From the Ruins

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “You work every night?” he questions surprisingly.

  “No, mainly the weekends. I try to be home on school nights for the kids,” I explain. “It’s only temporary until I can find something more substantial. What about you? What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m retired.”

  That surprises me. He doesn’t appear much older than Louie and he sure as hell doesn’t strike me as the type to be employed by the city in one of those sweet deals where you work twenty years before collecting a pension.

  “Aren’t you a little young for that?”

  “I put in my time,” he answers vaguely.

  “Is that how it works?”

  “Not usually, I guess I’m the exception.”

  “A man who lives by his own set of rules,” I comment.

  “More like a man who lives to break rules.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” I reply as he slowly slides out from under the sink.

  “Can you now?” he asks as he pins those crystal blue eyes on me. Ignoring the fluttering sensation in my stomach, I shrug my shoulders and draw my attention back to the cutting board.

  “I may have noticed the company you keep,” I say nonchalantly.

  “Enough about the girls, Layla.”

  “I was referring to the man on your front porch that night,” I retort, cutting my gaze back to him. “I saw the patch on his back.”

  “So?”

  “So, I haven’t always lived in the sticks, Lee. I’ve heard of the Satan’s Knights,” I say, placing the knife on the board before turning around to face him. “Is that your club?”

  He sits up and leans his back against the cabinet while he seems to contemplate the answer to a pretty direct question.

  “You’re a nosey broad, you know that?”

  “And you’re avoiding the question,” I point out as I push off the kitchen island and move closer to him. “You know what I think?”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” he mutters.

  “I think you fit the bill of a biker,” I tell him.

  “Careful, killer,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “Assuming what makes a man a biker is a mistake most people make.”

  “So tell me what makes a man a biker.”

  “What makes you think I know that?” he asks, squaring his jaw.

  “I don’t know, maybe the bike sitting in your garage?”

  “People ride for all different reasons, Layla.”

  “I get that, I just thought the man on the porch—”

  “Forget the man on the porch,” he snaps. “I ride because it’s embedded in my soul. I’ve lost a lot of things in my life, but the day I lose my wheels is the day I die.”

  The conviction in his voice is admirable and it makes me wish I had a passion for something. It also reminds me of those demons I saw when I first laid eyes on him. It makes me wonder about his loss, it makes me want to know his pain even more so than I did before.

  “But you’re not a biker,” I say confused, hoping he’ll reveal more of himself to me.

  “No, not anymore,” he grinds out before turning his head. “Your sink is fixed,” he adds after a moment. He stands and flips the faucet on, proving the task is complete.

  “Thank you,” I reply as I close the distance between us and place my hand under the stream of water. After a moment, he shuts the water and I remove my hand from the sink as he packs up his tools.

  “What time do your kids have to be at school?” he questions, keeping his back toward me.

  I find myself backpedaling to break the tension that suddenly has returned between us.

  “Wait, that’s it? You’re done with the sink and the conversation is over?”

  “I’ve got to get to work on your car,” he replies without turning around.

  “Right,” I mutter. My voice sounds deflated and I struggle with my conscience as to why I feel the need to keep him here. I shouldn’t want more of his company and I shouldn’t want to know why he is so fractured.

  I shouldn’t want anything.

  Yet there is a part of me that wants it all.

  I want to know everything about Lee.

  The secrets.

  The sadness.

  The lessons he’s learned through the years.

  The reasons he’s an asshole most of the time.

  The list goes on, but before I reach the end Lexi comes running into the kitchen holding a piece of paper. Outstretching her hand to Lee, she hands him a drawing.

  “I made this for you,” she announces proudly.

  “For me?” he asks baffled.

  “Yeah, it’s to say thank you for driving us around today. Can you tell what it is?” she boasts happily.

  I watch as Lee studies the paper silently. A moment later, Lexi stands on her tiptoes and begins to point out each thing she drew for him.

  “This is your truck and that’s you behind the wheel. You’re wearing a cape because you saved the day.”

  “Thanks kid but I’m no superhero,” he rasps.

  “Does that mean you don’t like it?” she asks with a pout.

  “It’s great, half-pint,” he assures, placing his hand on the top of her head. “Thank you.”

  The smile instantly returns to her face and she glances over at me.

  “Mommy, can Lee stay for dinner?”

  “No, kid,” he answers quickly. “Thanks for the invite though.”

  “Stay,” I interject, causing him to turn his gaze back to me. “You’ve helped us so much today, the least I can do is feed you.”

  I watch as the gears turn in his head and just when I think he might actually give in the doorbell rings. I’m sure I cringe at the intrusion but before I can excuse myself, I hear Jenna squeal.

  “Uncle Joey is here,” Jenna calls out. That’s all Lexi needs to hear before she forgets about the thoughtful drawing she made and takes off.

  “Shit,” I hiss. Remembering I stormed out of the bar last night without so much as an explanation.

  “Problem?” Lee questions, narrowing his eyes.

  I lift my head and immediately forget to breathe when my eyes lock with his. The intensity in which he stares at me makes me feel like a specimen under a microscope and I wonder just how deep he can delve with one glance.

  “There you are,” Joey says, walking into the kitchen with Lexi in tow. “Oh, hey,” he continues, glancing between us. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you,” I answer. “Is everything okay?”

  “That’s funny, I came here to ask you the very same thing,” he says cautiously before turning to Lee and extending his hand. “I’m Joey.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s my job, isn’t it? Joey, this is my neighbor, Lee. He fixed my pipes.”

  The second I finish my sentence, I close my eyes and cringe at how ridiculous I sound. I swear there was a time in my life when I had it all together. A time when I was quick with wit and everything I said made sense.

  “I gotta get out of here,” Lee grunts.

  “What about dinner?” Lexi asks.

  “Maybe some other time,” he says before his eyes dart toward me.

  “You don’t have to leave,” I tell him.

  “See ya, killer,” he mutters.

  Turning to Joey, he tips his chin in silence.

  “Good to meet you, buddy,” Joey responds.

  “I’ll walk you out,” I blurt.

  “No need,” he replies as he disappears out of the kitchen.

  “Who is that?” Joey questions.

  “That’s our superhero neighbor,” Lexi answers. “He drove us around all day today and fixed our sink. He’s pretty grumpy but he’s cool too.”

  Feeling the weight of Joey’s curious gaze, I turn my attention back to the freshly chopped vegetables.

  “Lexi, go wash up for dinner,” I order.

  “Okay, Mommy,” she replies before skipping out of the room.

  “Layla,” Joey s
tarts.

  “I’m sorry about last night. Tommy snuck out of the house when he was supposed to be watching the girls. I meant to call Krystal this morning but time got away from me.”

  “Layla, look at me.”

  I don’t want to. I know the second I turn around I’m going to be met with the same sorrowful gaze he gives me every time he sees me.

  Pity.

  Oh, poor Layla.

  She’s divorced and struggling to raise her three kids.

  She’s barely getting by.

  She’s lonely and losing her mind worrying about everything under the sun.

  Fuck that.

  For just once, I want the people in my life to look at me and not see the face of divorce.

  “Krystal wanted to come and check on you but Lily is sick so I offered. We’re worried about you.”

  There it is.

  The constant worry over whether or not today will be the day I fall apart.

  “There is no reason to worry,” I retort, spinning on my heel. “I’ve got everything under control.”

  Lies.

  Then my lips curve into a smile and tell the biggest lie of all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sitting on the floor next to Oksana’s shoes, I reach for the bottle beside me and take a hefty swig. The liquid slides down my throat, burning my belly. I embrace the pain. I relish in it and wish for more. If I had any balls whatsoever, I’d take a knife to my own throat and feel the pain she felt when her life ended.

  “Hey, babe,” I mutter. “You with me today?” I ask the shoes, praying that by some miracle of God they’ll answer me. They won’t. They never do. But tonight, more than anything, more than whiskey and pain, I need her. I need to believe that she stills walks beside me every day. It doesn’t matter that she’s unseen or unheard, just as long as she’s near. It’s selfish of me to want her with me considering everything I’ve done since she’s left this earth. The booze, the nameless women, the list is fucking endless.

  “I forgot,” I confess as I close my eyes and take another gulp. “For a little while I forgot and it wasn’t because I was shitfaced or because I was too busy getting off to think of anything else. For the first time since you died, I distracted myself with a woman and didn’t fuck her. The shit thing is, it felt worse than sinking my dick into some faceless stranger. I came home, saw the shoes and felt guilty for playing you dirty.”

  Placing the bottle on the floor next to me, I lift my hands to my face and rub vigorously.

  “I’m losing it, Oksana,” I mutter. “I’m losing my fucking mind trying to live when all I want to do is die. What’s the point in living when everything I ever loved—you, the club, everything—is gone.”

  Taking a deep breath, I draw my hands away from my face and lean my head against the wall.

  “I forgot,” I whisper. “I forgot I had nothing because at the hardware store I was the guy who had everything. In the grocery store I was the man who had too much, and in Layla’s kitchen I was the man who wanted more.”

  When Layla’s friend Joey showed up and set me straight, I walked away. One glance at him and I remembered who I was and what I was worth. There is a reason men like him have everything and men like me have nothing. It’s nothing new to me. In fact, it’s something I’ve learned through the years, through the loss I’ve experienced myself and the loss I’ve witnessed through the eyes of my brothers. It’s the reason Wolf has three ex-wives and Jack buried his son. It’s the reason Riggs almost lost his woman and his child, and it’s the very reason Bones died. It’s why Blackie brings Christine flowers on a Saturday and I’m sitting here talking to a pair of shoes.

  It’s the choices you make when you’re young, the choices you think have no consequences. I’d be willing to bet my life that guy Joey doesn’t live with a mountain of regrets. A man like that rides on the right side of the law. He works hard for everything he has and that’s why he gets to keep it. He is rewarded for the choices he made when he was younger, when he fought against temptation and struggled instead of taking the easy way out in life. It is men like that who work a nine to five who never worry about bombs and bullets, and who live life to its fullest potential.

  I used to call those men pussies.

  But I’m the one sitting here with a half empty bottle of booze and a pair of shoes, looking for the courage to end my nightmare.

  The excessive knocking on the door jolts me away from my pity party and forces me onto my feet. Without wondering who it might be, I pull open the door and stare at Layla’s pretty face. Lifting the plate in her hands, she smiles warmly and a fire spreads throughout my chest. It’s the pain I’ve been looking for, the sweet satisfaction of my punishment.

  “Hi,” she murmurs. “You left kind of abruptly before—”

  “Why are you here?” I sneer, cutting her off.

  “Well, I thought if you couldn’t stay for dinner then I could bring dinner to you,” she explains, extending a dish toward me.

  She’s nice.

  Too fucking nice.

  I can’t handle nice.

  I can’t handle good.

  She made me forget today. She made me wish for more. Now I need her to remind me of the truth. I need her to lash out at me and give me the rawness of pain. I need her to prove to me I’m not worthy of her spit. I need the bitter, angry Layla who isn’t afraid to tell the guy next door he’s a bastard.

  “Look, lady, I fixed your fucking sink, played bitch to you and your kids all day and started the repairs on your car. Now I thought we were done for the day. What more can you possibly need from me? The roof cave in and you need some jerkoff to patch it up for you?”

  Her eyes flash and her nostrils flare as she glares at me.

  There it is.

  Give it to me, killer.

  Show me the truth.

  “Have you been drinking?” she asks, clenching her teeth.

  “What’s it to you?” I fire back. “I ain’t on the clock again until tomorrow.”

  Silently, she stares at me and I figure she’s getting a glimpse of the devil until her features soften. She cocks her head to the side and the fire fades from her eyes.

  “What’s happening here?” she whispers. “I thought we were okay. I mean, today—”

  “Today, nothing. Today I fucking bent over backward and took it in the ass because I felt bad for you.”

  “You felt bad for me?” she repeats.

  Come on, give it to me.

  “I pitied you. Look, lady, I get it. You’re lonely. Your husband left you, probably for a woman half your age. That would explain why you’re so fucking bitter, but I’m not looking to lick your wounds and play Daddy to a bunch of brats,” I sneer. “Maybe you can get that Joey character to pity fuck you and take on your tribe.”

  Suddenly, she drops the plate and rears her hand back. Her palm connects with my cheek and I grin devilishly at her.

  Burn.

  Make me burn.

  “That the best you got, killer?”

  “Fuck you,” she shrieks, pushing her hair out of her face as she clenches her jaw. “Not that it is any of your fucking business but Joey is my best friend’s husband! As for my marriage, I’m the one who left. My children have one father and one mother and that’s all they’ll ever have. You ever talk about my kids like that again, so help me Jesus I will fucking gut you. And as far as looking for someone to fuck me, I have standards and a vibrator, and even if I didn’t I’m pretty sure you’d be the last man I’d want to satisfy me. I wasn’t looking for anything. I came here because you were helpful to me and my children and I wanted to return the favor but you can…” Her words trail off.

  “Don’t stop there,” I growl.

  Following her gaze, my eyes zero in on Oksana’s shoes.

  “Of course,” she laughs sarcastically. “I should’ve known you’d have company. You must be slacking though since there is only one pair of shoes tonight,” she shouts as she goes to reach for them. “You�
��re a fucking pig,” she seethes.

  Snapping, my control flees and I reach for her wrist.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I scold, foaming at the mouth. “Those are my wife’s shoes,” I holler as I lose my footing and stumble back. Falling on my ass, Layla pulls her hand free from me and takes a step backward. Her eyes widen and she looks appalled.

  “You’re married?” she asks with her voice full of disgust. “Oh my God, you’re fucking married? I didn’t think it was possible for you to be a bigger piece of shit but—”

  “She’s fucking dead,” I shout, unable to listen to her anymore. I thought having her tell me I was a worthless piece of garbage would make me feel better, but having her think I’ve been stepping out on my wife is too much. Call me all the names in the world, blame me for her death, but don’t tell me I wasn’t devoted to her.

  I’m a lot of things but I’m no fucking cheat.

  “Lee,” she whispers hoarsely.

  “Get out,” I order, combing my fingers through my hair. Angling my head back, I meet her pitiful gaze and I shake my head. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

  Instead of taking a step backward, she takes two forward and kicks away the broken plate. She bends her knees and crouches down in front of me.

  It’s wrong.

  So fucking wrong.

  I don’t want her pity.

  Fuck her and her sorrow.

  “Go away,” I plead.

  Leave me to my hell.

  Leave me to my grief.

  Leave me alone where I’m meant to be.

  “I didn’t know,” she explains.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, turning away from her.

  “Lee—” she whispers.

  Then I feel her.

  Her hand touches mine and an electric current passes from her fingertips to mine. It’s too much and I snap my hand back. My eyes find hers and the burn in my chest deepens as the tears roll down her cheeks.

  “Get the fuck out,” I growl.

  She doesn’t move for a moment before she wipes her eyes and whispers her apologies once more. Without another word, she stands, but before she turns around she glances at the shoes.