by J. A. Howell
“Whoa there.” My face landed against Nolan's chest and my forehead brushed against the scruff on his neck as he caught me. “Someone is taking the rest of the night off.” He looked down at me as he helped me steady myself.
“Seriously guys. Five minutes and I'll be good as new.”
“Shut up, Harley.” Aggie immediately scolded me. I was not winning this one.
Aggie took care to load me into the passenger side of Nolan's yellow Honda hatchback. For such a tall guy, I had no idea how he fit himself in there. Less than five minutes later, he parked in front of the urgent care center attached to the hospital.
“Here we go.” Nolan opened my door and reached down to help me out of the low sitting car. The awkwardness that seemed to exist between us must have been forgotten momentarily with my alarming billiard injury. He kept an arm crooked around my waist as we walked into the urgent care center towards the reception desk.
“How can I help you?” A frail-looking older lady smiled at us from the other side of the desk.
“She might have a concussion.” He nodded towards me. I sighed but remained silent. Things had stopped spinning slightly, but I still felt like I was on a carousel. She pressed her lips together as she appraised my current state, and then instructed me to fill out a stack of paperwork before pointing us to the waiting area.
“So next time someone yells “Watch out!” I'll be sure to duck.” I joked as I scribbled down some basic information. Nolan didn't seem as amused as he stared at the growing lump on my head with concern.
“I'm sorry that arsehole was saying those things about ya, or that ya had ta hear any of it.” Nolan's voice was apologetic as he watched me.
“It's fine. He was a miserable grouch.” I shrugged, handing him the clipboard. I wasn't about to venture back towards the reception desk unassisted. Nolan took it from me and returned it to the old woman.
“So, Finley's was your dad's place first?” I asked as he sat back down.
“Yep.” He grinned. “My dad opened the place back when I was just a baby, after they moved here from Ireland. He decided ta retire six years ago and turned it over ta me. He and my mom moved down ta Florida.”
“Did you want to take over Finley's?” I asked, unsure if I was hitting on unsafe territory.
“Oh yeah. I loved that place. Worked there straight through my teens. I always knew it would be mine one day.” His face lit up as he talked about the pub. I couldn't help but smile as well, fascinated by his passion for it. All I had wanted since I was a teenager was to get out of Louisiana. Maybe if I had grown up in a place like this I wouldn't have wanted to leave either.
“Harley Martin?” A nurse called my name as a large door swung open next to reception. I went to stand, but stumbled again. Nolan caught my arm and walked me to an examination room. He helped me onto the exam table and we remained silent. After thirty minutes a doctor walked in. An older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and a matching trimmed beard.
“Head injury, eh?” He raised an eyebrow as he looked up from the chart.
“Yep.” I mumbled as he flashed a penlight into one eye then the other, a thoughtful “hmmm” leaving his lips as he leaned back from me and rubbed his chin.
“Have you been having issues with balance, Ms. Martin?”
“Well, I mean I got knocked out. I was a little dizzy but I think I’m fine now. If anything I’m a little tired.” I shrugged, a yawn involuntarily escaping my mouth. The doctor’s eyes darted over to Nolan for a moment as his hand dropped from his beard.
“Well, Ms. Martin, from the looks of it, I’d say you have a concussion. Your pupils are uneven, you’re tired, dizzy, good indicators of one.” He stated. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to get a CT-scan done just to make sure there isn’t any permanent neurological damage occurring.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I objected and attempted to slide off the exam table. Just like before, I lost my balance and stumbled, banging my knee on the floor.
“Harley! Will ya just listen ta the damn doctor?” Nolan’s tone was a mixture of aggravation and worry as he helped me up. “She’ll get the CT-scan.”
I looked helplessly back to Nolan, his eyes fixated on mine and unwavering.
“Those are really expensive, Nolan –”
“It’s fine, I’ll take care of it. I want ta make sure yer not seriously injured.” His voice had calmed to a low soothing tone as he sat me down in the chair he’d been occupying. His worried eyes glanced to mine and I felt completely disarmed by the concern in them, even if I felt like this wasn’t necessary.
“Fine then. CT-scan it is.”
CHAPTER NINE
The Boy In The Picture
“I told you I was fine.” I grumbled after Nolan had climbed into the driver’s side of his car. He glanced toward me only shaking his head.
“Harley, that’s not what the doctor said. He just said there doesn’t appear ta be any permanent neurological damage, but given how difficult ya’ve been tonight, I’m inclined ta disagree.” He said, his voice thick with sarcasm as a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Har Har Har.” I glowered at him before turning toward the window.
“In all seriousness, I’m glad it’s just a minor concussion. Aggie and I both saw that cue-ball hit ya. I still don’t understand exactly how someone made it go flying like that, but it knocked ya pretty hard.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if trying to figure out the actual physics of it.
“Well, I’m already feeling less dizzy. I may have needed a bit more than five minutes, but I was still right.” I glanced over at him as he drove. His index finger and thumb still stroked his trimmed sandy-colored goatee as his eyes swept to my side of the car briefly.
“Harley, someone still needs ta keep an eye on ya, at least fer tonight. The doctor said so.” Nolan’s tone was stern as he returned his attention to the road. I sighed, beginning to feel exasperated. He made it sound like I needed a Victorian fan and a fainting couch.
“I live alone, but I’m sure I’ll be fine, Nolan.” I felt like a broken record, but he didn’t seem to be getting it into his thick skull.
“Sure, until ya trip because yer feelin’ dizzy, fall, and give yerself another concussion.” He raised an eyebrow, looking over at me again. The side of my head started to throb, as if to prove Nolan’s point. Instinctively, my hand went to the side of my head, but I quickly pulled it down into my lap trying to ignore the pain.
“Really?” Nolan shook his head, unamused. “Just stay over at my place for the night.”
“Excuse me?!”
“I didn’t say in my bed, woman! I have a spare bedroom.” One of his hands flailed off of the steering wheel as he corrected himself. Separate room or not, sleeping at my boss’s place did not sound like the best plan.
“I don’t know…”
“Harley, please? I just want ta make sure ya stay safe. That’s it.” He glanced toward me and those blue eyes pulled at me with a pleading gaze.
It’s just one night...
“Fine... if you really insist.” I said quietly.
“I do.” His tone was as serious as his expression. A few minutes later we pulled into the back of Finley’s and I gave him a questioning look as he got out.
“Wait, you live at Finley’s?”
“Yeah. Did ya think the second floor was just fer show?” Nolan grinned in amusement as he pulled open my door and offered me his outstretched arm. I hesitantly grabbed onto him and pulled myself up. My legs were still unsteady, though not nearly as bad as they had been earlier.
Nolan held his arm under mine as we went in through the back of Finley's. He walked us toward the door I had assumed was another storage closet and pulled it open. Inside, a narrow wooden staircase led up to another door. He helped me up the stairs and jingled the mass of keys on his keyring until he found the right one to unlock the second door. When he pushed it open, it was obvious that, just like the pub, he had inherited the p
lace from his parents.
There were some older pictures up, but for the most part things were pretty barren. The walls in the living room were an odd rosy pink shade that looked like something you would find in your grandmother's house. An older beige sofa set flanked the living room in front of a big screen TV. Several gaming consoles and videogames cluttered the entertainment center. No doubt, these were Nolan’s main contributions to the overall decor.
“Is that mauve?” I couldn't help myself as he walked me to the hallway. He stopped and looked around, completely confused.
“What?”
“The pink walls.”
“Oh, I've been meanin’ ta repaint, but the pub keeps me busy.” He shrugged, then walked me down the hallway. “Ya can stay in here. Sorry it isn't much.”
He led me into a smaller bedroom with a queen-sized bed covered in a plaid comforter. The walls had a couple of old movie posters plastered to them. A desk and a set of shelves on the opposite wall were situated around a window that overlooked the street below.
Nolan let go of my arm as I leaned against the bed for balance. My vision had become a little less fuzzy on the drive back here and my balance seemed to be improving. Looking around, I realized this must have been Nolan’s old room. I turned to ask him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Oookay then.
I turned back toward the desk, looking over a few action figures that sat on the far corner until my eyes found a picture frame. In it, two teenage boys knelt on the ground in soccer uniforms covered in grass stains. Both boys had broad smiles across their dirt-smeared faces as they leaned an arm over each others’ shoulders. One of them I immediately recognized to be Nolan. His light brown hair, much longer and much wilder than its current state, was pushed back with a sweatband. Curly tendrils shot out in every direction from behind it. His face was smooth and rounded with youthfulness. He couldn’t have been more than twelve.
I studied the other boy in the picture. Though I didn't recognize him, there was something familiar about him. I picked up the small frame, looking closer at him. His hair was black and a bit more straight, though equally as untamed as Nolan's, and his eyes were a vibrant shade of green. Like the ones that had replaced mine in the mirror the other night. No, that’s ridiculous, Harley, I reassured myself as I stared down at those haunting eyes.
“What are ya doing?” Nolan's voice came from behind me. I jumped and stumbled back against him before spinning around, the frame still in my hand as I looked up at him.
“Sorry...I was just looking around. This used to be your room?” I asked. He nodded and I slowly followed his gaze down to my palm. His expression revealed nothing as he stared down at the image, though just for a moment his eyes seemed to glint with anger.
“Who is this in the picture with you?” I let the question come out casually. His lips tightened into a scowl, and the cold anger that seemed to pass over his gaze returned.
“It's no one.” Nolan’s reply was abrupt as he snatched the frame from my hand and turned towards the door. I stood there, shocked, as I gawked at his back.
“It was just a question.” Anger surfaced in my own voice at such unwarranted hostility.
His shoulders immediately fell and he turned back as he stood in the doorway. “I put a t-shirt and some pajama pants on the bed fer ya. Ya don't have ta use them...but I thought ya might not want ta sleep in your work clothes.” His tone was much calmer, his expression no longer angry, but distant. “Goodnight, Harley.” He mumbled before walking out of the room.
Aside from some dull pain on the side of my head, I felt as good as new the next morning. It helped that I didn’t have any sort of weird dreams. Just a perfect, deep, dreamless sleep. I took my time sitting up, but no dizziness lingered. Satisfied, I slid out of bed and changed out of the pajamas Nolan had left me. I hated to admit it, but they were cozy and smelled good too. He must be one of the rare breeds of men that understands the use of fabric softener.
I left the clothes folded on the bed then slid my shoes on, careful not to make any noises as I crept out into the short hallway. As soon as I turned the corner, I spotted Nolan asleep on the sofa with his limbs sprawled out. One long leg hung over the arm of the sofa while the other was crooked to the side underneath him. He was still wearing the same jeans he had on the night before, but his shirt was discarded on the floor. His hand rested against the smooth contours of his well-toned chest. An intricate system of Celtic knots tattooed in black and grey ran from just below his left elbow, wrapping around the chiseled angles of his bicep and stopping at the top of his chest. His other arm formed a makeshift pillow behind his head and his bottom lip twitched slightly as he slept. My gaze drifted down to an equally cut abdomen and a small grin pulled at my lips. It seemed the serious expression he always wore wasn’t Nolan’s only stony features.
Really, Harley? You’re standing over your half-naked boss, oogling him while he’s asleep. I wiped the grin from my face and glanced around the apartment as if someone could have caught me. Letting out a breath, I started to wake him, but hesitated. Maybe I should just let myself out, considering our exchange over the picture last night.
“Mmmph,” A soft groan escaped him and he shifted his hips as his chest rose with a deep breath and pulled my attention back to his sleeping form. I let out a small gasp as I noticed a few raised pink scars across his abdomen. The largest came up from above his right hip and curved slightly to the side, stopping a couple of inches under his ribs. There was another tattoo running along the side of it in Celtic lettering.
“For...” I started to read it but he stretched out, twisting his hips and the tattoo, “Fortis...in-”
“It says, Fortis in Arduis.”
“Shit! How long were you awake?”
Nolan sat up on his elbows, flashing me a sleepy grin. “Long enough.”
I narrowed my eyes at him as blood rushed to my cheeks. His grin widened. At least he wasn’t still mad like last night.
“Ya sleep okay?”
“Yes, thank you. I was just going to go.”
“Already?” His eyes watered as he yawned and stretched out his back, a hand scratching at his chest as he stood.
“Yeah, I feel a million times better.”
He let out a doubtful grunt as he stepped closer to me. His eyes studied me as a finger gingerly touched the side of my head where a solid lump had formed. I winced as he touched the swollen mass that was hidden by my hair and he frowned.
“Ya sure yer alright ta go?”
“Nolan, quit worrying yourself, I'm fine. Really.”
“Well at least let me fix ya breakfast. Ya ate nothing fer dinner.”
“I'm not really hungry right now.”
As soon as the words left my lips, my stomach let forth a ferocious growl and my eyes widened in embarrassment.
“What was that bit ya were sayin’ about not bein’ hungry?”
“Okay fine. I could use breakfast.” I shrugged. A triumphant grin crossed his lips as he held the door to the pub open for me. I went down the stairs and his bare feet echoed mine as he flipped on the lights to the empty kitchen, nodding toward the table in an empty nook of the kitchen for breaks.
“Ya can have a seat.”
I sat down as Nolan opened one of the industrial fridges and pulled out various ingredients. He moved around the kitchen rather naturally. Not a sight I was used to seeing after being with Jackson.
“What do ya want on yer omelet?”
“I...I don't know.” I blinked up at him from the table. He looked over his shoulder at me, raising an eyebrow.
“Cheese? Sausage? Mushrooms? Tomatoes? Peppers?”
“Sure.”
“Everything?”
I shrugged. “I suppose.”
This seemed to amuse him and his lip twitched up at the corner as he turned back toward the stove. He started humming to himself as he cracked a few eggs and dumped them into a frying pan along with a few other things. I watched the muscles in his shoulders and back
shift around with his movements as he tossed in diced up veggies, sausage, and a generous helping of cheese. I noticed two more smoothed, raised scars on his lower back, on the same side of his body as the others.
“What happened to you?” I blurted out, unable to contain my curiosity. The muscles in his back stiffened as he paused, his blue eyes glancing back at me. “The scars, I mean.”
From his reaction, he didn't need the clarification.
“I was stabbed.”
“How many times?” I gawked, staring open-mouthed at him as he turned to face me and slipped a large omelet onto a plate.
A muscle on the side of his neck twitched. “Ten.”
“H-how did you get stabbed?”
“Bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His eyes seemed to darken as he looked at me and I pulled my mouth shut, staring down at the table for a moment. Was that what the guy was talking about when he’d called Nolan a criminal? He didn’t seem like one…then again he had stab wounds and he almost beat that guy’s face in.
“What does your tattoo mean?” He glanced down at his side as his arm shifted the frying pan against the burner.
“Fortis in Arduis? It means, brave in difficulties. It's the Finley family motto. Ya can see it at the bottom of the pub sign. It's very small, under the coat of arms.”
“Oh...I like that.”
His features relaxed as he picked up the two plates and placed one in front of me. My eyes fell to his tattoo once more as he moved to the other side of the table and sat down. I couldn't help but wonder what the whole story was behind those scars, and why he'd gotten the tattoo right over the largest mark.
'Ya goin’ ta try it?” He dipped his head down into my line of sight as his blue eyes glimmered with the same earlier amusement. My cheeks burned as I picked up my fork. Not only had I just interrogated him about his scars and his tattoo, but here I was staring at them right in front of him. Without a word, I cut off a piece and took a bite.
“Oh my god, mmm.” The savory mixture of egg, butter, sautéed veggies, and sausage forced a moan from me as I closed my eyes. I hadn't realized I was so hungry. I slowly chewed, opening my eyes as I swallowed.
