. He squeezes my hand rested on Ru’s shoulders. My dog is unashamed about hogging the air coming through the vent on the dash board.
“Please tell me you’re willing to come back?” Evan asks.
“I actually feel kind of sad about leaving,” I admit.
Evan’s smile is radiant and it meets his eyes.
“Good.”
The closer we get to New Orleans, everything about Evan shifts. His demeanor, posture, even the tight lock he has in his jaw looks like he grinds his teeth. I’ve never seen him check his phone while driving, but it commands his attention more than the road ahead.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, but get no answer.
We stop off the highway for gas. The other vehicles Brad, Seth, and the other men are in pull up behind us. Evan gets out of the car and moves back to the other. Seth goes about fueling up the cars. The chug of the gas pumps keep me from hearing what is said between all of them. I shift back to face forward in the front seat and mind my own business. Brad opens the driver’s door and gets behind the wheel after a few minutes.
Evan taps on my window, I roll it down.
“I have some urgent business I need to take care of. I think it would be best for Brad to take you the rest of the way home,” Evan explains.
“Okay,” I say as I meet his lips.
I sink in to our kiss, not caring who watches or what we look like. I miss him already as he takes my breath away.
We’re broken apart by my nosey dog who decides he wants to lick Evan’s face as well.
Evan pulls back and wipes his jaw where Ru’ licked him. He pets his head and smiles at me, but I don’t miss the hint of sadness or maybe regret that shines through his darkened eyes.
“I’ll call as soon as I can,” he says.
I say nothing at all as I watch him stride away in the rearview mirror. He watches us pull out of the service station while he gets in the car with Seth.
The only sounds for a long time are wheels spinning over asphalt and eating away miles that lead us back to New Orleans. The lights of the city rush past the windshield and highlight Brad’s grip on the steering wheel and the hard scowl on his face.
I assume we drive through different streets to avoid the Mardi Gras parade routes. When we circle through several times, I notice Brad’s eyes shift from the road in front of us to the rearview mirror. I turn in my seat, but Brad’s grip stops my movement, it even stops my breath.
“Don’t turn around. Slide down to the floorboard and stay there until I tell you,” Brad demands.
I do what I’m told. Red and blue lights circle bright and rotate closer and closer to us. Brad pulls the car over and pops open the glovebox, blocking me from view.
The window rolls down as the beam of a flashlight searches the interior of the car.
“Good evening officer, I didn’t realize I was speeding,” Brad says.
“License and registration,” the officer clips out.
I hear the process of handing over documents as the flashlight moves from the cabin of the vehicle to outside of the car.
“That’s a nice looking dog you have there,” the officer says.
“Thanks, he’s worthless,” Brad attempts to lighten the random encounter.
“Where are you headed?” the cop asks.
“Going to my mom’s house. She has a sweet spot for my spoiled dog,” Brad counters.
It feels like time stretches out as both men remain silent. The only things I can distinguish are the beam of the flashlight and Ru’s heavy breath.
“Have a safe night,” the cop says running his flashlight through the cabin
one last time before the thud of his heels sound his retreat.
I stay seated with my legs curled up in the cramped space. Brad pulls away from the side of the road. We drive around until my legs and feet fall asleep. I let out a deep breath when Brad finally parks the car.
“Don’t get up, yet. We’re still being followed. I’m going to take Ru’ and wave to the cops as they patrol by us. Crawl out after you count down from sixty,” Brad explains.
I tick the countdown off in my head after Brad loudly closes his door. I’ve only seen Brad like this one other time, when we were outside that club on Frenchmen Street.
My limbs flood with release by the time I crawl out of the car. Brad carries Rufus a half block ahead of me. I follow them with pins and needles shooting through my legs. We’re only a couple of blocks from my house and I keep my head down and try with all my might to not notice the partygoers and revelers.
Brad waits for me in the courtyard when I make it back to the complex.
“Go inside, I’ll go back to the car to get our bags,” he says.
Jamie opens the door and I breathe easier when the familiar tune of the security system beeps and he wraps me in bear hug.
“Hey,” he mutters into my hair.
We stay like that until Brad comes back. We unlock from our embrace as Brad kicks the front door shut and resets the alarm.
“Is everything okay?” Jamie asks.
“Yes,” Brad says.
Jamie studies us.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Jamie pushes.
“It’s nothing,” Brad lies.
“Why did you have me hide under the dashboard?” I ask.
“We didn’t get pulled over for racial profiling. That cop had been following us before we hit city limits,” Brad explains.
“Why would a cop be interested in following you?” Jamie insists.
“He wouldn’t be, but his boss would.”
“The city? The mayor? That doesn’t make sense,” I push because I hate how vague he is.
It’s so unlike Brad and Jamie notices it as well.
“He wears the uniform, but he really works for Joe Hawthorne. And he’s the last person you want watching you,” Brad says with bitter reluctance.
Jamie and I completely disagree with him. The old saying, ‘better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,’ doesn’t apply. It never will. The devil I know is the one and only. Joe Hawthorne doesn’t hold a candle to Satan himself.
‘I’m coming for you. I always keep my word, you fucking cunt.’
Harper
Brad, Jamie, and I fall back into our routine with ease. We do what we do best. Jamie cooks and makes us laugh. I paint and pour myself into my work. Brad cleans his gun in the dark while we sleep. He’s transformed my narcoleptic bulldog. Ru’ still sleeps a ridiculous amount of time, but his reflexes are sharp and instantaneous when he hears what he’s trained to listen for. He no longer slumbers cuddled up with me through the night, instead, he’s downstairs by Brad’s feet learning how to be a proper guard dog. Regardless of how funny Jamie and I find the notion, some of the uncertain waves settle inside me thinking about Brad and Rufus down on the first floor.
Since we returned from the plantation five nights have passed without a nightmare. Six days of Evan’s teasing lighthearted texts, but that’s our only interaction.
Brad and I run our usual route and every morning he pushes me harder. We build up resistance and he helps with the tourists that think Mardi Gras is a free for all.
We don’t linger at the coffeeshop after our run this morning. I get Ru’s breakfast out for him. Brad throws the bloodstained, long forgotten invitation across the island at me. It lands with a heavy thump next to Ru’s dog bowl.
“What are you doing with that?” I ask.
I fully intended to ignore the damn thing until the date on the invite passed and one more season of masked drunken fools is over and then I can toss it in the recycle bin.
Brad leaves the room while I pay attention to the chunky bully requesting his food by punching me with his paw.
Brad comes back with his hands full minutes later. He hangs garment bags on the doorframe and places a shoebox next to the invitation on the island.
“We’re going to that,” he says and points to the heavy parchment.
“Why?”
“Evan needs to make his relationship with you public. The safest way for him to declare that is at this event. There’s too many important people there for it to be dangerous for you.”
“But I can’t afford to draw attention to myself, Brad. It doesn’t make sense. Why do we have to announce anything to this backwards society?”
“The board of Hawthorne Holdings voted for Evan to take over as CEO,” Brad says not the least bit happy about it.
“I don’t understand,” I confess.
“This party is private. It’s not possible for photos to surface of you two together. But all the right people will get the message loud and clear that you’re untouchable. Evan publicly broke off his engagement this week. It’s all over the press. The important members of society and the only ones that matter will be at this event when you’re introduced. I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
I don’t know how I feel about Evan breaking things off with Sarah. He told me it was coming and after her taunting display the last day at the plantation, I knew he would end it. Regardless, if it had anything to do with me.
“You promise, you’re not going to leave me?”
“Not at all,” he swears.
“Okay,” I offer unconvincingly because I have so many unanswered questions and worries about going through with this.
“Good. We have some work to do on your fear of masks. Jamie and I invited a few friends over to help you fight through it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re throwing a cocktail party tonight and the only requirement is that you and everyone else has to wear a mask.”
“No.”
“Oh, it’s happening.”
And it does. I push and complain like a spoiled child, but Jamie tightens the knot at the back of my head, securing a cheap plastic mask to my face. He pushes one of his famous cocktails in my hand. We’re in his bathroom and Brad puts his ridiculous mask on. Apparently they both went for neon sequined masks with fake feathers and complete their outfits with inappropriate beads to match.
We pass the night off as a celebration of the Mardi Gras season. Both Brad and Jamie’s personalities make it believable. Laughing with familiar people, hiding behind equally foolish looking plastic helps ease my fear. I no longer see soulless blue eyes, I see our friends and acquaintances. The night flies by and the ridiculous masks fade from importance with the help of Jamie’s cocktails and Brad’s reassuring presence.
Fat Tuesday finally comes and we go about our routine like it’s any other day, running and pushing farther than usual. We round a corner with my legs burning worse then they have before and I finally quit. My lungs protest and the rest of my body forces me to stop on our way back from the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood. I rest my hands on my knees and catch my breath as Brad rounds back to me. Sweat drips down my scalp like a steady waterfall. I wipe my arm across my forehead. Something about the motion pulls my attention to a homeless woman sitting on the sidewalk. I’ve seen that unruly head of hair before and the eyes that see nothing at all, but seem to see me. Before I run away in the opposite direction, she howls like a wolf. Brad watches her as she calms down and throws her gaze in our direction.
“Come on, Harper. She can’t see us. She’s harmless,” Brad whispers so soft in my ear I barely register his words.
“Oh, but I see her, kind heart,” the blind gypsy rocks back and forth on the sidewalk and struggles to stand up on her own.
Brad covers the distance between them and reaches to help her up.
She’s empty handed today. The bags she had with her on the other two occasions I’ve seen her are miss
ing.
“Such a sweet kind boy,” she tells Brad and I smile because she has no idea how true her statement is, but he’s definitely no longer a child.
Her eyes move in frantic motion back and forth, searching for Brad’s face. Her eyes stop moving when they find mine. I’m locked in the space she holds me in and my dripping sweat now runs cold against my clammy skin.
“Don’t let the wolf in,” she hisses and moves her hands as if they’re claws and scratches her arms through the air.
I joked with myself that Evan was the wolf she warned me of earlier and thought nothing of it.
Brad’s eyes round as she screeches, her arms wild, and sailing through the air.
“Casey,” her sandpaper voice sings, like she’s enticing me to come closer.
My feet took off on the first syllable of my real name.
“Run!” she screams.
Brad’s long legs catch up to mine. I swear I’ve never ran so fast or hard in all my life. Her cackling interrupts the howls that escape her mouth and follow us down the street. I take one last look and as her eyes meet mine, she howls to the top of her lungs.
“Run and don’t let the big bad wolf in. He’s coming, he’s coming,” her pitch changes back to sing song tunes and hiccups on scratchy shrieks.
Brad and I are stunned speechless. His eyes are on the street ahead, but his focus is in a far off place.
After we rush down several blocks, his grip catches my forearm and he yanks me from my pace. We’re stopped outside one of the Quarter’s shady bars and even though Brad hardly ever drinks and I would never usually go in this hole in the wall, I follow his lead when says he needs a drink.
Two spicy Bloody Mary’s later, we leave the stench of the bar and collect ourselves. Neither one of us spoke and ignored the looks we got from the only couple in the joint. The weathered bartender even commented on hydrating after a workout, but Brad cut him off and said I prefer my drink with extra spice.
“You know she’s harmless, right?” he asks as we stalk back to the house.
I pop an olive in my mouth and question whether or not I can trust it to not give me food poisoning. I spit it out before I answer him.
