From the Ruins

by Janine Infante Bosco

  The thing is, right now, he doesn’t seem so angry. In this moment, he’s not the rancid devil menacing his way through life. He’s just another guy, someone who may just have a heart buried somewhere deep inside.

  “I can take you into town,” he says with a grunt.

  “That’s nice of you to offer but after last night, I’m not letting my son out of my sight and I didn’t see a side car attached to your bike.”

  “I’ve got a truck, killer,” he retorts, jutting his chin toward his garage. “You and your posse can fit in the back. I reckon there ain’t any school on a Sunday, aye?”

  “Aye?” I repeat.

  “You need to go into town, I’ll take you and your tribe into town. We’ll figure out the rest—”

  “But—”

  “Jesus Christ, please just shut up,” he interrupts as he clutches the sides of his head. “Go get your kids ready or whatever it is you need to do and let’s get a move on,” he growls. “But first, go change out of that wet t-shirt,” he adds, turning toward his house.

  Embarrassment floods me and I glance down at the sheer shirt molded to my breasts. Crossing my arms in a feeble attempt to hide my nipples from him, I look back at him.

  “Where are you going?” I call out as he reaches his steps.

  “To down a bottle of Advil,” he says over his shoulder. “You got five minutes to get your ass out here.”

  Five minutes?

  Does he have any idea how long it takes to get everyone ready? It takes us five minutes to find our shoes.

  “Thanks,” I shout.

  He replies by slamming his front door shut.

  And there he is.

  The asshole.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’ve lost my fucking mind or maybe I’m still drunk from the night before. Those are the only two viable explanations as to why I’m sitting behind the wheel of my truck waiting for Layla and her kids. I’m still not sure how the fuck I went from fixing her car to becoming her personal chauffer, but here I am.

  Fuck me.

  If Wolf could only see me now. After all the shit I gave him throughout the years, that crazy bastard would be ripping me up right now. That thought makes me realize I left Brooklyn without so much as a goodbye to the man who gave me a place in the world when I didn’t have one. If that wasn’t bad enough, I don’t even know if he survived the heart attack.

  Considering myself a piece of shit, I reach for my pack of smokes and light another cigarette as Layla finally emerges from her house with her three kids in tow. Wishing I was hitting a joint instead, I take another long drag as I watch her walk across the lawn carrying some sort of contraption. No longer dressed like a contestant in a wet t-shirt concert, she stands next to my car and stares at me expectantly.

  “You need an invitation or something?” I question.

  “We’ll just wait out here until you’re finished,” she says, giving me that fake as fuck smile of hers.

  “Until I’m finished with what?”

  “You’re smoking,” half-pint supplies, waving her hand in front of her face.

  Shit.

  Darting my eyes between Layla and the cigarette in my hand, I toss it out the window. The cab smells like an ashtray so I roll down the rest of the windows before I turn back to Layla and point to the thing in her hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s Lexi’s booster seat,” she replies, opening the back door to my pickup. “You have working seat belts, right?”

  Fuck if I know. I don’t remember the last time I drove this thing, much less if everything is in working condition. She doesn’t wait for me to reply and gets to work putting the seat in as I begrudgingly turn my attention toward the kids. The little one is cute and I reckon she might even like me for some odd reason. The older daughter couldn’t give a fuck if I lived or died and the boy looks like he’s unsure if he wants to be the one who puts me in the ground or if he wants to roll one with me.

  “All set,” Layla declares. “Everyone get in and thank Lee for giving us a ride.”

  “I thought it was his fault we don’t have a car,” Lexi says as her mother lifts her into the car.

  “Technically, it was his two girlfriends who wrecked the car,” the middle one says.

  “Two girlfriends? That seems like an awful lot of work,” Lexi replies.

  “Jenna, Lexi,” Layla groans.

  “It’s all good,” I say, swiping the back of my hand across my forehead. Sweating, I glance into my rearview mirror and take in the sight the three crammed kids make. My eyes lock with Lexi and she smirks at me. “It does seem like a lot of work, doesn’t it?”

  “How about we change the subject?” Layla interjects, sliding into the passenger seat. “It’s not our business,” she adds sternly as she glances over her shoulder.

  “Mommy doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Lexi continues. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend either.”

  “Lexi!”

  My lips quirk as I turn the key in the ignition and steal a glance at Layla.

  “You a switch-hitter, killer?”

  “What? No, of course not. I mean not that there is anything wrong with that. I’m just, well, it’s not my thing. I’m not…you know…I was married…to a man,” she stammers.

  Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink and she quickly slides her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose.

  “What Mom is trying to say is she’s not a lesbian,” Jenna says.

  “Jenna!”

  My shoulders shake as a full belly laugh flees past my lips.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Fuck yes,” I admit.

  Layla turns around as half-pint starts to speak.

  “You said—”

  “Don’t you dare,” Layla scolds as she points a finger at her youngest before turning her eyes back to me.

  “She’s a handful,” I comment.

  “You have no idea,” she mutters before leaning into the bucket seat. “Tommy, are you comfortable back there? I can move the seat up if you need.”

  Glancing over my shoulder again, I watch as the kid silently crosses his arms against his chest and ignores his mother. For some reason it burns my ass and before I switch gears, I twist around fully to face him.

  “Your mother asked you a question,” I say.

  It’s not my place, but ask me if I give a shit.

  If I’m going to be this kid’s bitch for the next week, taking him and the others back and forth to school and wherever else they might have to go, then he’s going to learn respect.

  “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Layla says.

  “You think?” Tommy asks sarcastically. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t ask Uncle Joey to take us into town instead of this clown.”

  I’m going to put this kid’s nose across his face and I’m going to fucking smile as I do it.

  “Tommy, apologize right now.”

  “No.”

  “Keep your apology, kid,” I tell him as I put the truck into drive and look over at his mother. “Let’s get this shit over with, aye?”

  “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I’ll be quick in town and before you know it we’ll be out of your hair.”

  Famous last words.

  The woman has no concept of time.

  None whatsoever.

  Ask her to make a decision, one as simple as to where she’d like me to take her first and it’s like you asked her to explain global warming. After driving around in circles and unable to stay in that car a minute longer, I pull up in front of the hardware store.

  “This isn’t the supermarket,” Jenna points out.

  “Give the girl a gold star,” I mutter as I swing open my door. Both legs aren’t even out before I light a cigarette and step away from the truck. They all start to argue and it dawns on me that I signed up for this shit.

  I fucking volunteered and now there is a car seat in the back seat of my truck.

  Talk about batting for another tea
m.

  “Lee?”

  “Fuck,” I hiss as I chuck the cigarette like a torpedo. For all I know there is a certain distance I’m supposed to obey when it comes to smoking around children. I wish I had of paid more attention to when Jack’s daughter and Wolf’s sons were young and would come around to the clubhouse. Maybe then I would have a fucking clue.

  “You look like you’re ready to crawl out of your skin,” Layla comments, pushing her sunglasses back on top of her head. “Kids aren’t your thing, huh?”

  It feels like a loaded question, like when a woman asks if she’s put on weight or if you like her dress. Even if you didn’t notice she had packed on an ounce or you could give a fuck about the dress she’s wearing, you debate your answer knowing however you answer you’ll be wrong.

  “Kids are kids,” I reply like a pussy.

  Fuck that.

  It’s the safest answer I can conjure up. I’m no fool; a man doesn’t fuck with a woman and her kids. Especially not a woman who’s already flaunted her brass knuckles in my face. Not willing to reenact that scene again, I point toward the hardware store behind her.

  “I’m going to get the parts for the sink,” I tell her.

  “Okay, well lead the way,” she says, waving her hand.

  The idea of her following me into the store with the tribe makes my head pound and I quickly shake my head.

  “No need for an entourage, I’ll be quick,” I say as I take a step closer to her. “Unlike some people, when I say I’m going to be fast, I mean it.”

  She angles her head and something unfamiliar flashes in her eyes. Mischief maybe. Whatever it is, I like it and if we’re going to be thrown together for however long it takes to get her car running then I’m going to work at bringing that out some more.

  “That’s a shame,” she says playfully. “I would’ve taken you for a man who has more stamina than that.”

  “You feeling frisky, killer?”

  “Is it such a hardship to say my actual name? It’s only two syllables.”

  “You’re avoiding the question, Layla,” I say pointedly, taking another step closer to her. A smile spreads across her mouth, and like her eyes it makes me wonder how much I can press from her.

  How much she’ll give.

  “I like to take my time,” she finally replies with a shrug. “With everything, even the small stuff. Life is too short to rush through it.”

  To many her words would be wise, to me they are a stake to the heart. Blinking, I force myself to focus on her and the task at hand.

  “Yeah, it is,” I grunt. “Let’s get this over with, aye?”

  With a nod, she falls into step beside me. We pass the truck and she orders Jenna to keep tabs on the other two. She threatens to punish the boy if he so much as unlocks the doors. Pulling open the door to the store, I hold it for her.

  “Your boy giving you trouble?” I ask, stepping in behind her.

  “I left him in charge of the girls when I went to work, which has never been a problem before, but not long after you and your friends left…” she says, shooting me a look out of the corner of her eye.

  “Cute,” I say. “Go on,” I add as I grab some PVC off the shelf.

  “Anyway, Lexi called and told me he snuck out of the house. He apparently had one of his friends pick him up and they went joyriding in the woods.”

  I wonder if she knows he smokes, but I don’t bring it up. Instead, I lead her down the next aisle.

  “When did you move up here?”

  “A couple of months ago. After my divorce I thought it would be best if we moved away from the city,” she says. Turning her head, she busies herself by studying the shelves. Remembering the information Lexi told me that morning and pairing it with the sudden change in her body language, I realize she’s uncomfortable.

  “So, he’s had enough time to fall in line with the wrong crowd?”

  “I suppose,” she says with a shrug. “He doesn’t bring his friends around so I don’t know much about them.”

  Pausing, she furrows her eyebrows in deep thought.

  “I guess that’s not a good thing either,” she decides, brushing her fingers through her hair. “Kids don’t come with a handbook.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “Ex-husband,” she corrects. “Twenty thousand later we’re going to give him the title he deserves.”

  “That’s a lot of cake.”

  “Yeah, well there is no racket quite like the one divorce attorneys have going on. They prey on emotions and make you doubt everything you thought you knew about the person you married. They turn you against one another, create diversions in court and bill you for everything.”

  “I should’ve been a lawyer,” I mutter sarcastically as we stand in line.

  “Now that would be amusing,” she retorts with a laugh. “Oh God, that’s funny,” she adds, slapping her knee as she continues to chuckle. “I’m picturing you in a courtroom in front of a judge. Have you ever seen My Cousin Vinny? When Joe Pesci wears the leather jacket in the courtroom?”

  “Every judge I’ve ever stood in front of hated me,” I reveal, recalling the first time I had the book thrown at me and was sent to Tryon. From that point forward, I’ve always had a rocky relationship with the judicial system.

  “That’s comforting,” she replies.

  “You don’t look too scared,” I remark as she takes the piping out of my hands.

  “I already warned you about that,” she reminds me.

  “Right, the brass knuckles.”

  Dumping the rest of the materials onto the counter, I reach into my back pocket for my cash.

  “What’re you doing?” she asks, grabbing a hold of my wrist. “I knew you’d try some shit!”

  “Relax, killer, I was reaching for my money not a piece,” I laugh, removing her hand from mine.

  “That’s exactly the reason I followed you in here. You’re not paying for my pipes,” she argues as she wedges her body in front of mine. Her ass brushes against me and I watch as she hands the cashier her credit card. Too distracted by her soft curves, I let her pay for the material. Once she’s finished, I take a step back and she turns to me.

  “Fixing my car is a lot more than I’m comfortable accepting. Don’t make this weird or I’ll go back to hating you,” she warns, taking two bags off the counter. “And when we go to the grocery store, I’m leaving you in the truck with the kids.”

  The fuck she is.

  Before I can argue though, she starts for the door and her ass grabs my attention again.

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll be quick,” she calls over her shoulder.

  Suddenly, quickies seem overrated.

  Layla’s right.

  “Take your time, killer.”

  Life is too short.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There is a man in my house.

  A man I’m ogling while he fixes my plumbing, and not in the way you think. Don’t get me wrong, I totally thought about him playing with my rusty pipes. Especially after he slid under the sink and his t-shirt rode up revealing a dusting of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. That aside, the fact there is a man here helping me is mind boggling to me. I don’t have to watch YouTube videos on how to replace a busted pipe, or open a new line of credit to pay a plumber. It’s getting done and I’m not the one doing it. It’s a foreign feeling, and if I’m being honest, I don’t remember the last time I felt like I was taken care of. It’s always me making things right.

  It’s nice.

  Really nice.

  Well, except for the awkward silence.

  Another unfamiliar thing to adjust to. Once we returned home, the kids scattered like a bunch of cockroaches, each of them disappearing to another room in the house. Alone, Lee and I stood in the kitchen quietly staring at one another before he started to work on the sink.

  “So,” I start as I grab a cutting board from the cabinet. “Did you want something to drink? I could m
ake another pot of coffee if you’d like.”

  “I’m good,” he says automatically without pause. “I won’t be long.”

  My lips form a frown as I start to cut the vegetables in front of me. As strange as it sounds, I’m not looking forward to him leaving. We’ve spent most of the day together and he hasn’t managed to piss me off. Aside from the little scene in the hardware store when he attempted to pay for the materials, I’ve enjoyed the company which is weird considering the man is as grumpy as the day is long.

  “Oh, good,” I lie. “I bet you can’t wait to get away from us.”

  “I want to get a jump on the car before the sun goes down,” he replies.

  “Makes sense,” I say as I continue to watch him in awe. Intrigued by the tattoos covering his arms, I try to get a closer look when he slides out from under the sink. Quickly, I jump back and divert my eyes away from him as he walks over to his tools and filters through them. Finally, he grabs a wrench and starts for the sink again. Stealing another glance from the corner of my eye, I watch him lift his shirt and wipe the sweat from his face. That trail of hair taunts me and my mind begins to wander. I try to remember the last time I looked at a man.

  I mean really looked at a man to the point where I wondered what he might look like naked or how he’d feel on top of me.

  Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from?

  “Layla?”

  “Hmm,” I say. Suddenly flustered, I reach for the stack of paper plates and fan myself. His blue eyes pierce me as he steps closer and hands me a bottle of water.

  “Are you okay?”

  “All good here,” I plaster on a smile and take a gulp of the water.

  “You’re sweating like a whore in church.”

  I choke as I try to reply, spurting water from my mouth and nose.

  “Jesus, woman,” he grunts, swiping my spit from his face.

  “I’m so sorry,” I gasp, handing him a dish towel. Patting himself dry, he looks at me sideways before he drops down on his ass and disappears under the sink. I drop my head into my hands and desperately try to reign myself in. Apparently, I’m just as uncomfortable around him as he is around children and the only way to fix that is learning more about him. The only problem with that is I’m not sure where to begin.